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MES. KEITH'S CEIME.

" Weddfag-GoMt ! lUa wnl baa brcn

Jjy TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,

^^ublialirrs in ffinrinats to Jgn jSCajcsts t))t Succn.

^J-^'f . /5 7<?

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, UMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

M. D. W.

MKS. KEITH'S CKIME.

It would be useless to try to account for the
manner in which this history came to be
written down. It is obvious that Mrs. Keith's
hand could not have written it, nor could her
voice have given it utterance, and there was
none by her in that hour when love gave
her terrible strength, and left her to brave
eternity. It seems almost as if, as she passed
along, the air itself bore witness and the wind
swept into the heart of one who understood, aU
the unspoken thoughts of that passionate life.

CHAPTEE I.

It cannot be true ; it must be fancy. The
child is growing, has grown too fast, is delicate,

VOL. I. 1

2 MBS. KEITH'S CHIME.

and he did not know what to say, and yet he
looked so grave when he heard that my mother
and sister had both long ago died of consump-
tion. " It often skips a generation, and then
shows itself again," he said, and he seemed
sorry for us when he said good-bye.

If anything happened to Molly I should go
mad — ^to Molly, the little one who came six
months after her father died ; Molly, with the
strange longing that half frightens me written
in her eyes, a longing that perhaps only years
hence I shall learn to understand ; — to Molly,
who is more than half the living world to me.
More than half, I say, for there is Jack ; and a
bonnie boy is Jack, going on for eight years
old. He has sturdy legs, and wide-open blue
eyes, and a crop of golden hair. But my heart
has never ached for him as it has for Molly,
and love has no bands that bind so fast and
close as those that fear and sorrow weave. If

Molly dies But I dare not think of it,

for I can face nothing, can go on no longer, if
that is to be. After all, we have only a certain

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 3

amount of courage in us, and mine was all
used up in past days; there is none left for
this.

How cruel it seems. I sit down and try to
think over the years since Molly's father died.
They are only a few, after all, and yet how
long a time they seem. You know how it all
<3ame about, how happy we were, how in an
hour the whole world changed. It is madden-
ing to remember it — ^the summer morning and
the sunshine ; and the laughter of the children
on the beach ; and his last words, " I shall not
•be long, my darling. Go home and wait for
me. You are tired.^' I got up and went
•home, turning, as I stood on the steps, to take
-another look at the sea — ^the sea that was
killing him even while I looked, and laughed,
and felt so happy ; and then I waited for
him just as he had told me. They carried
liim back. I can hear the slow tramp, tramp
of their feet now, and see the water dropping
from his hair and the cloth with which they
had covered him. There he lay, he who but

4 MJRS. KEITH'S CHIME.

an hour before had been a strong man, dead
— dead for evermore. . . .

There was no money when Arthur died.
His pictures were only just beginning to sell.
We had made this little home in St. John's
Wood, and lived on hope and credit and the
few commissions that came in, and on any-
thing that turned up ; a pleasant, happy-go-
lucky life enough, but one in which there was
no margin left for accident or sorrow. I wrote
to uncle Clement, the one relation we had
in the world, or rather, the only one at alii
likely to help us. He was very good in a
rather cold, hold-aloof manner. He and my
father had never been very cordial brothers ;:
the one was rich, and the other had had
nothing but his pay, and many a deep gulf
is dug with gold, especially between relations.
But he was very good to the children and me,
and let us stay in this little house, and kept
us going, to a certain extent.

When I got better I wanted to do some-
thing for myself, and, after much consideration,.

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 5

decided to give lessons in painting ; but it was
very difficult to get pupils, and at last I tried
doing portraits of children, and met with a
great deal of success. I don't do them very
w^ell, perhaps, but the mothers say that I have
a knack of catching a likeness, and of catching
it just when a child is looking its prettiest ; so
they are always pleased, and gradually I have
become almost a fashion and, though my work
is certainly not well paid for, I can get as many
portraits to do as I please.

Uncle Clement died three years since, and
left me a hundred a year ; it is to go to Jack
at my death. Poor little Molly was ignored
altogether, for uncle Clement did not like
girls; he thought them mere frivolities, that
sensible women only bore sons, and to
daughters he would give no encouragement.

On the whole we have managed pretty
well. I think bitterly, as I look round the
little drawing-room, with the palms, and the
Japanese fans, and the little bits of china, and
the daring gold-and-chocolate covers, that give

6 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

the room an individuality of its own. I have
been so proud of our little home and of all
the folk, working folk mostly, artists like
myself, who came to see me. It has been
something to feel that they recognized me and
numbered me among themselves, as if they
knew all the longings that were in my work,
all the hard-trying and good intentions, and
were mercifully blind to the weakness of its
execution. Sometimes I have been really suc-
cessful, and have seen my name in the catalogue
of the minor exhibitions. Once it was in the
Grosvenor list, and it made me so happy, I
felt as if T was swimming through the crowd
at the private view, and that all the world
was making way for me, conscious of my
triumph and sharing it. It seems so foolish
now, but I have even tried to learn the names
of safe investments for small sums, feelinor that
the time would come soon when a little could
be put by for Jack's education; and now
suddenly all this dreaming has vanished.
MoUy has been looking ill for a long time.

MJRS. KEITH'S CBIME. 7

We went for a fortnight to Broadstairs and
spent the days together, we three never
separating, but staying all day upon the beach,
or dawdling along the little pier, or wandering
through the fields to Eamsgate, and drinking
milk, and driving back in an extravagant fly.
But still she did not get better. She was only
growing, I thought, and waited ; but she did
not get better. Then at last I took her to
Dr. Finch. He is a great man; there is no
disputing his opinion; and when he had
examined Molly he looked grave enough, and
said that the best thing of all would be to get
her out of England for the winter. " It may
be the saving of her,^' he said gently. It may 1
I looked up at him half dazed. I am half
dazed still.

Mrs. Marshall was waiting to see me when
we returned, about her little godchild's por-
trait. I told her what Dr. Finch had said,
and told her so calmly that she looked at me
curiously as she answered, " It is very sad for
you." She said the words in an odd, polite

8 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

voice, as if she wondered whether I cared.
Perhaps it bored her to be told about the
child, for she is an odd, formal person, with
an even, passionless voice and a strange, un-
sympathetic manner. Once I caught myself
wondering whether her husband had made love
to her before he married her, and if he did
now, and whether she ever did anything kind,
save as a matter of principle. With her all
things seem to have a foundation of principles
or convictions, and love and pity and hate
to have no power over her. Perhaps it is an
excellent thing ; principles and convictions give
one cold comfort, but they are responsible for
few crimes.

"I am not sure that I can undertake the
portrait," I told her. " There are some things
to finish, and we are going abroad for the
winter."

" You can arrange to leave your work and
go ? " she asked, in surprise. She knew me a
little in old days when Arthur was here, and
knew what a struggle we had, and how neces-

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 9

sary uncle Clement's help had been afterwards.
I half resented the question.

" I must/' I answered. " One does not con-
sider whether one can arrange a thing that may
save one's child's life."

" Going abroad is very expensive," she said.
Her words were considerate, but her voice was
still only polite ; there was not the ghost of any
sympathy in. it. It was just as well, in the
state of mind I was in.

" It may be expensive," I answered ; " but
at the worst we'll walk, and I'll carry the babes
on my back."

" You'U have to swim across the Channel,"
she said, with an odd, grim smile.

A flood of memories rushed into my heart at
her words, and I checked a little cry that all
but escaped my lips. In a moment I had seen
Arthur going down to the sea, and had heard
him teU me once again to wait for him. Per-
haps the message he sent me the moment that
he died is written in Molly's eyes ; for the first
time it went through me like a flash that

10 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

this was the strange meaning in them that I
was for ever yearning to tmderstand. Mrs.
Marshall turned almost pale as she realized all
that her words had made me remember.

" I am very sorry," she said humbly ; "it
was very stupid of me. I am always saying
the wrong things. How old is Molly?" she
asked, in an abrupt voice, as if anxious to do
the best she could towards separating my
thoughts from my memories.

"She is nearly six; she is the baby," I
answered.

She was silent for a moment, and then she
said, more to herself than to me, "Yes, I
understand; I dare say you will always call
her the baby, even when she is grown up."

And then she went away, and I have come
in here to rest and to try and realize what it
all means.

It is odd how different this room looks to-
day ; there is something cruel and mocking
about it. There, on the easel, is the picture
Clarence Grove gave me at Christmas. The

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 11

foreground is coarsely painted, but I never
noticed that before. I turn from it, and look at
the palms standing in large pots on the floor
of the little conservatory, the black-and-white
pavement makes me shiver. The flowers about
the room are fresh and bright ; the chintz
covers have a happy dainty air. There is
something satisfied about the whole place, and
yet Molly is upstairs, and the doctor says that
if she goes abroad it may — only that it may
and not that it will — ^be the saving of her. It
is odd how difficult it is to feel or realize all
that is in the words, though MoUy is just life
to me. It seems as if I had changed into some
other person, and, keeping my own set of
memories, look on half curiously at the old self
which has shut a door of some kind on me, so
that I can no longer enter it. Or else some-
thing has failed, some of the wheels in me
have ceased to go, as in a machine a little bit
out of order. It seems impossible that in a
month's time we shall all be in another land,
and the studio closed, and the commissions

12 MBS. KEITH'S CBJME.

going elsewhere, and this pretty room will be
all covered up, and the palms and the flowers
will be dying, and the big picture taken down
from the easel and turned with its face to the
wall. I wonder what made Clarence Grove
give that picture to me ? for he is not rich and
he has a wife and many children. It is called
"The Forsaken Garden," after Swinburne's
poem, and under it is a quotation from it —
"Bright with a summer to be." In fancy I
have often wandered down the half -hidden
pathways, and among the brake and briar. It
makes me shudder to think of the people who
once made the garden trim and neat and full
of sweet-smelling flowers ; they are all sleeping
in the churchyard — you can see their graves
over the hill in the comer there — and the sea
is breaking on the shingly beach below, and
the sun is shining, and strangers are coming
to make the garden trim again and to laugh
through "the summer to be." I am never
tired of wondering who these are that are
coming.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 13

I wonder how we shall get the money to
take US abroad ? This question is beginning to
present itself. There are some commissions,
but no time to execute them. There is very
little money in the house. At Christmas there
will be fifty pounds due, but rent and taxes to
pay out of it. The money must be found ; but
how ? We have nothing to sell, and no one of
1^hom to borrow. It seems impossible to get
it, and yet it must be got somehow. If it only
saves her ; if only some day I sit here again,
knowing that she is upstairs, bright and strong
and sturdy as Jack is, what trifles all the diffi-
culties wiU seem looking back at them across
the good thing that wiU have been accom-
plished. How would it do, I wonder, if we
went to some warm spot in the south — ^we could
just manage to get there, perhaps — and then I
tried to earn some money by painting portraits ?
Long ago, in Switzerland — it was in the first
year of our marriage — ^we were staying at a
mountain place, shivering with cold, and calling
the man who built the rooms without fireplaces

14 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

an idiot, when one day a travelling artist
turned up. Never dreaming that Arthur was
of his own trade, he painted our portraits and
the portraits of four or five other people in
the hotel, for ten francs each, and then packed
up his canvas, rolled it round with black
American cloth, and went on his way as blithe
as a swallow journeying south. Why should
not I do that kind of thing ? It would be very
gipsy-like and independent. Perhaps I might
take clothes enough in my pocket to give a
hand to each of the children, or carry them on
my back as I had suggested to Mrs. Marshall ;
or at any rate I might put them, and our
luggage too, into a wheelbarrow and push it
on in front. Arthur and I often used to sit
and speculate on various ways of living,
wondering out of which most happiness could
be got.

" I should like a caravan," I remember say-
ing to him once, "with brooms and brushes
and baskets hanging outside, and a chimney-
pot and smoke coming out of it ; and inside

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 15

there should be a little bed to sleep in, and a
little stove to cook at, and two seats, and a
few pots and pans, packed so as neither to
rattle nor to break ; and you should lead the
horse and crack a whip now and then, and I
would sell our wares as we went along, to the
folk who lived in out-of-the-way cottages and
seldom went to town. And for dinner we
would buy some meat, and when we had cooked
it we would eat it in our little house, looking
out at the sweet country-side the while ; and at
night we would draw up under a tree, and
sleep soundly till the birds called us in the
morning. It would be a glorious life, with no
bills and no best clothes, and few amenities."

*' Pleasant enough," said Arthur, thought-
fully ; " but I think it would be a better thing
to be a bargee — to sit all day long at the end
of a barge, smoking a short pipe and swearing
at the boy on the towing-path."

" But where should I be ? "

"You should crouch down beside me, my
darling," he answered. *^You would like that? "

16 MRS. KEITH'S CRtME.

''Oh yes. I should hear so many wicked
words ; it would be delightful."

" The worst of it is," he went on, with a sigh,
"that the spread of science and education
together will, I fear, do away with the barge
and the boy, perhaps even with the swearing."

I think of this merry talk now sadly enough,
sitting alone with the vagabond longings
rising up within me. But I must go upstairs
and see my little one. It is never possible to
stay away from her long.

She is in the nursery, sitting quite stiU, with
an open picture-book in her lap, watching Jack,
who is on the rocking-horse, singing as he
rocks to an fro, and sharpening a pencil at the
same time ; the rein is twisted round his left
hand.

"Molly doesn't care a bit about anything,
mother," he says, "so I am singing to
her."

So sweet a little voice has Jack ; we always
like to listen to him, and to look at his pretty
round face while he sings.

MRS. KEIIWS CHIME. 17

" I am tired, mammy," Molly says ; and,
getting up, she clings to me and puts her head
on my shoulder.

''My poor little darling," I say, and she
nestles down close in my arms. '' Do yqu
know, my children," I tell them suddenly,
"that you are going into a strange country
soon ? " My heart fails me as I think of the
money ; but the children are listening eagerly,
so I go on without flinching. " Into a strange
country, where it will be beautifully sunny
and warm all through the winter."

" Perhaps we shall be able to pick flowers ? "
Molly says dreamily.

" Will there be any robbers or wild beasts ? "
Jack asks in the tone of one prepared to fight
a legion.

VOL. T.

)

18 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

CHAPTER 11.

I HAVE been trying to rest a little, lying on
the sofa in my own room, but it is no good ;
my brain is in a whirl still. The nursery tea
went up just now; it must be nearly five
o'clock. Even a few minutes' sleep would help
me to think better, but as it is I am dazed
and useless.

The servant enters with a card. "Mr.
Cohen, ma'am, and he hopes you'll be able to
see him."

I would give the world not to do so, but
cannot well refuse. He is an old friend and
knew my husband well, and has been good-
natured, and made people send their children
to have their portraits painted in the days
when commissions were few and far between.
So I get up and smooth my hair and look

MBS. KEITJETS CRIME. 19

at myself in the wardrobe glass, for I am glad
to do anything or think of anything save
Molly, and yet she is not for a single moment
out of my thoughts. And so I stand and look
at myself in the glass. I was always slight
and pale, but lately I have grown terribly
thin and tired-looking, and there are black
rings under my eyes that make me look ill.
The only beauty left me is my hair. I have
quantities of soft light hair. I hardly know
what to do with it, and twist it round my
head, and flatten it down, and vainly try to
make it look prim and neat.

As I pass the nursery door I listen for a
moment to the voices within. Jack is talking,
but suddenly stops — to eat bread and jam,
perhaps — and then Molly says, " Go on. Jack ;
do go on," in an eager voice.

" AU right ; wait a bit."

Molly may be too excited by Jack's con-
versation to eat, I think, so I put my head
in at the door, and seeing that her face is
hidden in her mug of milk, am satisfied. For

20 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

a moment everytliing swims. It is probably
the worry of this strange day. And then I go
downstairs to my visitor,

Mr. Cohen is a Jew, and never hesitates to
proclaim it. The Jews are the finest people in
the worldj he says, and the oldest. Adam was
a Jew ; and when you talk to him about
evolution, he says that if the theory is true,
then the first man worthy of the name who
was evolved was a Jew, and that the last man
left in possession, when all the rest have died
off, will be a Jew, and a triumphant proof of
the survival of the fittest. "It is the best
thing on earth to be a Jew, and the wisest to
be proud of it," he said once in my hearing, to
some one who was a little inclined to " chaff ''
him. So the chaff came to an untimely end,
and he remained unruffled, conscious of having
the best of it. He is a tall, dark young man,
not very young, but by courtesy is called so,
for he goes to dance?, and is unmarried. He
is like a sardine to look at ; so very like a
sardine — ^long and dark, and lank and oily. I

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME. 21

feel convinced that he sleeps in a tin box ;
there seems to be always a faint odour of spice
about him. He is very rich, and knows it;
you are constantly made aware that he knows
it ; yet he is good-hearted, pleased with him-
self and the world in general — a man who has
never known worry, and never wiU know it.
He is blessed with no strong feelings; has
never been deeply in love, and never will be ;
thinks marriage would be a bore ; and that
" if anything does happen, and any one belong-
ing to one chumps up, you know, why, it
can't be helped; one must just put up with
it." " Chumps up " means dies.

I feel cold and stiff and disagreeable as I enter.
Perhaps he'll ask after Molly. I could not bear to
teU him that she is ill. He would say, " What
a bore. It's to be hoped she won't chump up,"
and laugh. His mother died two years ago.
He told me of it, and laughed a little then.
Perhaps it was only nervousness, for he had
been a good kind son. If he laughed about
Molly, I would never speak to him again ; but

22 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

I will take care not to mention the children.
He comes eagerly forward to meet me as I
enter, and shakes my hand quickly, as if he
were in a hurry.

" How do you do ? " he says. " Why, you
don^t look up to much. Aren't you well ? "

" Oh yes, thank you ; I am quite well," I
answer. " How are you ? " and I sit down,
and try to look interested in what he will say ;
but everything seems changed, and I am con-
sciously acting a part.

" I know all about it," he says, as he takes
the chair opposite to me. " You are bothered
about the young 'un. Been to a wedding, and
met Mrs. Marshall as I was coming away, and
she told me you were up a tree, so I thought
I'd come round."

He says it in the most cheerful tone, as if it
was the most natural thing in the world for
one's child to be ill, and for one's self to be
up a tree, as he calls it. I am vexed with
Mrs. Marshall for telling him, only I wonder
that she remembered to do so, for she is

MSS. KEITH'S CBIME. 23

childless herself, and never seems to care for
chUdren.

"I am awfully sorry for you," the sardine
goes on. I always caU him the sardine in my
thoughts.

"I know you are, of course/' I answer
gently ; " but don't let us talk about it."

"What are you going to do?" he asks,
taking no notice of my request.

" Going abroad."

" Awful bore that ; interfere with your work,
and cost a lot."

" Yes, I suppose it will," I answer, trying
to speak cheerfully and feeling that it is a
dismal failure. "But one must not think of
that when one's child is in danger."

"No, of course not," he says, looking
vacantly into space. Evidently he is not
much concerned ; but why on earth should he
be? We are nothing to him. "Been busy
lately ? ". he asks.

"Yes, pretty well," I answer, supposing
that he has tired of the other subject already.

24 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

^' Tell me what you have been doing," I add,
determined to talk of other things.

" Not much," he says absently. " Nothing
going on just now."

" You have been to a wedding 1 " . Perhaps
he would like to talk about that, I think.

"Yes." Evidently he doesn't care about it.
He is very absent to-day.

" A pretty bride ? " I ask the question
mechanically, just to fill up time. If I could
only get away to Molly 1

" Yes ; nothing out of the way. Bridegroom
twenty years older — selfish beggar. Never saw
him before, and didn't think much of him."

" But how do you know that he is selfish ? "

" Always think a man is selfish who marries
any one a lot younger than himself."

"But why?"

"Well, you see, he condemns the woman
who cares about him to certain widowhood —
that is, in the natural course of things. If she
doesn't care about him, he is the means of
making her look forward to a good time coming

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 25

when lie will be out of the way and she will
have the cash-box to herself, and that kind of
thing spoils any woman's nature."

" Why, of course," I answer, beginning to be
interested. " But they may care for each other
very much, so much that for the sake of the
present happiness ste is wiUing to risk his
dying first. After all, people don't always die
in the order of their ages."

But the sardine is a man who thinks that if
he has convictions it is his duty to stand by
them, so he shakes his head.

'^^ Don't believe in it," he says. "Not the
kind of love that should be between husband
and wife — can't be real chums and companions,
and that sort of thing ; they are on such
difierent platforms, you know."

I can hardly believe that he has been
thinking this out for himself.

" But surely " I begin, and stop with a

gasp, for. suddenly there comes the pain that
has so often worried me lately ; it takes away
my breath and makes me feel cold and sick for

26. MB 8. KEITH'S CRIME.

a minute or two, and then leaves a dull sense
of misery and weakness behind it. *^Biit

surely companionship " and I am forced

to stop again. If it gets worse I must speak
to a doctor ; but I am always ashamed to com-
plain of my own aches and pains, and my heart
is so full of memories and the children and of
work, that I forget them unless they are
actually on me. I sometimes think that people
who have a great deal to do, and who have
known much sorrow, are just a little beyond
physical pain — a little farther away from it
than others, as they are from little sorrows.
Given the strong motive, tell me that at the
other end I should meet my dear ones once
again, and I could walk through hell's flames
without flinching ; nay, should almost find the
burning sweet, as, let us hope, the martyrs did
of old, because of the great happiness awaiting
them at the end.

" I say 1 " the sardine exclaims. " You
don't look well ; lips as white as chalk. What's
the matter I "

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 27

" Nothing/' I answer. " Go on ; the wed-
ding " and I feel the pain in an odd

muffled way, as if it were wrapped in some-
thing, or had gone a little way off ; and then I
am conscious of looking at a little table oppo-
site. " Go on ; the wedding " I hear

myself saying as I might hear another person
speak, and all things come forward and slip
past me or under my feet, and something tight
is round my heart — Molly. . . .

When I come to, Mr. Cohen is sitting by
the sofa on which I am lying, a white pillow
is under my head, a smelling-bottle on the
little table.

" What is the matter ? '' I ask.

"Had a faint, that's all," he answers. "Do
you often do that ?''

" Why, no," I answer, in surprise. " I never
had one before that I remember."

"Well, you had better take care of yourself
as well as of the young 'un, or you'll chump
up.

" That would be a bore," I say, getting up

28 MES. KEITH'S CRIME.

from the sofa and trying to answer him in his
own key, for I remember everything now.

" Awful bore/' he says thoughtfully. "Who'd
look after the young 'uns ? "

And then suddenly I disgrace myself, for,
without any seeming rhyme or reason, I feel a
choking in my throat, and the hot tears in
my eyes, and before I know anything more I
am crying, there straight before him. I get
back my self-control in a minute or two, and
manage to laugh in what I hope is a merry,
careless fashion. The poor sardine is evidently
sorely puzzled what to do.

" I am very stupid," I say ; " but indeed I
can't help it."

" Oh no, you are not stupid," he says, in a
kind, consoling voice, as if he did not exactly
think that of me. *^ But don't cry ; it's no good
crying, you know."

" Oh no, it's no good crying," I echo^

" Of course you are not really going to
chump up."

''It would be a good thing and real

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME, 29

economy," I say, " if every family did its dying
all at once. If we three, all at the same
moment, could creep into a cosy grave, I should
be thankful and glad. Oh, I should be so glad
that I believe I could get up and waltz with
the tombstone."

"That would be a lark," he answers, evi-
dently thinking of something else. Then he
looks at his watch, and I wonder how long he
has been here.

" I am afraid my fainting has prevented you
from keeping some engagement," I say,

" Lots of time," he answers. " I have to dine
out at eight. It's not six yet; must get to
the club for half an hour, though. St. John's
Wood is rather out of the beaten track, you see."

I wait a minute or two, hoping that he will
get up to go, but he makes no sign. Then
I wonder if he would like some tea. It would
prolong his visit, but this tiresome time must
have fatigued him.

" We might have some tea," I say, perhaps
not too cordially and longing to be alone.

30 MUS. KEITH'S CniME.

" That's an idea/' he answers, with an air of
relief; "Tllring."

So the tea-things are brought in, and I
make an effort to be cheerful and not to think
of Molly, and to take no notice of the achiug
that is still going on in a dull, methodical way.
While I make tea the sardine walks about the
room, and looks at the paintings and the odds
and ends of china.

" That picture of Grove's isn't up to much,"
he says.

" I like it," I answer.

"That's a good thing," he says cheerfully,
as if he had feared I did not. " There's a little
bit here, now, that rather takes my fancy;"
and he looks at a tiny picture — a girl making
lace, which an old schoolfellow gave me as a
wedding gift. '^ Pretty little thing," he says,
as he puts it back into its place. *^ Don't
suppose it's worth anything, but the idea's
pretty. I rather like it."

"Edith Clark gave it to me as a wedding
present," I say. " It is pretty ; Mr. Layton

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME. 31

once took a great fancy to it, and offered me
twenty pounds.for it."

" Why ever didn't you take it ? " he asks,
astonished. " It isn't worth that ; it isn't worth
five, I should say." The sardine has an idea
that he knows a good deal about pictures.

" I know ; but I ' am very fond of the girl
who gave it to me. She is in India now."

" Yes, but twenty pounds. You might have
given her half, and got her to paint another
when she came back."

"She might never come back," I remark, as
I put the water into the pot.

'^ Then she wouldn't know you had sold it.
You'll want a lot of money to go abroad with,"
he tells me again, as he drinks his tea.

" Yes, I suppose so."

" Made up your mind where to go ? "

" Not yet, but south, of course," I answer.
" We are to go to Dr. Finch again, and he will
tell us."

" You know, a winter abroad costs an awful
lot," he says, in the tone of a man who knows

32 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME,

all about it ; **aiid one must do things comfort-
ably, especially with an invalid. It runs into
a lot of money."

" Of course it does/' I say cheerfully, as if
I do not mind in the least.

He gets up and walks uneasily about the
room again, and suddenly sits down on a chair
rather nearer to me than before, and begins
in an awkward manner to hug his knee. Then
he gets up and walks about again, and I notice
that his face is a little flushed this last minute
or two.

" Look here," he begins, clearing his throat,
" you mustn't mind what I am going to say,
Mrs. Keith. The fact is, I am awfully sorry
for you about the young 'un. It does seem
hard lines when you have just got things
straight a bit. It struck me that this might
have come rather suddenly, and I know
going away wiU cost a lot; it always does.
I'm an old traveller and know all about it,
you see."

" Yes ? "

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 33

"Well, you are not rich, and I am, though
it doesn't do to own it always," he adds
cautiously ; " but I am, and I have no one
loafing about and hanging on to me, and I
wish you would let me be of some service to
you "

"Oh no, no," I begin. There is that in
his tone and manner which makes it impos-
sible to take offence, or to be anything but
very grateful to him. I look up thankfully
enough at the sardine, and feel what a good
fellow he is, but I am not going to take his
money.

"Why not?" he pleads. "My sisters are
rich, but I am only saying to you what I
should say to them if they were not. I am so
sorry for you; it is very hard lines that this
should come. It would do me lots of good, and
make me awfully grateful if you'd — ^if you'd let
me pay say four or five hundred pounds into
your bankers^ and you'd slide through the
winter all right then/'

Four or five hundred pounds I

VOL. I. 3

34 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

" But, Mr. Cohen, I couldn't '' I begin

gratefully enough ; but he interrupts me, and
hurries on.

^*I don't mean as a loan; that would only
hamper you — ^unless, of course, you would
rather have it that way. I mean just as you
accept it from your brother, or your sister, or
a relation of any sort ; " and he tries to laugh.
** I never do any good, but if I helped to get
your little chick right, I should feel set up in
virtue for a long time to come."

*^ Oh, but I can't I " I cry, feeling that this
money must be refused, though where else it
will come from I cannot tell. ^*I am very
grateful and will never forget your kindness,
but I cannot accept it.'*

" Why not ? " he asks, with a calm air of
wonder, and there is an expression on his face
that shows how hurt he is, and how vexed.

^^ I don't know," I falter, for it is all so
sudden, and I have no reasons ready to hand.
" I can't tell you. I never took money from
any one except' uncle Clement. It seems like

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 35

a confession of failure to take it Of course
it will be very diflScult to manage this going ;
I don't know yet how it will be managed ; but

please don't " And my tears begin to

come again, and will not be stopped*

He waits for a minute or two, then gets up.
*^ Well, look here," he says, " if you will, there
it is. Think it over. If you like to pay me
back, or to work it off in commissions when
you come home, you can. Don't let the young
'un chump up for want of anything that's to
be had for the asking."

'* Oh no ; I would beg filrst."

" You had better come to me before begging.
After aU, it is nothing to make a fuss about
I shouldn't miss it, you know ; why, I should
forget all about it in a fortnight." And he
wrings my hand, and in another five minutes
has gone.

The sardine's visit leaves me face to face
with the money question. I stare blankly
round the room, and a little shudder seems to
overtake me as I wonder what I shall do. I

36 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

have refused help from the only person who is
likely to give it. I have nothing in hand or
to come beyond the few pounds in the house
and the fifty pounds which will be due at
Christmas, and out of that there are payments
to make. There are a few pictures which might
be sold to dealers; but they are not worth
much, and they were gifts, and I should be
sorry to part from them. We have no trinkets ;
nothing of any kind worth selling. We have
no relations save a few cousins, and of these
I know only one, and know her but slightly.
There is no time to work before the date at
which Dr. Finch says we should start, and
yet we must go ; it is not a case of **if " and
"perhaps," but one of "must." This house
may let, but it is very tiny, and would only
sufiice for one or two people; and though it
is pretty, very pretty and artistic, yet many
things which we are able to do without would
have to be bought for a tenant, and at best it
would not let for much. Oh, Molly, I wonder
how it will aU end. I go and look at the

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME. 37

picture, and wonder vaguely, as I have
wondered half insanely many times before, if
the people who sleep in the little churchyard
sorrowed much, and if the people who are
coming to the garden, the people who will
gather the flowers and laugh beneath the blue
sky, will be happy long. Happiness always
seems to me to be like a traveller passing by,
staying, perhaps, a little while here and a
little while there, but having no abiding-place.

Molly But I am very tired. Perhaps

things will be clearer in the morning. I will
creep upstairs and have a long sleep, with my
little one in my arms.

38 JOBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

CHAPTER III.

The morning light has brought me to my
senses. Last night I thought we had no
money beyond what I have stated ; this morn^
ing, with the sunshine coming into my room^
and Molly asleep beside me, like a flash of
lightning the remembrance of the hundred a
year imcle dement left us came to me. It is
in the hands of trustees, but of course they
will advance suflicient to take Molly abroad
when they are told that it is a matter of life
and death; it is only what uncle Clement
would have wished. We shall be able to
repay what we borrow; and as I am making
more every year, the debt will not make much
difference in our income. We shall not want
a very large sum. Four or five hundred

MRS. KEITH'S CBIME. 39

pounds would be absurd ; but perhaps we had
better have two hundred, as there will be four
of us, including nurse. We can bring back
what we do not spend. Then, if this house
does not let, we shall be safe ; but the house
must be let somehow. I turn and look at
Molly. Her face is very thin, but in the
sunshine I feel so strong myself it seems as if
my strength is enough to save her, and in the
south she will be able to run about all day, or
to lie still in the sweet soft air and watch
Jack. She is certain to get well ; she must,
she shall. Perhaps Dr. Finch took an over-
gloomy view of things. He is a rather gloomy
man.

This very morning I will go to the trustees,
and then that matter will be settled. After
wondering whether it would be better to go to
Mr. Beccles or to Colonel Anson, I decide upon
the former. So I get ready quickly, and half
an hour after breakfast sally forth. It is a
long way from St. John's Wood to Chancery
Lane, but I walk more than half the distance

40 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

considering what to say. My heart sinks a
little as at last I mount the stairs leading to
the lawyer's office, my voice trembles when
I ask for Mr. Beccles.

" He is out of town till to-morrow night,"
the clerk tells me. " He will be here again on
Thursday," and to-day is Tuesday.

" I will come again on Thursday morning,"
I say, and turn wearily homewards.

It is twelve o'clock when I get back, perhaps
later. The house is all in a commotion. Two
hours ago nurse was sent for by her married
daughter at Kingsland. She is very ill.
They are afraid that it is scarlet fever, and
nurse went off in a great state of mind. Poor
nurse ! it will worry her sadly, for this is her
only daughter, and all her sons are away in
Germany. Nurse is a good, kind, rather stupid
old soul ; but I have kept her because she is
so fond of us all. She has spoilt the children,
and she is not a good nurse or very careful in
some ways, but that has not mattered, for I
look after the children so much myself, and

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 4l

she is so very kind to them that it has been
easy to forgive her shortcomings.

But if her daughter really has scarlet fever,
of course nurse will not be able to go with us,
and so a new difl&culty may arise. I cannot
go alone with two children, for one may
possibly want all my time, and it will be
vexing to take a stranger. But, after all, this
is a minor trouble, and will arrange itself, no
doubt There is the money to get, and packing
to do, and getting ready in all ways to flit
for six months. It is no good to sit and dream.

In the afternoon I go upstairs, and begin
turning out. Poor old nm:se, who no doubt is
anxious enough, will probably want some
of her clothes. I will pack them, and send
them to her if she is not back by seven to-
night ; for if it is safe to come, she will
certainly be here in time to put the children
to bed. Suddenly it strikes me that there are
some things in the cupboard that might be
useful to her, for the daughter is very poor.
In the medicine cupboard, too, there is some

42 MRS. KEITH'S CBIME.

eau-de-cologne. I get out the eau-de-cologne
and look in at my little store of odds and
ends. Some of these simple drugs must go to
the south with us, and this bottle of chloroform
for my neuralgia. Sometimes, when the pain
is very worrying, I use a little of it until,
dazed and stupid, I drop off to sleep ; but I
have had to be careful lately, for I fancied it
affected my heart. I must get some more
things to take abroad, for foreign drugs are
seldom good. So many things there are to
buy, and Molly shall have a little travelling-
cloak, and a hood for her golden head; and
Jack, too, must be made smart. They are
pretty children; people are sure to admire
them. I have found all the things nurse may
want, and will pack them. Then my eye
catches the bottle of chloroform again. It
must on no account be left behind. There is
always a difficulty in buying it, and something,
I do not know what, makes me treasure up this
bottle, in its olive wood case, very carefully.
That dear little rascal Jack is singing at the

MBS. KEITH'S CHIME. 43

top of his voice ; but what is Molly doing ? I
go into the nursery, and find him on the
rocking-horse, his head thrown back, his face
aglow with excitement, shouting with all his
might —

*' A ship, a ship arsailing, a-sailing on the sea,
And it is deeply laden with pretty things for me."

Molly is sitting in the armchair, watching her
brother with the deepest admiration. She is
always content to watch Jack, and to listen
while he sings, but she never offers to join in
any game. She is too glad to rest is little Molly.

" Don't make so much noise, my sonnie,"
I say ; "you will give Molly a headache."

" Oh no, mother," Molly says, with a long
drawn-out sigh of satisfaction. " I do so like
to hear him. Go on. Jack ; " and seeing that
they are happy together, I leave them, while
my bonnie boy's voice rings out joyfully —

" The foiir-and-twenty sailors who walk about the

decks
Are four-and -twenty white mice with chains about

their necks."

44 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

And while I am busy in my own room, the
door opens, and there is nurse.

** Nurse 1 " I exclaim. " I am so glad to see
you. Is your daughter well, then ? "

The poor soul's eyes fill with tears. "No,
ma'am ; she is very bad," she answers.

Then a terror seizes me ; for do we not all
think of our own ?

" Nurse," I say, " is it safe to come here ?
Are you siu:e she has not scarlet fever ? "

" Yes, ma'am ; it is quite safe," she says, in
surprise. "I have not been in the room
where she is for two hours. But I don't know
what to do, ma'am ; for they think she has
got the fever, and I do want to be with her,
ma'am, and I don't know what you'll do with-
out your old nurse."

" Oh, nurse, go ! " I cry, " and don't come
here again until I give you leave. If you
gave the children scarlet fever, you would
never forgive yourself."

" I am sm:e, ma'am, I can't," she urges, in
her broken English. "My daughter is only

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME, 45

just beginning, and perhaps it isn't scarlet
fever, after all."

"Nurse, pray go away," I cry in despair,
" I know you love the children."

" Yes, ma'am ; that's why I am come, and for
my things. I kno\^ you would not like me to
stay away from my daughter when she is
ill "

"I am packing your clothes. Go outside
and get into a cab ; but no, you mustn't do
that, or you will give it to some one else,
perhaps. Go outside and wait, dear nurse. I
will send your clothes out to you or bring
them. I am so sorry for you, but you must
not enter the house again until I give you
leave, and "

Suddenly hearing her voice, Jack runs out,
and throws his arms round her neck.

"Nursee!" he exclaims. "Hulloa, old

nursee."

Go away ! " I cry, trying to drag the child
from her.

But he clings to her, and manages to

46 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME,

climb on to her back, and, with a shout of
laughter, puts his arms tighter round her neck
and his Uttle bare legs round her waist, and
suddenly that awful pain comes, and my
strength fails, but only for a moment With
a great effort I force the pain back, and nurse
and the child apart,

" Go away, mine dear," she says ; " Til be
back soon again. I am sure, ma'am, it is
safe. Won't you let me see Miss Molly
again ? " The woman must be mad, I think.
She is a sturdy, kind-hearted German woman,
who has never been ill and seldom out of
temper m her life, and infection is a thing she
looks upon as a popular delusion. " I wouldn't
do her any harm for the world," she pleads ;
'* you know I wouldn't, ma'am."

**Yes, I know you wouldn't," I say; "but
for goodness sake, dear nurse, go away."

At last she leaves the house ; and when her
things are sent out to her, I rush upstairs
and put Jack into a bath, and resolve that
nurse shall never come back again. She is

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 47

good and kind-hearted, and would give her
life for the children; but she is careless, and
has lived her life free of aches and pains, and
is a little sceptical of danger for others.

When Jack is rubbed and scrubbed and in
fresh clothes, I laugh at my own fears and
violence, for he must be safe now, and I go
downstairs exhausted, and lie still upon the
3ofa for a little while. And then a bruise,
which is oddly painful, and was done by a pole
when we were getting the studio ready for my
*' at home," sets me suddenly thinking of some
absurd troubles of my childhood. There was
a little boy who used to come and stay next
•door to my father's house when I was a child,
and he and I were playfellows. "VVe were fond
of each other, but we had terrible quarrels, and
my arms were black and blue with the pinches
he gave me, for my skin easily discolours.
Then, when he found that the marks of his
cruelty showed, he took to pinching my legs,
:so that I bitterly regretted having arrived at
the age of stockings. Never did anyone or

48 MBS. KEITH'S CHIME.

anything pinch as he did, and yet we liked
each other ; and when at last he went awaj, I
got up at six in the morning to say good-bye
to him, and clambered up on the fence so that
he might lean over and give me a parting kiss.
I have never seen Ealph Bicknell since that
chilly grey morning, but I have never forgotten
his pinches.

No ; it will never do to have nurse back,
but some one else must be found at once to take
her place. I will write to Mrs. Marshall, and
ask if she knows of any one likely to do.
On " Show Sunday '' I heard her talking to
a friend about some girl in whom she was
interested. It vexed me at the time, for she
seemed to care more for the girl than for the
pictures, hardly looked at the latter, and for-
got to say anything about them. That is a
long while ago, but still she may know of some
one. We must have a new nurse at once, for
Jack is brimful of mischief and must be looked
after, and there are so many things to do.
So the note is written and sent off at once.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 41)

CHAPTER IV.

We have just finished breakfast. Mrs. Mar-
shall only had my note last night, but she has
come already, and is waiting in the drawing-
room to see me. Probably she knows of some
one likely to do as a nurse.

" I have had your note, and thought I
had better come and see what could be
done."

She says it grimly, as if she had resented
my writing to her, but thought it her duty to
help me. Her eyes look very round, her nose
is very pointed, and she has brushed her grey
hair back so tightly that her face looks harder
than ever ; her manner is cold, as it always
is. I feel half afraid of her as she sits staring
me in the face.

VOL. I. 4

50 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

*^ It was a great shame to trouble you "

"Not at. all. Only, unluckily, I do not
know of any one just now, but I will inquire."
There is a silence for a minute, and then she
goes on. " I came to see if you would trust
the cliildren to me in the daytime, as the
nurse is gone. You must have a great deal
to do."

" To you ? " I say, half bewildered.

" I am very fond of children." She says it
so harshly, and looks at me with her eyes so
wide open that I am as much frightened as
astonished, and forget to answer at alL '^ It
is a great trouble to me that I have none of
my own," she adds hurriedly ; and the tears
come suddenly into her eyes and trickle down
her cheeks, but she does not seem to be con-
scious of her own distress. Hardly knowing
what to do, I go a step nearer. As if she did
not know it, she puts out her hand to push me
back. She is a woman whom caresses rather
annoy. I wonder what to say, and am afraid
of saying anything.

MUS. KEITH'S CHIME, 51

*^ It is very kind — " I begin.

" Perhaps they would not like to come to
me," she says sharply ; and I fear that this is
the truth.

It would be a great comfort to have a free
time in which to pack and get ready, but
Molly will certainly never consent to go, even
for a few hours. Perhaps Jack would, and
Molly is always content to lie on a sofa, or to
be propped up in the corner of one, and look
at a picture-book.

" The children are shy," I say hesitatingly.

" You would not be afraid to trust them to
me ? " she asks suspiciously.

" Oh no, no, indeed," I answer quickly, and
this is time enough. Somehow I feel, too, that
if she were alone with the children she would
not be ashamed of being a little tender with
them. Perhaps she is only hard and cold to
grown-up folk, or chooses to pretend to be so.
If we could look into people's hearts there
would be a vast number of surprises for us.

"Perhaps you do not like to be without

52 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

them?" she remarks, in a polite and frigid
manner. '* But it might be more comfortable
for them if they came to me while you are
busy, and I would try to find them some
amusement."

" Oh no, no," I answer quickly, feeling as
if I had been reproved. All the time I am
quite aware that I hate the thought of Molly
being away all day.

"I will bring them back by four in the
afternoon, and I could fetch them every
morning."

" It is very kind of you," I begin once more,
but she looks so hard I have not the courage
to go on, or to say that I fear she will frighten
them out of their wits. I remember Jack
asking me once why she had such round eyes.

" Suppose we see what the children say to
the idea ?" she suggests ; and they are sent for.

Molly runs up to me instantly. Jack
hesitates for a moment, and then, in a busi-
ness-like way, follows his sister to my side.

" Would you like to go home with me ? "

MRS. KEITH'S. CRIME. 53

Mrs. Marshall asks. *^ I would take you back
in the carriage, and on the way we would stop
and buy some toys."

Jack is interested, but does not move.
Molly shrinks from the idea, and creeps up
closer and holds me tight.

" There is a snow-white kitten at my house ;
don't you think you would like to come and
play with it ? " she adds.

" "Wouldn't you, Molly darling ? " I whisper ;
but she only shudders and clings closer.

" Oh no," she says, shaking her head ; " can't
leave mummy."

'* But Mrs. Marshall will bring you back
this afternoon, my pet," I say, meanly thankful
in my heart that she will not go, for it is
evident that nothing will tempt her away
from me.

" Want to stay with you," she whispers, and
there is no moving her.

Jack, however, is evidently wavering ; Mrs.
Marshall's gravity impresses him, he feels
that what she says may be depended on. He

54 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

rubs his round, rosy cheek against mine, and
says condescendingly —

*' I don't mind going for a little while, but
1 shall want to come back to mother soon."

It is a great relief. It had seemed so un-
gracious to refuse her kindness altogether.
Mrs. Marshall tries to follow up her advantage.

*^ And won't you come too, if Jack does ? "
she asks Molly. But Molly only shakes her
head again, and stands by me stoutly. " Per-
haps Jack would like to go to the Zoo, then,
if Molly won't come. It would have fatigued
her too much."

'^ I should like to go to the Zoo," Jack says,
the delights of dissipation opening out before
him.

"Perhaps he will stay a few days and be
content," Mrs. Marshall suggests, when Jack
has gone to be made ready. " There is a little
room he can sleep in next to mine. 1 will
telegraph if he is quite happy at the thought
of staying. In two or three days you may
have found a niu'se."

MRS. KEITirS CHIME. 55

So Jack goes oflf with Mrs. Marshall. He
looks so pretty as he starts* He wears his little
velvet suit, and, fearing lest he should feel
chilly in an open carriage, Mrs. Marshall ties
a blue silk handkerchief round his throat. " I
brought it for Molly, thinking it would suit
her," she says, in an apologetic voice. It suits
Jack too, and my heart swells with pride as
I look at him. He throws his arms round my
neck, and then round Molly's, who has been
watching him with admiration, not unmixed
with awe, and then he runs gaily down the
steps. He turns and shouts to me —

"Mummy dear, let Molly have my best
paint-box, if she likes. She won^t hurt it.
Give her a good big painting rag, and tell her
to wash the brushes well.'*

Unselfish little Jack, with the dash of
practical common sense in him ! Mrs. Marshall
ffets into the carriaore after him, and weaves
her hand to me. There is a smile upon her
face ; she looks almost happy.

" Ah, poor dear," I think, as I watch them

56 MnS. KEITH'S CRIME.

out of sight ; '* there was a mother's love in
your heart, and never a little one came to
fetch it."

Then I go into the house and shut the door.
It is very quiet without Jack. I realize that
instantly, though Jack is not always in the
house, nor always making a noise. How odd
and still the place seems; Molly and I look
at each other, and I know that we both feel
lonely.

*^ Come and kiss me, mother,'' she says, and
she clings to me, whispering, "You'll let me
be with you all day, won't you ? "

I take her in my arms and sit down with
her, trying to clear my head of cobwebs, and
to think over an idea that came to me this
morning. When I said that we had no relations
I meant that we had no near or intimate ones.
We have some cousins, but, with one exception,
I do not even know their addresses, and have
never beheld them. The exception lives in
London ; she is married and well off. We used
to know each other a little years ago ; she some-

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 57

times went to see my father, but after he died
we ceased to meet. She seemed to resent my
marriage, because it was not a good one from
a worldly point of view. The idea that has
presented itself is that, after all, I will tell Alice
Grey (what a pretty name it is) of the trouble
that has come upon me. She is my cousin ;
why should I feel so certain of her want of
sympathy ?

" Molly, would you like to go out with
mother ? '' I ask. She brightens at the words ;
and so an hour later we are looking our best,
as folk who go to see their grand relations
should ; and drive in a hansom tx) Harley Street.
Mrs, Grey is at home ; we are shown into the
drawing-room, and sit wp^iting for her, trying to
forget that we are uncertain of our welcome.
Oh dear, I think, as I look round at all the
handsome things in the room, if these things
were only ours, or even half of them were ours,
I would sell them, and therie would be no more
dijBficulty about the money, and we would start
on our journey south to-morrow.

58 MBS. KEITH* S CRIME.

" How do you do, Margaret ? " Mrs. Grey-
says, and shakes hands, and very formally
kisses me. " How do you do, dear ? " to Molly,
and she pats her cheek and sits down. We
talk a little formal talk, and a quarter of an
hour passes, and Mrs. Grey looks a little bored.
I ask to sec her children, and two pretty,
well-behaved mites ^re brought in. As they
leave the room, I ask if Molly may go back to
the nursery for ten minutes. It is odd that she
has not noticed that Molly looks ill. *' Oh yes,''
she says, " Molly shall go to the nursery for ten
minutes; and then I must send you away,''
she adds, "for I have some people coming to
luncheon."

" Oh yes, we must go," I answer. " I have
a great deal to do. I came to tell you," I say,
when Molly has gone, "that Dr. Finch says
Molly must winter abroad. She is very delicate
— very ; she is threatened with — with what
killed dear mother." It is said calmly, thank
goodness.

" How very trying," she says.

MI^S. KEITH'S CBIME. 5&

'* Yes, it is very tryiDg," I say drearDy.

" I am sure it is/' she answers.

" If Arthur had been alive " I begin

vaguely, not knowing how to go on.

"It was a pity that your marriage turned
out so badly," she says, in a sympathetic
voice.

" It did not turn out badly,'' I say, lifting up
my head. "If Arthur had lived he would
have been a great artist ; there was the making
of one in him."

"And of course you would have been
very badly off if you had remained single,
for poor Uncle Robert's pension died with
him.''

" I had other offers besides dear Arthur's," I
say, rather indignantly, and not from any wish
to boast, but because it seems rather insulting
to Arthur to suppose that he married a girl no*
one else could have cared about, and to me to-
suppose that I married him for any reason
except the right one. " I married him because
we loved each other, and money isn't every-

60 3fRS, KEITH'S CRIME.

thing." I am getting incoherent, but it docs
not matter.

" What I mean is, that I always think it is
a pity to marry a man who has nothing to
settle on you," she explains, as if she were in
the habit of marrying at least once a year her-
self, and knew all about it. " Then, too," she
continues, " I think it is a pity to marry a
man who has no relations. If anjrthing happens
they are bound to look after you, to a certain
extent."

'*Not more than one's own relations,
surely ? " I say, rather astonished at the busi-
ness-like eyes with which she looks at marriage
all round.

'^ Oh yes, dear," she answers sweetly and
softly. '^ When a woman marries, she belongs
to her husband and to his people a great deal
more than to any one else. I always feel that ;
indeed, I feel it so strongly that I consider
myself bound to do a great deal more for my
husband's family than for any member of my
own. But tell me, w^here are you going ? " she

MES. KEITH'S CBIME. 61

says suddenly, thinking, perhaps, that she has
given me a hint that may prevent possible
trouble for the future.

^* I don't know," I answer ; *' it is not settled. '*

" Of course, most people go to the Riviera ;
but it is fashionable and expensive."

"And we should be out of place among
fashionable people."

" Yes, dear," she says compassionately, as if
we were beggars, and went about in rags and
tags, with packs on our backs. For some un-
known reason, Alice Grey is making me angry,

"Malaga is a good place, I am told," she
says, much more pleasantly, as if to make
amends. "The Vincents are going to winter
there this year. Some friends of theirs rave
about it, and say it is the best climate in
Europe. That might do for you, Margaret ;
Spain would be an interesting country to see."

" It is a long w\ay off."

"And for that reason it may be cheap."

There is something in that, and I should like
to see Spain.

€2 MRS. KEITH'S CniME.

" I wonder if many English go there ? "
'* It is a health -place, so probably they do."
'^ I want to paint some portraits, if possible,
while we are away; it would help with ex-
penses. I fear I should not get inuch to do at
Malaga."

" It is impossible to say, of course ; " and her
voice is a shade more distant. I understand
why : she is determined to have nothing to do
with our arrangements. Perhaps she is afraid
of my trying to borrow, so I promptly relieve
Jier mind.

'* It is a great comfort that uncle Clement
left us some money, or wintering abroad would
have been impossible."

" Of course it would," she answers cordially.
She is evidently a good deal relieved. "Per-
haps," she adds graciously, " if you do go to
Malaga, you might like to know the Vincents.
They are very pleasant people. And, by the
way, I think you used to know Ealph Bicknell
very weU. You and he were children together,
were you not % "

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 63

" Oh yes, we knew each other very well," I
answer, and straightway think of his pinches.
'' AVhat about him ? "

" He is always supposed to be sweet on May
Vincent, if he is ever sweet on any one except
himself ; but, as it has been going on for a long
time, and nothing has come of it yet, it is
probably all nonsense."

" What is he like ? " I ask.

"Oh, he is rather good-looking, and —
and "

" Conceited ? " I suggest, thinking of her
previous remark.

" No, not exactly ; but he rather gives him-
self airs, as if he thought himself an important
person, and he is very fond of snubbing people."

The description makes me laugh. It is just
what Ealph used to be, and yet there was a
fascination about him. I wonder if it exists

stm.

'^I should like to see him again," I say
curiously. " It is so odd to hear of him after
all these years."

64 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

" Well, probably you will see him if you go
to Malaga, for I heard that he was going there
with the Vincents. I suppose they like him.
I think he is a very disagreeable person my-
self, and I believe he dislikes me. Luckily,
tastes diflfer. But I am afraid I must send you
away, Margaret," she says, in an apologetic
tone, and looking at her watch. " If you do
go to Malaga, and come across the Vincents,
remember me to them. Good-bye, dear."
She kisses Molly, who has been sent for, and
kisses me, and forgets to say that she hopes
it will do Molly good to winter south — forgets
everything, except that she is very anxious to
get rid of us.

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME. 65

CHAPTER V.

Everything looks so bright and hopeful this
morning that even the remembrance of our
visit to Alice Grey only amuses me. Last
evening Molly sat on my lap till long
after her bed-time, listening while I sang
to her and thought the while of my own
mother, who sang to me long years ago,
and now is sleeping far away in the country
churchyard. Molly, my little child, I wonder
if you in your turn will some day sit and sing
to your little ones when I too am taking my
rest ? There is nothing on this green earth
left that could make me so happy as to know
that. While I was still singing, a note came
from Mrs. Marshall, following up the telegram
she had sent earlier, saying that Jack was so

YOL. I. 5

GG MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

happy that she had kept him. He had been
to the Zoo, and to-morrow was going to Kich-
mond with her ; the drive would do him good,
and he would enjoy the run over the green in
the park. Of course he will, dear little Jack ;
and how rosy he will look, running about under
the trees. It is very kind of Mrs. Marshall
to keep him, especially as no new nurse has
appeared. Nurse's daughter has scarlet fever,
and has it very badly, poor girl. The land-
lady of the house had had it and concealed it.
What a wicked thing to do, and what a narrow
escape Jack has had.

This morning I am going to take Molly
again to Dr. Finch, and afterwards mean to go
to Chancery Lane, to get over my interview
with Mr. Beccles. I am very cheerful about
both visits. Molly looks so much better, per-
haps Dr. Finch will say there is no necessity
to go abroad, after all.

This hope is soon dashed to the ground.
The great doctor examines her very carefully,
and sits watching me while I put on her

MRS. KEITH'S CHIMK 67

wraps afterwards. He waits till she has gone
home with the housemaid before he speaks.

"Do you think you really can manage to
take her away for the winter, Mrs. Keith ? "
He puts the question in this considerate form,
for he knows my position and circumstances.

" Yes, I can manage it, if it is necessary,"
I answer resolutely, determined that nothing
«hall stand in the way, if going is likely to
make her well.

"It is necessary. It may save her; but
remember, I don't say that it will," he says
gently.

" Is she so very ill ? " I ask. My heart
seems to be getting stone cold, but my voice
is firm.

" She is in a very critical condition. It is
possible that change of climate may save her.
I have more faith in that than in anything
else."

" Where shall we go ? "

"Have you any friends in the south of
France whom you could be near ? "

68 MBS. KEIIWS CRIME.

*' No, none/' I answer. " I have heard of
some people, friends of a cousin's, going to
Malaga. Would that do ? "

" Excellent. It is one of the best climates
in Europe, and there is a good English doctor
there. Let me see, what is he called ? Murray
— Dr. Murray. I should not have sent you so
far, but you could not go to a better place."

" Then we will go there ; " and I get up.

" Take heart," he says kindly, " and try to
make up your mind that 8he will get well, for
that is something towards it."

I look up at him and try to speak, but my
lips seem to have lost their power. We shake
hands, and frozen and dazed and strange, I
start for Chancery Lane. How odd it is. I
am like another person again, carrying my old
self about like a puppet. It is very interesting
to look on at all that she does, and so very
strange.

It is twelve o'clock w^hen I get to the
lawyer's office. He is engaged, but will see

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 69

me if I will wait for lialf an hour. So I wait,
while my courage ebbs away behind the ad-
vertisement sheet of the Times, and the clerks
scratch away at their desks. Perhaps it is
the squeaking of their quills that aflfects my
nerves, or the naked ugliness of the room, or
the row of tin boxes on the shelves opposite,
with the owners' names painted on them in
hard white letters ; I don't know, but when I
enter the room consecrated to Mr. Beccles and
private interviews, I can scarcely drag one foot
after the other.

" How do you do, Mrs. Keith ; how do you
do ? Sit down ; " and he looks at me in-
quiringly.

" How do you do ? " and I sit down. " I
came to see you the other day, but you were
away." There is nd object in telling him this,
except to gain time.

" I am so sorry ; it was a long way to come.
I trust it was not anything very important,
my dear lady ? "

He is always gentle and sympathetic, but

70 MBS. KEITH'S CFJME.

under the gentle, sympathetic manner one feels
that he is cold and hard. It is like a stone
wall covered by a coating of soft green moss.

" It was not pressing for the moment, but I
am much relieved to see you to-day." There
is a lump coming in my throat ; suppose, after
all, he refuses to let us have the money ? but
he cannot ; it is ours. " I have come to see
you on business," I begin rather tamely, and he
bows. " My little girl is ill — she is very ill.
She is threatened by the same disease that
kiUed my mother " — the tears are coming into

my eyes, but I force them back — ^*and "

I can't go on.

" She'll outgrow it, my dear lady, depend
upon ifc," he answers feelingly. " So young a
child."

*^ I hope so," I say hopelessly ; " but the
doctor — Dr. Finch, you know ; I have been to
him — says that she must go to a warm climate
for the winter ; that it is her only chance, in
fact." I stop for a moment, but he is silent.
*^And so I want to raise the money to go."

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 71

He bows, but does not look encouraging.
'* And as you are one of my trustees, I have
come to ask you " — oh, how the words stick in
my throat, — *^ to — to let us have two hundred
pounds of the money uncle Clement left us, or
we shall not be able to manage it. I suppose
you will not mind ? "

" I don't quite understand," he says, and I
explain. " But the trustees have no power to
advance it ; it is tied up," he says. " It is
quite put of our power. "

" Out of your power ? "

'^ Quite out of our power. The money is
settled upon you for life, only the interest is
yours. At your death the capital will be your
son's. You can't touch your son's property ;
it would not be legal."

"But you know that, under the circum-
stances, uncle Clement would have wished it ;
and when my son is a man he will hate to
think that this money could not be used even
to save his sister's life."

" Ah yes, my dear lady ; but we have to

72 MRS, KEITH'S CRIME.

abide by the law, which often runs counter to
matters of feeling."

**Then that is hopeless/' I say despairingly.
"I see what you mean, but it never struck me
before."

'^ So few ladies know anything about legal
matters," he says benevolently.

I sit still for a moment, turning over in my
mind every possible way of getting the money.
It is no use selling the things at home ; they
certainly would not realize fifty pounds.
Suddenly an idea strikes me.

"Would not some one advance us two years'
income ? If I could borrow the two hundred
pounds, paying back a hundred this year and
a hundred next year, and the interest the third
year" — somehow the arrangement with the
interest in the tail sounds a little lame, biit it
would surely be a very safe arrangement, and
Mr. Beccles himself, as trustee, would be able
to ensure repayment — '*we could borrow it
on those terms, perhaps ? ''

"I think not," he says sadly, shaking his

MnS. KEITH'S CRIME. 73

head. " You must forgive my saying it," he
goes on, " but I do not believe in going abroad.
It is a new-fangled idea, this chasing people
out of their own country. If your child is
well enough to recover, take care of her, and
she will do so at home. If she is unhappily
too far gone to get well here, she will not do
so in a foreign land."

There is some common sense in what he says ;
but for all that, he is no more an authority on
medical matters than Dr. Finch is on legal
ones. I have had the best advice for Molly,
and am bound to follow it, and I struggle hard
to answer back in a practical tone, and from
the common-sense point of view also.

^^ But whatever even I may think about the
matter myself, Mr. Beccles, a great doctor has
said that taking her abroad may save her, and
I am bound to try it."

He gives his shoulders a Uttle shrug, and
says nothing.

''And you think no one — no one would
lend us the money ? "

74 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

'* I fear not/' he says, as though it grieved
him sorely to say it.

" Not if the hundred a year were devoted to-
repaying it ? I could do with even less than
two hundred, I dare say."

" I fear not," he repeats, in the same com-
passionate voice. " It is not as if the money
were absolutely your own."

Then I give up hope as far as he is con-
cerned, and get up heartsick and indignant,
for Mr. Beccles is very rich, and I think of his
grand house and the servants and carriages,,
and the thousand pounds uncle Clement left
him, and the life-long friendship he had shown
him. To Mr. Beccles two hundred pounds
would not have been a large sum to help the
niece of his old friend to borrow. But what i&
the use of all this bitterness ? I will go back
to Molly.

'^ The world is very selfish," I say sadly.

** It is indeed," he answers, with a sigh, as^
though he and the world were far, far apart.

Suddenly something prompts me to ask,.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 75

" What will become of the money uncle Clement
left if my son dies under age ? "

" It would still, of course, be yours for life,
and you would have the disposal of half the
capital at your death."

"And if both children die before or after
me, but yet under age, what then ? "

" The whole of it would go at your death as
you by will direct. You ought to make a
will, Mrs. Keith, in case both the children die
under age, and yet survive you. It might
save complications hereafter."

"Thank you," I say, and remember with
a thankful heart that my little son is strong
and healthy enough. I wish there was some
provision for Molly, but 1 am not likely to die,
and am glad enough to work. It seems to
me, as I walk back down Chancery Lane, that
the only hopeless foe in the world is Death.
Sorrow, and sickness, and poverty, and change,
and even sin — ^all these things may cost us
bitterest pain, but at least they can be fought,
and round anv corner of even the darkest road

76 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME,

hope may be lurking or some surprise await-
ing us. But Death 1 Never since the world
began, and never to the end, will the man be
found who can bring the dead to life.

I get home at last, and enter the drawing-
room gently. There on the sofa, covered by
an Indian blanket, her little face resting on
the white pillow, is Molly. In her eyes is
a burning brightness, on her cheeks are two
red spots ; her lips are crimson, and I know
that they are burning too. She half raises her
head, and all her dear face lights up.

" Oh, mother," she says, ^' I am so glad you
have come back. I thought you never would.
I do feel so tired ; I think it was that nasty

?_ "

cab coming from the doctor's.

" My darling,'^ I say, kneeling down by the
sofa.

" I wanted to be in your room, and not in
the nursery, as Jack is away, so Bessie put
me here. You don't mind, do you manmiy
dear ? "

" Mind ? " I cry. " Oh, my sweet darling,

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 77

my own little child 1 " and I smother her with
wild kisses. She kisses me eagerly back for
a minute, and then pushes me away — Molly,
who has never before tired of being caressed.

"I can't breathe, mother dear,'* she says,
and pushes me still farther away.

" Lie still a little while, my darling," I say,
and stagger to the writing-table, and, taking
a form from a drawer, write out a telegram :
" Please come to me to-day, if possible, at
any time convenient to you,'' and direct it to
Frederic Cohen, Esq. I ring and send it oflF;
and then, while the child is still watching me
with her star-like eyes, I walk up and down,
wondering what he will say when he gets it,
, and where Molly will die, and whether he
spells his first name with a h at the end or
not, and why I did not merely put the initial,
and then I wonder why he is a Jew. What a
fool I am, though, for what has that to do
with it? and the pain threatens, and I laugh
at it, and somehow it vanishes ; and Molly calls
to me from the sofa, and I go and put my face

78 MBS. KEITH'S GRIME.

down on her soft hair that is the colour of
sunshine — ah, God ! of the sunshine that per-
haps will be shining down upon her grave a
few months hence. Oh, but I am going mad.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 79

CHAPTER VL

It is late in the afternoon when Mr. Cohen
comes. I hear him drive up in a hansom, and
my pulse beats quicker as he knocks at the
street door. He looks particularly good-
tempered and pleased as he enters ; his manner
is a little eager, as if he had unexpectedly
gained a difficult point.

" How do you do ? '^ he says, in his most
cheerful voice. " Had your telegram all right,
you see, and am very sorry I couldn't get
away before. Dreadful thing to be a city
man, you know. Keeps one busy just when
one wants some time to one's self."

*' It is very good of you to come at all," I
say. '^ It was very cool to telegraph for you
in that way."

80 MJRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

" It was quite right. Well?"

" Well ? " I echo, for I can't speak of what
I sent to tell him.

" Is it aU right ? "

" Is what all right ? " I ask.

" Going to be sensible ? " he says, in a kind,
manly fashion that reassures me and sets all
my doubts at rest. I answer with a little nod,
for words fail me. He takes my hand and
gives it a good shake. " That's the best way.
I knew you were a wise little woman, or I
shouldn't have said anything about it. I am
only treating you as I should one of my own
sisters, so don't go having any more scruples,
and that sort of thing. How shall we manage
it? Look here, I'll pay it into your bankers
if you'U tell me where. They'll think it's a
commission, and the price of pictures gone up."

Then I find a voice, and tell him of my visit
to Mr. Beccles. It rather amuses him»

"Of course he couldn't advance you any
money, if it is tied up on the boy," he says ;
" it would be a felony, or something. Fancy

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 81

trying to incite a respectable lawyer to commit
a felony, and get himself put into prison I "

" Then I wondered if I were to sell the things
here, to help, at any rate, towards expenses, — ''
I begin.

"Get nothing for them, and have to start
again when you come back." ^

Then I explain that I am only going to
borrow two hundred, and shall repay that out
of the hundred a year, fifty pounds a year at
least, until it is paid ofi* ; and that I am going
to make a will to try and secure the money to
him as far as I can in case of my death. He
laughs, and seems to be vastly amused.

" All right," he says ; " but well make it
four hundred, and then I shall be able to dun
you a little longer. You really can't do it
for less; .couldn't do it myself on that, and
youTl have the children and maids and
people."

" I don't travel with a regular suite."

"Don't you?" he laughs. "Well, we'll
make it four hundred. I like having my way,

VOL. 1. 6

82 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

SO that's settled. Don't let's talk of it any
more. Money affaii-s are always awkward, you
know. Are you going to give me some tea

agam j

The things have been brought in, but I had
forgotten all about making it.

" I am so^stupid to-day," I apologize.

" Never mind," he says consolingly. " Had
any more faints since I was here ? "

" No," I answer, trying to laugh ; for the
sardine generally looks bored if one is not a
little bit lively. Besides, it is a great relief to
know that the money is settled. I had not
realized what a load it was on my mind till
my friend came and lifted it. It will not be
difficult to pay it off".

" Is the young 'un getting on ? " he asks.

I shake my head, and he avoids the subject.

" Made up your mind where to go ? "

" We are going to Malaga."

"That's a pretty good journey. Why, it's
an awful way. What are you going to Malaga
for ? "

MliS. KEITH'S CRIME. 83

" The climate is said to be good. There
is a clever English doctor there ; and some
friends of my cousin's, Mrs. Grey, will be
there, and we may possibly know them. It
will be interesting to see Spain too. I have
always longed to go there."

" Lots of beggars."

" And grandees."

"I never saw any grandees, and don't
believe they've got any left. If they have,
they keep them done up in dirty cotton wool."

" Why dirty cotton wool ? " I ask, in sur-
prise.

'* They have nothing clean in that country,"
he says sadly, shaking his head.

" You don't seem to admire the Spaniards."

" No, I don't. We have had some business
dealings with them, and know a good deal
about them. They really have got a decent
climate, though — dry as a bone ; for they cut
down all the trees, and do away with the
rainfall. You see, they don't want water in
that country ; they drink wine, and never

84 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

wash themselves. Water is quite useless, so
they have abolished it."

" But the ground, at any rate, wants water-
ing."

"Not a bit of it. They don't grow any-
thing except prickly pears. Nothing there
but acres and acres of barren land. It never
wants watering any more than the people."

" It does not sound as if it will be a good
place for us,'' I say, in surprise.

" Oh yes, it will ; it has a wonderful climate,''
he says, as he drinks his tea. " Much better
than the Kiviera, or any of those places.
There's never any telling at what moment a
wind may turn up on the Eiviera and nip the
life out of you. Spain is the best place this
side the Mediterranean. I dare say you'll be
able to do some painting there. Plenty of

English By the way, how are you going

to get there ? "

"I don't know. It has only just been
settled that we are to go. I have not thought
about routes yet."

MRS. KEITH'S CHIME. 85

" It's an awfully long journey by rail."

"Well, we can't go by sea/'

" It would be a bore ; but an idea has just
struck me. You might get through very com-
fortably to Marseille, and go on from there by
sea. Very short journey ; much easier than
going by rail. There are some English boats
from Marseille that call at Malaga on their
way home. They stop there once a week, and
I could write to our people, and tell them to
look after you."

" I don't understand ; " but I remember that
the sardine is a merchant, and has dealings
with foreign countries ; the boats have probably
something to do with his business. He
explains.

" You see, we have branch places out in the
East, and so have a considerable interest in
some boats that do our fetching and carry-
ing between Bordeaux and places farther oflF.
They are very comfortable, used to passengers,
generally have a good many. Went in one of
them myself once, so know all about it. I'll

86 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

write them a line to Marseille, to say they
are to look after you and take you on to
Malaga, — charge you nothing, of course. A
clear saving that, and pleasant way of getting
there."

" It would be very nice,'' I say gratefully.
"You have been a good friend to us, Mr.
Cohen. What should we have done without
you ? I should have died, I think."

" Well, djdng wouldn't have helped much ;
rather the other way, in fact," he answers.
" It's lucky I met Mrs. Marshall that day, or I
shouldn't have known anything about it. That
would have been very bad luck."

" For me, yes, indeed," I answer ; for I have
put all my scruples away, and, more thankful
than words can tell for the sardine's generosity,
give myself up to such comfort in it as I
may find.

"I meant for me ; wasn't thinking of you
just then," he laughs.

"Very, very much worse luck for me," I
say gaily, doing my best to be lively.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 87

"Well, we won't nag at each other about
it," he answers.

" It seems such an amazing thing Oh,

but I was going to say a very rude thing
indeed."

** What was it ? Kather like rude things."

" I was going to say that one does not
expect a Jew to be so generous as you have
been to me. He has the reputation of taking
care of himself and his own people, but of
being, in regard to others, very — very "

But the sardine, who is never offended at
plain speaking, answers quickly, with a certain
pride of race in his voice.

" If a Jew considers himself really to be
your friend and you his, then he thinks himself
bound to do anything he can for you ; that is,
if you are up a real tree, and don't make too
much fuss. A Jew hates a fuss. If you are
merely in a bush, and could get out again if
you liked and really tried, and are merely
crying out to amuse yourself, then the Jew
passes on, and thinks time and money too
valuable to waste on you."

88 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

" I quite understand. It is a right principle.'*

" And then," the sardine continues, " a Jew
always considers himself bound to look after
women and children as far as he can ; that is,
his own womenfolk, or the womenfolk of his
friends."

" It is a great comfort for the women. It
just occurs to me that I never heard of a
Jewess going in for woman's rights."

" Oh no," he says, shaking his head ; *^ our
women never do that kind of thing. They are
too well educated and taken care of, and they
know when they are well oflf."

" And so they don't want * rights ' ? "

" Oh no," he answers solemnly. '^ They are
very well oS. as they are, and they know it.
We never expect our women to be dummies,
and we know they are not fools, and we always
consult them about things that concern them ;
that's all they want, you know."

" And then, you are proud of them. I have
so often noticed that."

"Of course we are proud of them. We

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 89

ought to be ; for you can't match them. That's
why we like taking them about with us,
instead of leaving them at home ; besides, we
think women have as much right to enjoy
themselves and go about as men. That's what
your people don't seem to see, and then the
women cry out. You don't understand that a
woman likes being treated properly and yet
taken care of at the same time."

" And you do understand it," I say.

" Yes, we do ; and we know that we can
do with fewer things than women can, and
we take care that they get more accordingly.
On the whole, our women have a very good
time."

" And don't you think ours have ? "

" Some of you ; some of you haven't ; " and
he gets up and walks about the room, looking
at the things again. He stops before the
picture on the easel. " I don't think anything
of that picture," he says ; " don't believe any
dealer in London would give you ten pounds
for it."

90 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

" Don't abuse it. It was so kind of him to
give it to me/'

"I like this little thing much better," he
says, going up to Edith Clark's little painting.

Suddenly an idea strikes me. *^Let me
give it to you," I say eagerly. " I should so
like you to have it ; do take it ; " and I try
to put it into his hands, but he pushes it
away.

"Oh no; wouldn't take it for the world.
Why, you refused twenty pounds for it."

" I know, but I should so like to give it to

you."

"Can't be done," he says, shaking his head.
"It looks so well where it is. You mustn't
go wanting to give away your valuables like
that."

" Oh, but think of all you have done for me.
It would please me so if you would have it,
Mr. Cohen." But he shakes his head again.

" You shall leave it to me in that wonderful
will you are going to make," he says ; " then,
when you are about to chump up, it will be

MUS. KEITH'S CBIME, 91

a comfort to you to know that I am going to
get it."

*^ m give it to you for a wedding gift when
you get married."

"Very well. You'll have to wait a good
while first.*'

" I am sorry for that," I say.

He looks quite pleased. "Oh, come, now,
don't begin about that. Every one is always
at me. You women are never content unless
you are match-making."

" I think you ought to be married," I say,
with all my heart. " You would be so good to
your wife, and she would be very proud of you."

" Don't see what she would have to be proud
of," he says ; but there is something in his
voice that almost tells one that he is thinking
of his balance at his banker s with satisfaction,
and reflecting that it isn't such a bad thing to
be proud of, after all.

"But, really," I say earnestly, for I know
that he likes to be asked about it, "why
don't you get married ? "

92 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

"Never see any one I care quite enough
about. There was a little girl once who might
have done ; but she didn't seem to see it, so I
cleared off."

" Why didn't she see it ? "

" I don't know ; I thought she did at first.
She had an unfortunate relation in the shape
of an aunt, who objected to me — had larger
views, I think, so I left her to contemplate
them. Ti^at aunt was too much of a mill-
stone for any girl's neck. She was a nice little
girl" — and he almost sighs — "nice, gentle
little thing'; would have suited me down to
the ground."

" Perhaps it will come all right yet."

" Oh no ; just as well it shouldn't. After
all, you know, it's a fearful business getting
married."

" Yes, it is ; but there's nothing in this wide
world like it if you get the right person."

"And there's nothing in this wide world
like it if you get the wrong one," he laughs.
^' I must go, Mrs. Keith. You won't start for

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME. 93

another week or two, I expect. I am going
to Scotland for ten days or so, but I shall
come and see you before you start. I am very
glad we have made up our little differences.
I'll make it all right about — about that." He
shrinks from even naming the money, the
good, kind sardine, though he has written
down the name of the bank in his pocket-book.
" m write to Marseille, and tell them they are
to look after my aunt and her family w^hen
they turn up, and take them on to Malaga."

" Your aunt ? "

" Yes ; my aunt or cousins or something like
that, you know. There's nothing like a
capacity for lying to a moderate extent — so
useful. Let me see, now ; any other business ?
Oh, ril find out what day the boat gets there,
and drop you a line, and you can start accord-
ingly. It would be a great bore for you to be
staying too long at Marseille."

"Why, Mr. Cohen, you seem to have
adopted us. I wish I understood business as
well as you do, and could arrange things." I

94 MES. KEITH'S CRIME.

sigh. I am getting very tired, and long to be
with my little child again."

" A good thing you can't," he says ferv'^ently.
" I hate business women myself, and always
leave them to take care of themselves. I like
women to be clever and suggestive and full of
resources, and plucky, and a trifle helpless;"
and, having explained his views regarding
women to his own satisfaction, the sardine
departs, and as the door closes I fly up the
nursery stairs, and taking Molly in my arms,
walk up and down the room with her. It is
very quiet without Jack. He has been gone
these two days, and all the house seems to be
aching for a sight of him.

What a comfort it is to sit down and think
over the sardine's kindness. I have no longer
any feeling about borrowing the money, except
that of being very grateful to him, and a
sense of safety at knowing that I have a friend
in the world so staunch and generous. I
like to think of his manner to-day, of the
happiness it gave him to help us, of the

MBS. KEITH* 8 CRIME. 95

delicacy with which he avoided talking of it
more than he could help, and how he seemed
to shrink from even mentioning the word
"money." At heart he is just a perfect
gentleman, whatever he may choose to make
his manner ; I am glad to have taken his help,
and am proud of it.

After Molly is in bed I pack up a little
parcel for nurse, and Amte and implore the
dear old careless soul not to come until she
has leave. Then I sit down with a drawer
full of children's clothes before me, and begin
to look over and mend them before packing
them into a travelling-case. Now that nurse
has gone there are so many extra things to do.
It is rather nice to mend Jack's clothes, the
bonnie, sturdy little sonnie ; all his pockets are
torn. I long to see his face again ; perhaps
I shall get another little note from Mrs.
Marshall presently, though one came this
morning, full of praise and little anecdotes
about him. Just these few hours since the
money business has been settled there has

96 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

been a little lull in the storm, as if, with the
means of trying the one thing that would do
Molly good, a half-promise from some strange
power had come that she should get well.
It is very odd, but it seems lately as if with
Molly's illness more strength had come to me,
so that I can see and hear and feel more
acutely, and my hands long to touch the
brushes again. Perhaps out of one strong
feeling another is growing, and in the future
my hands will do better work than they have
yet done. A thousand things suggest them-
selves all at once, and I long to be at work,
and feel that I could work well. The
thought of the sardine's goodness will help
me; the debt shall soon be paid: and yet I
shall be almost sorry when it is ; it is nice to
have so generous a creditor.

There is a double knock at the street door.
The sound half amuses me. It is a shy, half-
frightened knock; probably a nurse applying
for the place, for I do not know any one likely
to come at this hour of the eveniug. I think

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME, 97

quickly of Molly sleeping above, and hastily
kiss the hole in Jack's sleeve, and go to the
room door and listen. There is some one
speaking in a low voice.

" No, I will not come in," I hear, as with a
heart that suddenly stands still I recognize the
hard but broken tones ; " ask Mrs. Keith if
she will come out and speak to me." It is
Mrs. Marshall. Oh, what does it mean t
Jack

VOL. I.

96 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

CHAPTER VII.

The morning light is coming once again. I
can see the tops of the houses opposite, and the
trees are no longer a confused mass in the
darkness, but are green and almost separate.
This is the third night that I have walked up
and down, wondering if in the morning I should
still be sane. If I might only be with him
and nurse him and watch him, and see each
change, each hope and fear that comes and
goes, then I could be calm and silent and show
no sign. But here alone, away from him, with
the caged feeling, the doors closed between him
and me — between me and the room in which
he lies and calls for me perhaps, and longs for
me, and yet no mother is there with him — here
away from him I have no control. If I could

MBS. KEITETS CBIME. 99

only keep my wild heart still and take things
calmly as some women do who perhaps love as
weU as I. But no, but no, these little ones are
all I have ; the touch of their little hands goes
through me, and every nerve answers to the
sound of their voices or the sight of their faces.
Oh but to keep them ! To live and bear the
cruellest pain, to slave day and night and know
no rest, to be cut off from everything and
<every one, yet keep these little ones, and I
would be satisfied ; or if death must come, let
it come to me. To die the saddest, loneliest
death I would find sweet, if only they might
grow up and be strong and find good life in
the world.

Jack has scarlet fever ; they doubt if he can
live. Oh, nurse, will you ever forgive your-
self ? Even in the midst of all my misery I
am sorry for you, poor soul.

He is at Mrs. Marshall's still. They have
been goodness itself, and he has had the best
of doctors and of nurses, and everything that
money could do or love devise ; but I have not

100 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

seen him, they will not let me, and it is driving
me mad. They say I might take it, or give it
to Molly, but I am not incautious like nurse.
They say I could do him no good, but ah ! he'll
dia I know it. I crept to the door at twelve
o'clock last night to ask how he was, and to
beg them to let me in. He was no better ;
that is what they always say — no better.
To-day I must see him ; I must indeed.
There is a little housemaid here who loves
and is very good to Molly, and I will take
fresh clothes with me, and walk long miles,
and do all the things that are wise to pre-
vent infection. Doctors do not take it ; why
should I ?

It is getting lighter ; another hour, and I may
go to the house and ask again. Sleep on, Molly ;
sleep on, my little child* Ah, the blessed hours
that children sleep through, while those who love
them wake and sorrow ! There is the rocking-
horse in the nursery. It kills me to see it, and
yet something makes my quaking heart and
reluctant feet take me again and again to iiy.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 101

and I stand and watch it, wondering if some
sense of what is coming has crept over i%,
and the room, and all that is in it, for there is
an air of parting and desolation and sorrow
over everything.

"The four-and-twenty sailors that walk about the

decks
Are four-and-twenty white mice with chains about

their necks."

It rings in my head as I walk up and down ;
I stand still and begin to sing it, but stop
with a little cry of fright at my own voice,, and
put my hands over my mouth.

It is time at last; I take the portmanteau
with the change of clothes, and, kissing Molly
gently as she lies sleeping, start for Mrs,
Marshall's. How many times I have driven
from St. John's Wood to Kensington these last
few days 1 Even the streets as I pass along
seem sullen and sad and sorry for him.

The servant opens the door gently. My lips
refuse to speak, but she knows what I want
to ask.

102 MBS. KEITH' 8 CRIME.

" He is just the same," she says. " Will you
come in ? "

I have never been admitted before, but
now, dazed and wondering, I enter. In a
few minutes Mrs. Marshall comes to me in
the drawing-room,

" He is just the same," she repeats, in a sad
voice, and with a look of misery on her face
which I see even in the midst of my own
dread.

'^ Let me see him," I plead ; "do let me see
him. He is my own child. I cannot bear it.
I know how well you mean it; but oh, let
me see him, do let me see him."

She takes my hands and forces me back
on to the sofa, and, still holding them,
speaks.

"You can do no good," she says gently*
" You may take it yourself, or give it to the
other child."

"But you have seen him. Why should I
take it more than you ? "

"And if I do," she answers, in her hard^

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 103

grinding voice, " my life is not so valuable as
yours."

" Oh yes ; you have your husband." But
she does not answer, and the. words seem to
have been spoken into some dreary waste in
which they can have no meaning.

" Tell me how he is again," I plead. " Is he
any better ? " She holds my hand stiU more
tightly and answers.

" I must not deceive you, my poor dear ; he
is not any better." .....

They let me see him. ... I took him in
my arms and kissed him. ... I think he knew
me; then he said, "Where is mother? I do
want mother so. Where's mummy ? " . . .
oh. Jack ... oh. Jack. . . .

^ « ^ « «

So many times lately I have thought that it
would be very lonely for him sleeping out there
all alone in the stillness and darkness, and we
far away. How cruel it seemed to go and
leave him ! But now Jack is with him. Ah,

104 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

my little son, how good it must be to be there ;
and how soundly you will sleep on through all
the ages. If I were only with you. . . . But
there is Molly. . . .

MRS. KEITH'S CRIMH. 105

CHAPTER VIII.

Did you ever sit alone after some terrible
storm in your life had passed and left you
blankly staring the future in the face, half
wondering, half doubting that you were living
still, and think sadly over your old day-dreams?
— the things that years ago you had meant to
do in the happy days to come, things that
seemed as if they would be so easy and pleasant,
and so certain to wait on time and opportunity?
I sit thinking over my old dreams this after-
noon, here in the little di'awing-room once more.
To-morrow we start for Malaga, MoUy and
I. I wonder when we shall return, or if either
of us will? This house is let to a young
married couple. He is an artist. It is rather
a comfort to me that he is ; it seems natural

106 MJRS. KEITH'S CRIME,

that he should come to live and work here.
They both appeared to like the little bits of
rubbish about the place — the sketches, and the
pots and pans and plants ; but they did not
appreciate the poor picture on the easel any
more than the sardine did. Yet to me it has
always been so strangely pathetic, and now I
seem to know what it all means. It dawned
upon me while the little bride and her husband
were here the other day, going through the
rooms with merry laughter, thinking how cosy
they would be in our little home.. They laughed
at the rocking-horse, and the bride stroked it,
and said it was a *' dear big beast," like one
she had had at home, and then they both
laughed ; and while they were laughing, I was
forcing back my tears, and listening to a voice,
the merriest voice that ever mother's heart
answered to, singing —

" The four-and-twenty sailors that walk about the
decks."

When they had made their arrangements, in
the careless, happy-go-lucky fashion of youth

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 107

and belief in the world, and had gone away,
then I sat thinking of the picture, as I had
many times before. Now I understood it, and
knew what the dead people sleeping over the
hill had looked like; how they had laughed,
and cried, and hoped, and sorrowed ; and how
thankful they had been to lay their heads
down at last. The waves had gone on dashing
over the shingly beach year after year towards
the garden wall ; the seaweed had been heaped
up here and there higher and higher, and then
the pitiful sea took it back again ; and farther
up I saw the flowers dying, and heard the last
hum of birds and bees, and knew when the
swallows had journeyed south, and quiet and
silence and forgetfulness reigned over all, and
the tired ones slept soundly. But now all was
changing. The birds were singing again, and
the sun shining, and soon the flowers would
bloom, and all around would be alive and
happy, "bright with a summer to be." But
the sleepers over the hill would know nothing
and care nothing ; for what would it matter

108 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

to them to whom nothing would matter
more?

"AVe will take it for a couple of years,
if you like, Mrs. Keith/' the husband said,
as he followed his bride out of the house;
so we may be wanderers for as long as we
please.

Only a year ago — nay, less, last winter —
I sat many a long hour thinking how happy
the children should be as they grew up, what
merry days they should have to remember,
to what bright ones they should look forward.
It is a good thing to have a happy childhood :
it keeps the heart green through all after
troubles ; it sends a little perpetual current of
youth through a whole life. My children
should have this at least. It seemed such a
blessed thing to have these two little lives,
and I used to think that if I brought them up
to be good and true and pure and above all
selfishness, it would be good work enough.
For every woman who gives to the world even
one sweet woman or one good citizen, has

MRS. KEITH'S CBIME, 109

given it something in return for all it has
given her. So many plans I made in Aose
happy dreaming hours, thinking how in the
long evenings I would tell them fairy stories,
till quite gradually they learnt to like best
to hear stories that were true ; and then,
just as Mazzini advised mothers to do in the
twilight hour, I would tell them stories ^^of
great men who had worked and loved the
people." It has been something to imagine
their little upturned faces, and to see by the
firelight the eagerness in their eyes. . . .

But it is useless to go over it all, and
I must not break down, for there are many
things to do yet, and at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning we start. The sardine was coming to
say good-bye, but telegraphed just now that
he was prevented, and would meet us at the
station in tl;ie morning to see us off; so one
of the two people who have been so kind to us
will see the last of us, and the other is coming
this afternoon.

Mr. Beccles wrote after Jack died, and said

110 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

he could raise the money now that a reasonable
security was possible. But I felt that Mr.
Cohen would be sorely disappointed if his
help were, after all, not taken; so I refused
Mr. Beccles, and felt some satisfaction in doing
it. I have made the will at which the sardine
laughed, and left him the little picture he
liked, and arranged for the repayment of the
debt ; and then, if Molly does not survive me
or dies under age, all there is will be divided
between the only two friends we possessed in
the world..

All this I have been thinking over, sitting
here waiting for Mrs. Marshall. The door
opens at last, and she enters. She wears a
black gown ; the lines in her face are softened ;
the tones of her voice are different.

'^ I am almost afraid to come," she says ;
but I knew that before she spoke. " It must
be so painful to you to see me."

'^ It makes me think, of course, of painful
things ; but it is a great comfort to see you.
I have been longing for you ; " and this is

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. Ill

true ; I have indeed. Can I ever forget how
good she was to Jack, how gentle and how
tender? I would give anything to put my
arms round her neck and sob my heart out
on her shoulder, and to feel that she was not
only sorry for me, but loved me just a little
bit. But that will never be.

And you really start to-morrow ? "
Yes ; to-morrow morning.''

" And you are quite sure that it is wise to go
alone, without a nurse or maid of any kind ? "

" Oh yes,'' I answer. " I have always waited
on myself, and I should not let any one else
wait on Molly. One child and two hands;
surely they are enough. They can do every-
thing for her. It would have been different
if "

" I know," she says hastily. " How is
MoUy ? "

" She is just the same."

" She will be better soon. Climate does so
much."

*^ Sometimes I think it will do nothing for

112 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

her," I answer doggedly, " and that it is folly
to go."

"You must not say that," she answers
gently. "Be thankful that you can go. So
many see their dear ones die, thinking that
some things they could not get would have
saved them."

The force of this comes home to me keenly.
"I know," I answer quickly, "and am only
too thankful that we are able to go ; after a
little while when I am used to — shaving Molly
alone, I shall be brave again^ Overmuch
happiness has spoilt me for sorrow, and made
me impatient; but I shall be better soon.
It is a terrible thing to be bom with a great
capacity for happiness, and to feel that one
has hardly had one's share;" and I try to
laugh, and fail.

She is silent for a few minutes, and then
she asks, in a sad, broken voice, "Did your
husband love you, my dear ? "

" Oh yes, yes," I cry, " with all his heart."

" As you did him ? ''

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 113

"As I did him," I answer, trembling with
eagerness and passionate remembrance. She
sits still, watching me wearily and wonderingly.

" And you had your children when he was
here ? " she asks, with a long-drawn sigh.

" Yes ; there was little Jack. He was such
a pretty baby ; we have laughed for joy as we
watched him "

" And MoUy ? "

" And Molly was coming ; there was the
hope of her, the looking forward. Oh, it was
perfect."

She takes my hands, just as she did on that
morning a month ago, and looks me sadly in
the face, and in her eyes I see a blank hope-
lessness that drives my own sorrow out of my
heart, and leaves it full of compassion for hers.

"Then, be satisfied," she says gently ; "you
have had your share. If you had only pos-
sessed all you have had for a single hour, you
would have had your share. Be thankful for
that. There are many women with capacity
as great as yours for happiness, who are hungry

VOL. I. 8

114 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

for it all their lives, and yet are never satisfied
for a single hour."

I look at her silently, while the tears slowly
gather in her eyes. Now I understand all her
coldness and silence, the hard lines, the almost
grim voice, and all that had seemed half
resentful in her before. I cannot speak, only
we look at each other — she who remembers so
little, and I who remember so much.

" There are some things worse than death,"
she says, as the tears roll down her cheeks ;
and I stoop and kiss her hands and whisper —

"Yes, you are right. Oh, forgive me, and
I will cry out no more."

"Ah, my dear, it is hard to keep one's
mouth shut when the blow falls ; but remem-
ber that to bear silently is to show that you
think even your bitterest woe not too great a
price to pay for your past happiness. You
would not have refused to bear the sorest pain
for those you ? "

" Oh no, no ! " I cry.

" And you are bearing this for them. You

Ml^S. KEITH'S CRIME. 115

would not have sorrowed so if you had not
loved them. Be thankful that you have had
your loved ones to bear your sorrow for."
And then she gets up and pulls the cloak
round her shoulders. '^ I want to see MoUv,"
she says ; and I go and fetch Molly from the
little room adjoining, where the housemaid has
been reading a fairy story aloud.

"Good-bye, little woman," Mrs. Marshall
says, in a voice so kind and gentle that Molly
looks up and has confidence, and its sweetness
catches my ear, and I long to hear her' speak
again; and yet her voice is usually so hard.
She takes Molly up in her arms, holding her
in that longing, half- wondering manner just
dashed with fear that is so characteristic of
childless women. Then she puts her down,
and watches me while I wrap a shawl about
my little one, and carry her back to the other
room again. She is still standing when I
return. She hesitates for a moment, and
half doubtfully, half awkwardly, she comes for-
ward and kisses me tenderly on both cheeks,

116 MRS. KEITH'S CHIME.

and looks at my face — a long, grave, sad look,
as though she thought she might never see it
more ; and then she goes. I follow her to
the street door, and watch her go down the
garden. She turns round at the gate, and says
quickly, as if she suddenly remembered some-
thing she had forgotten —

" I hope the child will get well. Good-bye.*'
She takes yet another last look at me, and so
she vanishes, and I go back to the little empty
drawing-room and shut the door.

It seems as if we shaU never be ready, as if
the night and the things to be done will never
come to an end; but at last the morning
dawns, and the work is finished, and with one
long last look round at the dear little home
— the home in which my husband had painted
and Jack had played — we depart. The sardine
is at the station before us, looking pleased and
business-like-

'^ You are in good time. Quite right, always
be in good time for a journey," he says ap-

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME, 117

provingly. '* I have got a compartment for
you, so you have only to get in, and Til look
after the luggage/'

" AVhy, Mr. Cohen, you did not surely get
a whole compartment for us ? " — for we are not
used to such luxuries.

"Merely a little corruption," he remarks,
with extreme satisfaction ; and, stopping before
a carriage door, he unlocks it with his key and
helps us in. '^Always corrupt the guard, or
the station-master, or some one or other. Do
it on principle, you know."

" Oh, but it is wrong, surely " .

" Never mind that. Never over-cultivate
your conscience ; it's a great mistake, spoils
one's enjoyment, and makes everything cut
and dried." The sardine always talks as if
he had no serious feelings, as if the whole of
him was on the surface. He told me once
that one of his '^ ideas" in regard to life was
to get as much enjoyment as possible out of
everything, and to forget everything in two
minutes. He is delighted at having surprised

118 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

US by his cleverness. " Wouldn't it have been
a bore, now," he asks, " if you had had two fat
women, or half a dozen children, all anxious
to quarrel with Molly, in the carriage with
you ? "

'^Indeed it would," I answer, amused at
the idea of Molly quarrelling with any one.
" How do you think Molly looks ? '' I ask him,
for he has hardly spoken to her yet, and she
looks sweeter than ever this morning in her
little travelling-hood, and with the flush that
excitement has brought to her face.

'*0h, shes all right," he says, putting his
long fingers under her little soft chin. "She
looks ever so much better than you do," he
remarks. "You'll have to look out, or you
will chump up, and then what would the
programme be, I should like to know ? "

" It would be very awkward," I answer
cheerfully. " I think you would have to adopt
MoUy."

" That would be a joke," he says thought-
fully.

MES. KEITH'S CHIME. 119

" You would have to get a step-mother for
her," I saj, trying to amuse him. "The
' little party/ you know."

He shakes his head gravely. " Oh no ; that
will never come to anything," he says. " You
must get well. You will now ; going away
will soon set you up, and Molly too. AVell,
here we are — time to start. Write and tell
me how they treat you, and how the young
'un prospers. Good-bye." He shakes my
hand, and kisses Molly, and in another minute
I am straining my eyes to see the last of him
as we whirl away.

When he is out of sight I turn to Molly
who is sitting opposite, looking pretty and
bright and almost well. As I look at her a
wild hope seizes me, and, forgetting everything
else, I kneel down and put my arms round
her, and kiss her, and hold her close, and hide
my face in her lap, while all my strength goes
forth in a wild hope and prayer that she may
live and be strong.

120 MUS. KEITH' 8 CRIME.

CHAPTER IX.

We have been three days here at Marseille.
There was some mistake about the boats ; they
only call once a fortnight now, so it will be nearly
a week before we start for Malaga. I am glad
of it. These days are very quiet and peaceful,
a blessed lull in the storm ; the beginning,
perhaps, of a great calm to come. Molly looks
so well that it raakes my heart beat quick
with hope to look at her. The travelling did
not tire her. The journey from Calais to
Paris she slept through, and then the strange
sights and trees of Paris — for we stayed a
night there — delighted her, and made her open
her blue eyes wide with wonder, and break
out into little ripples of laughter, almost as if
she were suddenly quite well again.

MBS. KBITS* 8 CRIME. 121

" It is SO nice, mummy ! '' she cried, with
a long-drawn sigh of content. We strolled on
through the streets, watching the light-hearted
French people. In the Kue de Eivoli there
was a man selling dolls that, when wound up,
danced on a little metal table. We stood
watching them for a few minutes.

" Would you like one ? " I asked Molly.

" Yes, mother," she answered, in a whisper ;
and so for a franc and a half we bought one,
and all the way from Paris to Marseille it was
with her. But she tired of that long journey,
and once or twice began to cry for Jack.

" Oh, mummy dear, where is Jack ? Do
tell me where Jack reaUy is. Won't he ever
come back ? "

And I could only answer, '^ He was very ill,
my darling, and now he is fast asleep. You
would not like dear Jack to suffer pain ? "

" But I do want him so," she sobbed ; '^ and
perhaps he would get well again."

" Won't mother do for you, my sweet ? She
loves you, and will play with you, and read

122 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

stories to you, and do everything in the world
for you. Won't poor mother do ? " I asked.

" Oh, but you are not little, mother dear,
and Jack is, you know ; and then Jack sings
so beautifully. I do want Jack."

But while she was still sobbing we were
getting nearer and nearer to Marseille, and,
putting my head out of the window, I caught
sight of the gilt statue of Notre Dame de la
Garde, which towers above the city. I held
Molly up to see it, and she gave a cry of sur-
prise and was satisfied, and did not even see
the tears I brushed away, or, if she did, looked
on them as belonging to the past — the past of
just a few minutes since, as her own had done,
and to be forgotten as they were.

It seems so strange to be here alone with
Molly. "We are never apart for five minutes.
The thought of work comes now and then, but
since Jack died my hands have lost their sense
of power, and feel as if they could only wait
on Molly. It satisfies and soothes me, this
life lived in her service, and it forces me to be

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME, 125

cheerful, knowing that a hundred times a day
her eyes seek my face that she may set her
little heart by its expression.

We have spent the days almost entirely out
in the sunshine, beneath the southern sky, in
sight of the blue waters of the Mediterranean.
Many parts of Marseille are dreary enough^
but surely the Cannebiere is one of the
brightest, grandest streets in Europe ? Molly
is delighted to walk by my side slowly along
the wide pavement, beneath the great awnings,
outside the caf^s. They are wonderful cafes ;
we are afraid to enter them, but we can see
the palms and the looking-glasses and the
pictures, as we go slowly past. Outside, on the
pavement, are the little round tables, and the
happy French folk drinking their coffee, and
talking or reading the little newspapers with
all their usual eagerness and all the blessed
forgetfulness of care that is so characteristic of
their nation. We wander on towards the quay,,
and look at the great ships and tall masts, and
I, wondering whence they have come and

124 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

whither they are going, tell Molly of strange
lands far away ; and she, understanding better
since she left her home that the world stretches
far beyond it, listens as if she were listening to
some new fairy tale. We stop as we come
back, and turn down the Rue de Grignan, and,
coming to the post-office, ask if there are any
letters. To my surprise, there is one from the
sardine. He has found out about the altera-
tion in the boats, and says how sorry he is at
the delay ; but I am not. We shall not be
happier at Malaga than we are here. We walk
on till we come to the Cannebi^re again, and
linger by the shops that have placed their
wares on wide stalls outside their windows, and
Molly talks of spending her little store of
money ; but when we get nearer to them the
things that have looked so bright in the
distance are all commonplace and useless, and
most of them are English, and even Molly is
not tempted. She likes the flower-market
better than anything else in Marseille. We
go there every morning. The first time she saw

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 125

the women in the raised wooden stalls so like
pulpits, with the great bouquets on the counter^
and the baskets brimming over with flowers at
their feet, she laughed aloud for joy.

Yesterday we saw an Arab sitting on the
ground, selling black beads made of rose-leaves,
and baskets of coloured cloth, and charms of
shells, and all manner of little odds and ends.
We had neither of us ever seen an Arab before,

and we stood together looking at him like a
couple of foolish children. To Molly he was
merely a strange being, with a brown face and
a red fez and funny clothes ; but to me he was
a whole past suddenly risen up before me, and
swiftly I thought of the people he had descended
from, of their teaching and their learning, of
the universities they had founded and the
palaces they had built, of all their glories and
triumphs, and of the beggars and the ruins
that remained. All in a moment they seemed
mixed up before my eyes in the odd, incoherent
manner that all things pass before me now, for
nothing is clear or consecutive. The Arab

126 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

tried to tempt us with his wares, and I bought
one of the rose-leaf necklaces for Molly. They
say there is a charm in them, but it looked so
black about her neck that it made me shudder.
We spend hours on the Prado, looking up at
the trees and the little bits of blue sky we can
see between the green leaves, or listening to
the trickling of the fountains, and watching the
busy groups and the carriages and the tram-
cars going past in the Cannebiere beyond. We
sat on one of the seats for a long time yester-
day, after our bargaining with the Arab, and
amused ourselves by watching the dancing
sunshine that came through the leaves. And
Molly looked so well and happy that even with
the past fresh and sore upon me, I felt that if
only the world might stand still at that one
moment I could for ever be content. Did not
Keats envy the shepherd and the shepherdess
on the urn, and the happy chase through all
the ages ? If only the world would stand still
as it had for those two lovers, how good it
would be. But that would not be life, for

MES. KEITH'S CHIME. 127

crystallization is death ; and yet for death so
sweet would not life be a trifling price to pay ?
Sometimes it is not warm enough to sit long
on the Prado, and then we walk slowly up and
down ; and if Molly looks tired or cold, I take
her up in my arms and carry her. Her weight
makes me stagger now and then, but it is only
because I am so broken down, for she is very
light, and it is a blessed thing to carry her in
my arms again, as I used in the little garden
at home when she was still a baby ; it makes
me fancy that she is a baby still. And it
makes me think of Jack, the first little one of
all, whose coming made our hearts sing for joy
in the happy days gone by.

This is a wonderful city. Every day it
grows more impressive ; for, as it knows one
better, it seems to take one into its confidence,
and to tell one how full it is of memories. I
am never tired of watching the water, and
thinking of the ships that sailed upon it
hundreds of years ago, or of wondering what
it all looked like when the Greeks came and

128 MES. KEITH' 8 CRIME.

built their city. It seems to be like a dream
now, just as these days are like a dream. Oh
that the waking might never come.

How odd are some things of which we can
give no rational account. Last night, while
Molly was in bed, I sat by her, as I always
do — half through the night sometimes, for it
seems a pity to waste too much of this most
precious time in sleep. And as I watched
her, in her little white gown, with her
head upon the pillow, she looked like some
pure spirit come into the world to bless it.
'* She will not surely go ? " I thought ; and
then something — ah, what was it ? — seemed to
say to me half pityingly, " Can you not
submit ? There may be a worse fate still than
seeing your little one die ; a day may come,
perhaps, when you will wonder that you cried
out at Death, that only lingered near in mercy,
and to save you." To save me ? " There are
some things worse than death," Mrs. Marshall
said. Oh, but it is all nonsense and madness
and folly. What can anything matter more if

MItS. KEITH'S CRIMK 129

Molly does but live ? If Molly lives and gets
strong, then Fate is powerless, and all the
world may try its worst, for all other blows
have fallen. Pain and poverty or anything
in the world may come if this one little life
remains. Sometimes at night, when I hear
her short, quick breathing, I stand still and
tremble and clasp my hands in fear ; but then
she turns in her sleep, and is easier, and
a new spell of hope comes again ; and so the
days go by.

We went an excursion to-day, in one of the
tramcars with the seats that reverse. It
seemed a pity to spend money on a carriage,
and the people in the tramcars looked so
happy that we longed to be among them. It
is terrible how one hungers for happiness when
one is still young ; it is only the old that can
be content with sorrow, and make it their
accepted lot. We looked at each other with
satisfaction as we took our seats. We both
felt the same, I think — like two children over-
done by fate, and longing to be happy. We

VOL. I. 9

130 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

went far out to a suburb, but its name I have
already forgotten. When the car stopped and
went no farther, we got down and walked
about, and found some trees that looked like
sturdy green carubas, the evergreen of John
the Baptist, and, in the half-dazed fashion I
have got into, they set me dreaming again.
And then we came to a long white sunny
road, with seats here and there, and a high
stone wall on one side, and the blue sea on
the other. Over the wall some bright flowers
hung in masses. I picked a bunch and made
a wreath and put it round Molly's straw hat,
and she looked so lovely that it made me
laugh right out. Laugh out ! though it is
not six weeks since I laid my boy to rest, and
the sun that shines on us is shining on the
grass above him. My heart quaked at the
sound of my own merriment ; and yet — and
yet, Molly dear, get well, and I will laugh for
you, my sweet.

As we got up from the seat, Molly gave a
cry of wonder and surprise, for a long green

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 131

lizard darted past, and she had never seen

one before. We stood still, hand-in-hand, and

watched it for a moment as it disappeared

among the stones. Then we crossed the road

and went over to the sea, and walked a little

way, but she looked so tired that I carried her,

and so we went on till we came to a cafe. It

Avas a little countrified place, with a table

outside and two chairs slanting into the sandy

ground, and a red curtain hung across the

doorway to keep the inside cool. We entered

and rested. It was half a restaurant too, for

they had bread and wine, and very hard cheese

and fruit. I had some coffee, and Molly

ate some small black grapes, while the old

Frenchwoman looked at her, and told me she

was beautiful ; and when I smiled and seemed

pleased she added that she did not look like

a strong child, as if she thought it well to

show that she had discriminating eyes, and

wished to qualify the pleasure she had given.

But she was a kind old woman, and when we

left she came out of the door and stood

132 MB8. KEITH'S CRIME.

watching us on our way, as though she
thought it a good thing to keep so sweet a
little child in sight as long as possible. The
tramcar seemed as if it would never come, so
when a chance fly overtook us we stopped it,
for Molly was very tired ; but she brightened
up as we got in. It was an open fly, and the
cushions were . covered with red and white
striped hoUand.

*'Such a pretty carriage," she said, and sat
up proudly on the seat beside me. The
soft wind blew back her hair, and I felt
proud to think that she was my own little
daughter, and wondered what she would look
like some day when she had grown to be a
woman. She crept a little closer to me, and
whispered, " Mother dear, what are you think-
ing about?" and for answer I put my arms
around her and drew her closer, and so we drove
to the city of Marseille, and to the hotel.

This morning the ship has come, and we are
to sail at four o'clock. AVe take our last walk

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 138

down the Cannebi^re, a last walk among the
flowers. We pass the Arab with the beads;
there are two or three of his countrjrmen
about to-day. We walk once more along the
Prado, looking up at the trees, and sit down
on the seat for a few minutes, so that the sun-
shine coming through the leaves above may
fleck us with its gold once more. A few
hours later we are driving to the quay, and
say good-bye to Marseille, while the statue
of Notre Daine de la Garde seems to be
watching us on our way to Malaga.

134 MBS. KEITH'S CHIME.

CHAPTER X.

Before we have been long on board we make
acquaintance with one of the passengers. She
sits down, and in the course of an hour, in a
dull, mechanical sort of way, tells us all about
herself. She is a young woman, pale and
quiet. She has the air of a nursery governess,
and something in her manner suggests that she
is an orphan. She is companion to a Mrs.
Greenside, who is not very well and in her
cabin.

" Mrs. Greenside is always getting ill,'' Miss
Martin says softly; "that is why she goes
about so much."

" And does it do her good ? " I ask.

" No ; I don't think so. She never says
that she is better," Miss Martin answers.

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME, 135

" Perhaps she likes travelling," I say, just
for the sake of saying something, and not
because I feel particularly interested in Miss
Martin or in Mrs. Greenside.

" Yes, perhaps she does," Miss Martin says,
and the utter want of interest in her manner
and the dull tones of her voice make one
sorry for her.

''And you — do you like travelling?" I ask
her.

" Oh yes, sometimes ; only I always get
tired of the places, and it is tiresome to be
always packing."

She is not a companion of the lady descrip-
tion, but of the respectable young person type.
She does not say "ma'am," but for all that
she bru3hes Mrs. Greenside's hair, and does the
packing, and probably gets scolded if anything
is left behind.

''Are you not looking forward to seeing
your home ? " I ask ; for she looks at me in
the pauses, as if meekly waiting to be ques-
tioned. She told me a few minutes since that

130 MRS. KEITE'S CBIME.

she and Mrs. Greenside had been abroad for
some months.

'^ No," she answers ; " I don't think about it
much."

"I thought, perhaps, you had friends or
relations, and were longing to see them.
People get so anxious about relations when
they are far away."

*' Oh yes ; I have relations, of course," she
says. " I suppose I shall be glad to see them
when the time comes ; but it is no good looking
forward or thinking of meeting them before-
hand. They may be ill, or a dozen things.
Are you going all the way to Bordeaux by
this ship ? "

The question is evidently only put to make
conversation of some sort. She is no more
curious concerning us than interested in herself.

"No; only to Malaga, to winter there.
My child is ill," I add, looking towards Molly,
who is anxiously watching the man at the
wheel.

*^I see," she answers placidly, as if she

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 137

thinks a child's illness as good a reason as any-
other for coming abroad. " That gentleman is
going to Malaga," she says, indicating a tall
man a little way off; "I saw it on his luggage.
His name is George Murray."

''Murray? Why, that is the name of the
doctor to whom I have an introduction ; but
it can't be the same, for his name is John
Taylor Murray." I look at him curiously as
he slowly passes us. *' He has a good face," I
remark.

" Has he ? " she answers. '* I have not
looked at him ; people are so much alike
abroad. I never look at them now ; but I
always notice the names on their luggage. I
knew yours was Mrs. Keith before you came
on board. I saw your trunks coming up the
gangway."

Molly runs up to us, her eyes bright with
pleasure, her cheeks tinged with a colour that
looks like health.

" I do so like being in a ship 1 " she exclaims.
" It is so funny to think that, even if it stops.

138 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

there is nothing but water to get out on. It
would not do to get off the ship, would it,
mother ? "

" No, my child ; it wouldn't," I laugh, and
look up at Miss Martin ; but she seems a little
bored, and looks over the side of the ship at
the waves for a moment or two, and then
absently moves away.

When the dinner-bell rings, I find that my
place at table is next to Mr. Murray, so
conclude that, like myself, he is a recent comer.
We soon begin to talk, for on board ship it
is an easy matter to get on friendly terms in
even a few minutes ; but there is no time to
ask him whether he is related to the doctor at
Malaga, for I have to hurry away from the
table, because it is the hour at which Molly
goes to bed. When she is sleeping, I creep uj)-
stairs in the twilight, and stand watching the
water and the long track the ship leaves on
the waves behind us. It is a little cold, and I
pull my shawl tighter round me and sit down
and think. But I cannot bear it long ; the sea

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 139

is too full of memories and all the shadows of
meaning, and the darkness and the silence
frighten me. Oh, the silence ! how terrible
it is. There is no eloquence in this living
world so terrible as silence ; but it is the
eloquence of the dead. I cannot bear it longer,
and turn and go to the cabin where Molly is,
and sleep on the sofa beneath the window,
opposite her berth, so that when day breaks I
may open my eyes to look upon her face.
And so the night passes.

Molly awakes early, and cries, '^ mother I "^
It is like the voice of a bird calling from a
branch. I open my tired eyes, and blow
kisses to her, and call her my pretty one and
my dickie-bird ; and she laughs and talks, and
looks like a fresh-blown rose, as if in the night
all sickness and weakness had fled away.

" We wilt go on deck and see the waves," I
say, and begin to dress her.

Sometimes I feel sorry for men. More great-
ness is theirs in life, but more sweetness is
ours — the sweetness that is gained from little

140 MUS. KEITH'S CRIME.

things, especially, from the daily service given
to those we love. I think this as I put on
Molly's clothes, while even my finger-tips are
sensible of the happiness there is in touching
each thing that is hers.

It is a bright, happy morning, and every
Avave and ripple rejoices in it. Molly looks
round, and gives a little shout for joy as we
go on deck, and holds my hand a little tighter
just because she feels how lovely it all is, and
has no other way of expressing herself Per-
haps they expressed themselves so in the
beginning of the world, when beauty and
happiness were born, but words were not.
They did well enough without them, and again
I think how eloquent is silence. There is a
blissful silence for the living as well as a
terrible one for the dead. But I will forget
everything concerning death and sorrow on
this sweet morning. The sea does not appal
me as it did last night, and the memories it
brings are less vivid than they have ever been
before. For Molly is looking well, and she and

MJRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 141

I are together here in the sunshine, and there
is the aching and longing for happiness in my
heart, and a half-promise seems in the air — a
promise that perhaps, softly and unexpectedly,
happiness may come stealing back.

" And now," Molly says, when we are tired
of walking about, and have sat down in some
still sleeping passenger's chair, for it wants
nearly an hour to breakfast, and no one is on
deck but ourselves—" and now tell me a
story,"

I protest that I don't know one, but she
declares I do, and at last I give way, and ask
what it shall be, for I seldom tell her new
stories, but the old ones over and over again.
She seems to think that it is slighting her old
friends to like the new ones too well.

*^ Tell me the story of the white rabbit," she
says.

So I begin the story of the white rabbit.
" * Once upon a time there ivas a white rabbit,
and he lived doivn a hole in the woods at the
foot of the snow mountai^is,^'' and I go patiently

142 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

on, until at last, with a sad shake of his little
white tail, he disappears in the snow palace,
and is seen no more.

" It is such a pretty story," she says, with
a long sigh of satisfaction; and then we
laugh, for we both — she as well as I — know
how ridiculous it is.

Suddenly we look up and see Mr. Murray.
He is watching Molly, as only a man really
fond of children watches a child. We soon get
into conversation, while MoUy goes to inspect
the wheel-house again, and I discover that he
is brother to the Malaga doctor.

" I am to take his patients while he goes
to England for the winter,'* he says, "for I
am also a doctor."

"Then you will look after Molly?" I
answer, feeling a sudden interest in him.

"Yes, certainly I will, if you wish it.
There is another English doctor at Malaga
now, so that my brother is no longer the
only one." There is something honest in
this communication. He looks at Molly,

MBS. KEITH'S CBIME. 143

and adds, "The climate will do everything
for her."

"Dr. Finch was not very hopeful/' I say
sadly ; and tell him what the great doctor has
said about her.

"I have seen some strange recoveries," he
answers, "A child has the most wonderful
faculty for outgrowing things, and there is
simply no knowing what climate will not do.
We have never till lately taken it sufl&ciently
into account. You must make up your mind
that she is going to live. A child will outgrow
anything, remember." And so, when the break-
fast-bell rings, it finds me with a happier face
and a lighter heart than I have worn this long
time.

Before the day is out I know all about our
doctor. He has been in Ceylon, looking after
a coffee estate that had belonged to his mother,
and at the same time investigatinor the disease
in the coffee plant ; but he has done some
practising as well. He took an excellent
degree at Cambridge, and was at one of the

144 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

London hospitals before going abroad. Now
he is on his way to take his brother's practice
for the winter, and later on he means to devote
himself to the scientific study of medicine.
He is very clever, I hear, a little eccentric, very
kind-hearted, and fond of children. To look at,
he is fair, with soft, kind grey eyes. He is
well but slightly built, and perhaps two or three
and thirty years of age. There is something
about him that it is impossible to help liking,
a manliness and frankness, a certain simple
confidence in other people and in the best side
of all things that wins one, and makes one feel
that he is, above all things, a man to trust and
believe in.

How quickly these days have passed. In
half an hour we shall be at Malaga, or rather
we shall have landed, for we have already
dropped anchor, and as soon as the usual
formalities are over we shall be allowed to go
on shore. All the passengers are on deck, and
we who are soon to leave the ship, stand

MRS. KEITH'S CHIME. 145

looking anxiously at the Spanish land. Malaga
itself looks ugly enough, though its setting is
splendid. The houses are white, and the
windows many — square black windows, like
blank, staring eyes with no white lids to
soften them, staring for ever out at the sea.
There are tall smoky chinmeys, and the port
is dirty and ugly ; but for all this there is
compensation in the sun, which is shining over
everjrthing. Beyond the city the Sierra de
Antequera rises far up into the sky ; and on the
other side is a great mountain gorge. Along
the shore we can see the sugar-canes, and
stretching far back are palms and what we
take to be prickly pears and all the strange
vegetation that belongs to the southern land.
The water beneath us is still and blue, the air
is warm and soft ; we hear the dip of the boat-
men's oars as they crowd round the ship, and
the not very eager voices of the boatmen,
oflFering to take passengers on shore. The still-
ness around is intense stillness, and every sound
that breaks it, whether it be a sailor's voice or

VOL. I. 10

146 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

the dip of an oar, is clear and distinct. Now
and then we see movements on shore, but there
are few people about ; the whole place seems
to be drowsy and sleepy from overmuch
sunshine.

Suddenly Miss Martin comes up to me.
Mrs. Greenside is not very well. She is afraid
to go on, and thinks of landing here. Would I
mind coming and speaking to her for a moment ?
So I leave Molly sitting on a pile of wraps on
the top of one of the boxes, and go to the deck-
chair a little way back.

Mrs. Greenside is eight-and-forty perhaps,
and overmuch wrinkled for her age. She has
very white hands with many rings on them ;
among them is a lozenge-shaped diamond one.
I see it flashing as I go up to her, and wonder
if she bought it, or if in bygone years some one
loved her very much and gave her all her rings
— ^some one who now is gone. She is not an
interesting woman, and one does not care much
about her ; but, poor thing, this does not make
her pains less keen, or her anxieties less real.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 147

and I go towards her feeling this, and wishing
she did not bore me. There is something about
her that is rather overpowering; she takes
possession of you, she appeals too obviously to
your sympathies, so that, though she is ill and
alone, you half grudge them. She gives you
the impression that she is capable of shams of
many nervous kinds, and yet that she is one of
those women who, when they are roused, will
take any trouble, push themselves anywhere,
do anything, give anything, to attain an object
not merely for themselves, but for any one who
will come before them at the right moment.
I am very uncharitable to her.

" Mrs. Keith," she says, and her voice is that
of one who has really suffered, and makes me
sorry for her in a moment, "I want to ask
your advice. You are so clever, and you must
have so much courage to travel all alone with
your delicate little child, I am sure you will
advise me." She always asks advice about
things in the most earnest manner, but she
never takes it. She always seema to have

148 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

made up her mind from the beginning what
she is going to do, but you only find this out
after she has listened to all you have to say.
" Don't you think I had better stay at Malaga ?
these short stoppages and voyages upset me
^ terribly. The voyage from Marseille has tired
me so."

" And you don't feel well ? " I ask, wondering
why she consults me.

^' No, indeed," and she sighs. " I am never
well, am I, Miss M^^rtin ? "

She looks up at her companion. Miss Martin
is listlessly watching the boatmen rowing round
the ship ; but she turns and answers like a
machine, " No ; Mrs. Greenside is never well,"
and watches the boatmen again.

" Do you like the doctor ? " she asks
anxiously. " I understand he is going to take
his brother's practice at Malaga."

" Yes, certainly I like him ; but I have only
known him since we came on board."

^' Oh, but you have evidently so much dis-^
cemment of character."

MRS. KEITH'S CBIME. 149

This is the sort of thing she always says ;
she seems to believe in the wisdom of every one
about her ; but it is absurd to believe in mine,
for she must know much better than I do
^bout most things. Perhaps it comforts her,
poor soul, to lean even on the weakest props,
for it must be miserable to be alone seeking
health, and to have none she loves beside her.

" How far were you going by this ship ? "
I ask.

'^ To Gibraltar. I expect to meet my brother
there, and his dear motherless girl. She is
just like my own child. I never had any
<ihildren of my own," she adds, shaking her
head sadly ; and my heart aches for her.
*'I never had any children," she repeats;
^^ perhaps it is as well, with my wretched
health; and this dear girl is just like my
own."

"But if you stop here, will you not miss
seeing your brother and niece ? " I ask. " Are
they at Gibraltar now ? "

" I am not sure whether they have arrived

150 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

yet," slie answers. "They have been yacht-
ing in the Mediterranean, and expected to put
into Gibraltar about the middle of the month,
and I promised to wait for them there. My
poor brother is still grieving over his wife's
death, and there is no one but me now to take
care of his motherless girL"

"But will you not miss them by going to
Malaga ? " I ask.

" Oh, if I telegraph, telling them the state I
am in, they will instantly come to me," she
answers, with a little smile, which seems to say
that their devotion to her is unbounded. " I
can't go back to England this winter ; it would
kill me to face the cold and fog. You know
that, don't you. Miss Martin ? "

"Yes, I know that, Mrs. Greenside," Miss-
Martin says, turning from the boats again for
a minute.

" I should only stay a few weeks at most at
Malaga, but it would be a break in my long
exile " — she says the word exUe as if it meant
Siberia — " and the doctor seems to be a clever

Mils. KEITU'S CEIME. 151

man, he might do me a world of good ; it is so
very difficult to come across a good doctor
abroad/'

" I dare say you will find it very pleasant at
Malaga, Mrs. Greenside," I say, " and I hope it
wiU do you good. Perhaps Miss Martin will like
seeing Spain too ? " I add, looking up at her. ,

'* Oh ! " Mrs. Greenside exclaims softly, with
a little expression round her mouth that says it
really does not matter in the least what Miss
Martin likes.

'^ It is always interesting to see places," the
companion answers, *'only they are so much
alike."

" I think we will arrange to land," Mrs.
Greenside says nervously. " Thank you so
much for your help, Mrs. Keith. Do tell me
where you are going to stop ; it would be such
a comfort to goto the same place."

I tell her the name of the hotel picked
haphazard out of Bradshaw, and then she
appears to be satisfied, and proceeds to make
arrangenaents for going on shore.

152 MRS. KEITH'S CBIME.

Presently, when I am in the saloon getting
Molly a glass of water, I run against Miss
Martin, with her arms full of wraps and a
dressing-bag and half a dozen other things.

" Let me help you carry these up," I say ;
and suddenly something makes me ask, " Miss
Martin, is Mrs. Greenside a Jewess ? ''

" I don't know ; she was once. She is not
strong enough to trouble about it now ; perhaps
she is something else. I never thought about
it," the companion answers in her usual voice
with her usual expression of face, or I might
think that she was joking.

Now I understand what had puzzled me
about Mrs. Greenside. I have been wondering
if I had met her before. Her face, the pale
faded face, that is not thin, yet full of lines
and traces of sickness ; the large dull eyes ; the
dark hair pushed back ; the diamond rings ; —
all had seemed familiar to me, but it wa^ not
the individual, but the type that I had recog-
nized.

Mrs. Greenside is quite overcome when she

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 153

sees that I have helped to bring up her
belongings.

" Oh, Mrs. Keith 1 " she exclaims, " you are
too kind. You should have let Miss Martin
do this ; she is quite used to it. What a
sweet child your little girl is; I have been
watching her most intently. She is the image
of you, Mrs. Keith." She looks at me and
gives a long sigh, and adds, slowly, "she is
most beautiful." And then she opens a bag and
gives Molly some chocolate, and watches her
^at with a solemn interest that is almost
touching. She is evidently a very kind
woman ; I am glad we are going to the same
hotel.

154: MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

CHAPTER XL

It is very exciting to look at Malaga. I
stand and drink it in with my eyes. What
does it matter if the houses are ugly and
gaunt ? There behind are the great mountains^
and the bright green vegetation glowing in the
light, and above is the blue sky, and all about
is the sunshine — the blessed sunshine that is
to make my little child well. I turn and look
at her, and as our eyes meet we laugh like
two children glad to be together, and full of
thankfulness that we are here.

A quarter of an hour later, while Miss Martin
is still getting Mrs. Greenside's many packages
together, Molly and I go down the gangway
steps and row to the Spanish shore. I wonder
if I shall ever forget the noise and fuss and

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 155

discomfort of this landing? And yet I do
not mind any of it ; it amuses me, and the
strangeness and newness of everything fasci-
nate me just as they do Molly, who clings to
me, and looks up at me with grave eyes wide
open and bewildered, not knowing whether to
laugh or to be afraid. There is no custom-house.
Our luggage is examined there in the street,
while we look on, and the dirty black-eyed
beggar boys lean over the rail put to prevent
them from crowding round too closely. At
last we manage to get into a jolting fly, and
the porters and boatmen lift up our luggage,
and with much earnestness cheat us right and
left before they let us drive oflF to the hotel.

Mr. Murray was to have been with us, and
promised to help us land, but a fireman on
board the ship injured his hand, and he stayed
behind to see what could be done. But we are
all safe now, I think, as we drive away, and
look curiously around to see what this new
land to which we have come is like. It is not
as yet inviting. The streets are dirty, the

156 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

houses low ; we pass no handsome buildings,
no gay cafes as at Marseille ; there are no
trees till we get to the Alameda, and there
they look dusty and miserable, and the ground
beneath them is dirty and ill-kept. Alto-
gether, it looks as cheerless a place for winter-
ing in as can well be imagined. There is a
cold, north-easterly wind blowing, too ; at sea
we did not feel it, but here it meets us as we
turn the comers of the narrow, unsavoury
streets. My heart misgives me, but still I will
not be dismayed. Is there not a blue sky
overhead, and surely that will see my little
Molly get well, and what else matters ? Sud-
denly the excitement fails, a mist gathers
about all things, and I remember that I have
been suffering pain these hours past, though
I have hardly noticed it.

" Mother dear,'' Molly whispers, as we stop
at the hotel, "your face is so white. Are you
ill, darling?" and she pushes her hand into
mine.

I look round and see some dirty boys

MRS. KEITH'S CBIME. 157

•watching us. There is a beggar who holds up
a diseased arm ; there is a man leaning against
the doorpost. I can see a little way into the
hall of the hotel — it is ugly and dirty; and
then all things swim softly away, and I can
see the blue water and the ship, and it is all
so beautiful, only I am choking ; and where is
Molly ? Is Molly gone ?

We are sitting in a little room, evidently
just inside the hotel. It looks like the porter's
room. There is a half-bottle of wine on the
table, and a half-finished plateful of untempt-
ing-looking food. Outside the door is our
luggage. Some ragged children peep in from
the street ; I can see the people passing to and
fro, Molly has been crpng, and clings to me
in fear ; she kisses me as I look wonderingly
around, and try to remember what it all means.
There is a dark man standing by me, with
a look of patient waiting on his face, as if he
had been politely wasting his time till it should
please me to come to my senses again.

158 MJRS. KEITH'S CBIME.

" Is anything the matter ? " I ask.

The dark man bows and goes leisurely to
the door, and, looking up and down the hall,
makes a strange sound which my little know-
ledge of Spanish will not permit me to under-
stand, It results in the coming of a fair man
with a red moustache, and a heavy watch-
chain so evidently false that it catches my eye
the moment he appears. He is English, and
the interpreter to the hotel,

" Is anything the matter ? " I repeat.

" You were faint, madam," he answers, with
a bow and smile, as though he were making
some pleasant little remark. " The fatigue of
the journey, perhaps. You are better, and
would like to see your rooms, madam ? We
have sent for the English doctor, but he is not
yet here. You would like to see him in your
room ? "

Molly clings to me and caresses my hand
as we go up the bare, unswept stairs. Was
ever place so unwelcoming in the civilized
world as this Spanish one ? Slowly foUowing

MRS. KEITH'S CBIME. 159

•

the Englishman and the Spaniard, who seems
to be the landlord, we pass the salle-h-manger
on the first floor ; it looks dark and haunted
by flies. On the whitewashed walls we can
see what appears to be the advertisement of
a bull-fight. We go up another flight of
stairs, and stop before a door. We wait till
the landlord succeeds in unlocking it, and
opens one half of it, and then we enter, Molly
and I, and look round. It is a large room,
with a dusty red tile floor. It contains two
beds in an alcove, and a table is in the middle
of the room ; against the wall there is a large
worm-eaten sofa covered with faded green
velvet. Everything is worn out and tawdry
and uncomfortable. We go to the windows
and look out. There is the Alameda stretching
along the middle of the wide space between us
and the opposite houses. On either side the
Alameda are the broken-down carriages, the
beggars, and the people who are not beggars
and yet do not look one whit more cheerful
than their less prosperous fellows. I think of

160 MB8. KEITH'S CBIME.

the French people, and the Italians and the
Swiss, and wonder why these Spaniards look
so different. There is a row of houses on the
other side of the Alameda, but it is not
picturesque; nothing is. As yet everything
is ugly and disappointing, and I begin to think
with dismay that this is not the place in which
Molly will get well.

The landlord disappears, and I sit down on
the faded sofa, and, taking Molly on my lap,
try hard to keep back the tears that weakness
and disappointment are forcing into my eyes.
But this is foolish. We came for the sky, not
for the houses or the furniture. Why should
I lose heart because the streets are dusty and
the rooms are ugly ?

^^Dear little Molly," I say, "we will be
very happy here;" but do not quite believe
myself.

In half an hour Dr. Murray comes, and as
I look at him I feel thankful that we are not
to be in his hands for the winter. He is older
by ten years than the brother who has just

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 161

arrived. He is tall and grave, with cold grey
eyes and a well-shaved chin. He has a way
of looking at you as though he could see
you through and through, and he makes you
feel, while you are speaking to him, as if you
were not altogether accurate, and that knowing
this he coldly made allowance for it. For all
this, there is something in his manner that
impresses you with his skill ; you dislike him,
but you feel an unwilling confidence in his
power. He asks what is the matter, and looks
at me curiously and silently while I hurriedly
tell him that nothing is the matter except that
I have been tired, and have fainted from fatigue,
I suppose, and anxiety about my child. I was
always impatient of doctoring for myself, and
never could take the trouble to carry out direc-
tions, but when I have been ill have always got
well as best I could, and from mere strength of
my own will.

Dr. Murray is apparently satisfied with my
account, though I feel that he does not alto-
gether believe it ; he prescribes a tonic, and

VOL. I. 11

162 MRS. KEITH' 8 CRIME.

then he looks at Molly. He reads the letter
I have brought from Dr. Finch, and says he
will come with his brother to examine her to-
morrow. It will be better that they should
do so together, as she is to be his brother's
patient. He says, in a cold, confident voice,
that a child's life is a thing never to be
despaired of — which, while it shows that he
recognizes the gravity of Dr. Finch's report,
gives me hope and courage. And then he
remarks that we have come to the wrong hotel
— that this is not the best place, though it is
kept by respectable people ; and I tell him
how disappointing Malaga is as far as 1 have
seen it, that it looks like the dreariest, ugliest
place in the world for sick folk to get well in,
and that I had hoped we should be in the
country.

" Perhaps you would like Zahra better," he
says politely. *' It is a little place four or
five miles from Malaga, along the shore.
There is an inn there, quite Spanish, but com-
fortable and clean. A good many Spaniards

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 163

stay there in the summer for the bathing, and
English people have had a fancy for it last
year and this. It is warm and sheltered, and
there are some pretty walks, which there are
not around Malaga."

" Why do people come to Malaga ? " I
ask.

*' Simply for the climate,'' he answers.
" There is nothing else."

" But we should be so far from a doctor if
we went to this other place."

**No, for my house is at Zahra," he answers,
'^ and my brother will live in it this winter.
I merely come into Malaga every day, and at
night if 1 am wanted they have to send a man
on horseback after me."

" And it is pretty ? "

''It is interesting, as all places are where
the Moors have been. 1 don't know, of course,
if the Moorish traditions interest you ; they
do most people. Unfortunately, they have left
few traces of any kind at Zahra. An old
Welshman, Udal ap Rhys, who described it in

164 MUS, KEITH'S CRIME.

some travels he wrote a great many years ago,
said it was a cultivated garden full of flowers
and fruit, with a climate that was truly blessed,
but this is no longer true of it, except in regard
to the climate."

" Why is this ? "

He shrugs his shoulders, and looks as if he
did not wish to be led into a discussion.
"The last thing a Spaniard does is to take
care of the land,'' he answers. '' But, as I say,
it has a fine climate, and it is free from the
dust and smells of Malaga. I will leave you
to think it over, Mrs. Keith ; " and he looks
as if he wished to go.

" There are some English at the inn at
Zahra ? " I ask, anxious to be satisfied on that
point.

"Fonda de Madrid it is called. Several
English people are there : Lord and Lady
Bexley, and some very nice people called Vin-
cent." Vincent ? They are Alice Grey's friends.

" Is a Mr. Ralph Bicknell staying there ? "
I ask quickly, suddenly remembering my old

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 165

playfellow, and thinking it would be pleasant
to see him again.

Dr. Murray looks at me coldly for a moment,
as if he disapproved of the question, though
I do not know why he should. It makes the
colour come to my face, not on Ralph BicknelVs
account, but because of Dr. Murray's seeming
disapproval.

*' He may be," he answers, '* but I don't
know him by name. Several people have been
there this winter. But you had better rest
here for a few days, Mrs. Keith," he says,
in a distant, professional tone. ** To-morrow
my brother and 1 will come and see your
child."

After he has gone. Miss Martin comes to the
door to ask after Molly, and if she may help
me to unpack. I refuse the oflfered kindness,
but am grateful enough to her; and then Molly,
standing by the window, cries out for joy at
sight of a water-carrier, and the next moment
something else takes her fancy, and she
exclaims, ** Oh, mother, the ladies in the street

166 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

have no bonnets on — only lace things, and they
are so pretty."

What a world of trifles it is. Passing a
looking-glass, I lift Molly up in my arms and
stand before it. We both look better, and
suddenly I laugh out just as I did at Marseille,
for the new hope is strong again, and she looks
as if she would get well. And then all the world
will grow bright again, and we shall be happy
oDce more. It is not coldness, it is not for-
getfulness, but I am so sated with sorrow ; I
am young and full of life, and my heart
hungers and cries out for happiness, and longs
for it as a starving soul for food. Get well,
little Molly ; get well, my sweet, and we will
be happy together.

Molly is going to dine at the table dhdte
with the rest on this first evening. As we enter
the dining-room the dark -haired Spaniards turn
and look at her, and my knowledge of Spanish
is enough to let me understand when one of
them says that she is beautiful, and that her
hair is like the sunshine. The other Spaniard

MB8. KEITH'S CRIME. 167

says it is like her mother's hair, and I am as
pleased to be admired once more as if all the
world were before me still, and sorrow and
I were strangers.

X68 MBS. KEITH'S CSIME.

CHAPTEE XII.

We are all at Zahra, Mrs. Greenside and Miss
Martin, Molly and I.

" Let us go at once, my dear Mrs. Keith,"
Mrs. Greenside said, directly she was told of
the place. It was odd how she fastened herself
on to us at Malaga, as if she almost felt us to
be some help and protection. She is a nervous,
clinging woman, and evidently must lean on
some one ; it makes me think how terrible her
widowhood must be to her. Yet it is strange
that she, so many years older and so much
richer than I, and not alone here as I am, for
Miss Martin is with her, should find it any
comfort to lean on a broken reed like myself.
Poor thing 1 But I am glad to be of any
comfort, even though it is ever so little, to some
one in the world.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 169

" Would it not be very dull for you at this
little place ? " I asked ; " and what would you
do about your brother ? "

"He would come to me at Zahra," she
answered, with her little confident smile, while
her diamond rings flashed in the sunshine.
" He would come to me anywhere."

" And your niece — would it not be dull for
her ? The doctor said it was a very quiet
place."

" But he said there were some English at
the hotel. They are sure to be pleasant
people."

It was evident that the people at the hotel
had a great deal to do with Mrs. Greenside's
longing to go to Zahra. I confess that they had
with mine also, chiefly because I was anxious
to see my old playfellow again, and he was
perhaps with the Vincents, I thought ; even if
he was not, it would be interesting to see the
girl he was possibly in love with, for I remem-
bered what Alice Grey had said about Miss
Vincent. I told Mrs. Greenside that some

170 MRS. KEITH'S CHIME.

friends of my cousin's were at Zahra, and that
the doctor had mentioned that Lord and Lady
Bexley were there also, and then she became
still more eager to leave Malaga without
delay.

" It will be such a good thing for you to be
in the same house with some friends, Mrs.
Keith," she said, in her slow, eager voice, though
1 felt that it was not for me, but rather for
herself, that she was urging it. "Lord and
Lady Bexley will be interesting people to meet.
He wrote a most delightful book of travels in
Italy; I remember seeing it at the hotel at
Genoa last year. Let us go at once, Mrs.
Keith," she repeated. ** It will be much better
than this place for your sweet little child."

" I must wait until Dr. Murray and his
brother have seen her," I said. "But don't let
us keep you, Mrs. Greenside ; we will come on
to-morrow or the next day," I added, thinking
that there was no reason why she should wait
for me.

" Oh no ; I am too tired," she answered. " I

MSS. KEITH'S CBIMK 171

ought to rest to-day ; besides, I am so anxious
to hear what they say about your little girl."

Presently, almost against my will, and in
spite of myself, I found that we were driving
round Malaga, "just to see what it was like,"
she said. Somehow, she impressed me with
the idea, as we drove along, that she was merely
looking at the place with the eye of a person
who would at some future time desire to talk
about it if the opportunity offered, but from
no other point of view, and with no other
desire. That drive confirmed all that we had
both previously thought of Malaga. The
streets were as ugly as they had looked the
day before ; the only drive the man seemed
to know was along the dried-up bed of a river.
We jolted on in the sand, and over the stones
at the foot of barren ranges, past prickly pears
and straggling, neglected sugar-canes, in sight
of grand outlines of forlorn-looking brown
mountains, until our hearts grew heavy and
our spirits sank.

" Oh, let us go back," Mrs. Greenside said,

172 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

and there was a sudden air of authority about
her, in spite of her clinging manner ; "we will
go back at once, Mrs. Keith."

Without waiting for an answer, she told the
driver to turn back. She insisted on paying for
the carriage ; I did not know why, but she did
it as a matter of course, and when I offered
her my share she pushed me away almost
rudely. Taking no notice of the driver's
attempts at extortion, she walked into the hotel
with a languid air of suffering and determina-
tion, mingled with a visible satisfaction at
not having been cheated as much as might
have been expected, that was both curious and
amusing.

" Take my things upstairs. Miss Martin," she
said, and went slowly up to her room, while
the companion followed.

Molly and I followed too, and as we stopped
at our own door Mrs. Greenside turned.

" Now, do go and get some rest, dear Mrs.
Keith," she said. *'I am sure you want it
after that terrible drive, and let me know what

MRS, KEITH'S CRIME. 173

the doctors say to your child. I shall be so.
anxious to hear. To-morrow we will go to
Zahra ; I dare say Dr. Murray would secure
rooms for us."

When we had meekly entered and shut the
door, but not till then, she turned away
from us.

While Molly rested on the green sofa, and I
was impatiently waiting for the doctor and his
brother, I wrote to the sardine, giving him
various details of our journey, and to amuse
him, described Mrs. Greenside and told him how
I had found out that she was a Jewess, but
thought she was ashamed of it, for I knew that
w^ould make him laugh ; and then I put aside
my letter, in order to add a postscript after the
doctor and his brother had been.

They came quite punctually. They examined
Molly carefully, and consulted together, and
then they came back to me, after I had carried
Molly into Mrs. Greenside's room, so as to be
alone to hear their verdict.
" Well ? " I asked anxiously.

174 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

" Well," Dr. George, as I call him, to dis-
tinguish him from his brother, said, "you
must cheer up, Mrs. Keith. The child is very-
delicate, but we cannot see why, with care and
in time, she should not grow strong."

They seemed such blessed words. I looked
round, at the two little beds in the alcove, at
the faded sofa, at the tops of the dusty trees
that I could see out of the window, and
wondered why the whole world had altered so
suddenly, for nothing looked ugly or dreary now.

" You think she won't die ? " I gasped.
*' You think she may really live ? "

They seemed half to repent their good words.

"We can't be certain, Mrs. Keith," Dr.
George said gently. " We only say that she
may outgrow her weakness ; " and then he
added, " We are anxious about you ; we think
you look so delicate. Have you any friends
likely to come out to you here ? "

" No, none," I answered ; " but that doesn't
matter. I shall get quite well if Molly does.
I have only been over- worried."

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 175

Dr. Murray was looking at me critically.
*' I think she would be better at Zahra," he
said to his brother.

''We are going there if we may and can
get rooms/' I tell them.

" I will go and look after them. At Zahra
you will be near me, and I can take care of
you," Dr. George said, with a helpful look in
his kind eyes. " There are plenty of books in
my brother's house, and Molly can come and
gather oranges in the garden."

Thus it was that we came to Zahra. We
all came together — Mrs. Greenside, Miss Martin,
Molly, and I. We were quite right to come,
we saw that directly; it is a great improve-
ment on Malaga. It is a very little place, just
as the doctor said, but it is making a little
struggle of its own to get into fashion. The
Spaniards like it, and come in the summer to
bathe — ^not many, but quite enough to suggest
a future to any one with ambition or energy,
though in this country it is doubtful if such
a one is to be found anywhere. There is a

176 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

beach, and a shady promenade above it; a
wide street, a few narrow ones, two or three
smart cafes^ and an inn. The last is in the
wide street, opposite the chief cafe; it is not
large, but clean and simple, and comfortable
in spite of its bareness. There are three jfloors
of rooms built after the Moorish plan round a
patio, or covered courtyard. There are great
palms growing in the patio ; and beneath
them, in the shade, are wicker chairs and
divans. Our rooms are on the second floor
and at the side, overlooking a narrow street.
Opposite our windows is a church. The church
is open all day long, and the bell, which has
a slightly cracked sound that is not unpleasant,
seems to ring at no stated times, but just when
the fancy takes it.

An hour after our arrival, while I am still
unpacking and worn out with fatigue. Miss
Martin comes with a message from Mrs.
Greenside. " She is quite sure that I am
tired, and will I bring Molly to afternoon tea
in her rooms ; " we are both glad enough, and

MRS, KEITH'S CRIME. 177

accept gratefully. So we cross over to her
rooms on the right-hand side of the house, and
find that she has very large and comfortable
ones, looking towards the sea. They must cost
a good deal more than ours, I think to myself,
but many things have made it evident that she
is rich. There are all manner of pretty things
and luxuries about — a brass kettle is over a
spirit-lamp, and a teapot and a dainty after-
noon service are put ready ; they have all
evidently come out of the red plush-lined case
standing near. The silver-gilt fittings of her
dressing-case are lying about, and as I look at
them I think that it is a good thing to be a
Jew or a gipsy. They are the two races that
somehow inherit the world. I have heard that
the one is but the outconje of the other. I do
not know how this may be, but it always
seems that to the Jew belongs the inside of
the world — the gold and jewels and stufis, th^
gorgeous rooms and piled-up cofiers ; and to
the gipsy belongs the outside — the sky and
the sunshine, the tent on the grass, the

VOL. I. 12

178 MR 8. KEITH'S CRIME.

merry road, and all the secrets of happy-
nature.

" Come, Mrs. Keith," Mrs. Greenside says,
in the rather protecting manner she is graduaUy
putting on, for that of the drooping traveller is
fast vanishing, "I am sure you must want
some tea. Now, you must sit in this chair.
Miss Martin, put my two square down pillows
behind Mrs. Keith's back." It is no good
protesting ; besides, it is very nice to be made
much of, and I, little used to it, find the
strange sensation too pleasant to resist. "I
have seen your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Vincent,
Mrs. Keith."

" But they are not my friends," I interrupt ;
" they are merely friends of a cousin of mine."

" Oh, but people so soon make up an
intimacy abroad," she answers earnestly ; and
I find myself noticing that the odd thing about
Mrs. Greenside is that she seldom smiles and
never laughs. Life seems to her a grave and
important business, in which there is no time
for frivolity, or for anything that is in a sense

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 179

unworldly. " They have a charming daughter ;
she has quite a beautiful walk. I am very
glad I have come here ; Malaga all but made
me ill again, did it not, Miss Martin ? "

'* Yes, Mrs. Greenside ; it did," Miss Martin
answers.

'' And now, Mrs. Keith, tell me all about
yourself," Mrs. Greenside says, putting down
her cup, and looking me full in the face, with
the air of a sympathetic person who has a
right to know all one's personal history, and
will not be denied.

I tell her what there is to tell: that I am
alone, and worked, and that Jack died, and
why we have come abroad — all as briefly as
possible, and then she is satisfied. I could
almost fancy that, knowing all there is to
know about us, we lose some of our interest for
her, as a book that is read, or a piece of yester-
day's news. I am very ungrateful, and I hate
myself for not liking Mrs. Greenside more, and
for not trusting her, for she is very kind to me.
Suddenly the man, the useful man who does

180 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

all manner of things in the hotel, enters and
hands me two letters. Doctor George has sent
them to me from Malaga. He had promised
to inquire if there were any, for the office
opened at such uncertain hours that it seemed
useless to try and get them myself ; besides, I
hardly expected any. The man who brought
them in asks if we would like to see some lace ;
a woman from the town beyond Zahra has
brought some to sell.

While Mrs. Greenside and Miss Martin
bargain, I read my letters. They are from our
two good friends ; there is no one else to send
us any. Mrs. Marshall writes a kind, cold
letter, which is characteristic of her. She is
going to Australia with her husband, on a visit
to some of his relations, and does not expect to
be back until the middle of next year, and she
asks me to write to her at Melbourne and tell
her how Molly is. The sardine sends a short
note, but a kind one ; it is characteristic also.
He has had my letter from Marseille, and
writes at once, for he knows " how slow those

MBS, KEITH'S CRIME. 181

Spanish beggars are, and letters take best part
of a week to get anywhere in that lovely
country." He is glad we are getting along all
right. He is pretty well, thanks ; rather down
in the mouth, but that doesn't matter. By
the way, some friends of his are yachting
somewhere about the Mediterranean. He
doesn't know where they are likely to put in,
but on a beggarly little sea like that they may
turn up anywhere ; so, if we should come
across them, I can let him know. Then
there is a postscript. " Josephs is the name ;
you needn't say I told you to let me know.
liy the way, I am going to Paris next month,
so, if you want anything, only tell me, and I
will start it from there." So from this I
gather that the friends who are yachting are
interesting to the sardine, and I remember
the remark about the little girl who " did
not seem to see it," and wonder if she is on
board.

" Surely it is the wrong time of year for
yachting in the Mediterranean ? " I say, as I

182 MRS. KEITE'8 CRIME.

watch Miss Martin fold up the lace they have
bought and put it carefully away.

Mrs. Greenside is a little flattered, thinkiDg
that I am alluding to her brother, and she
answers with apologetic pride, " Oh, but they
have a very large steam yacht, and my brother
is so accustomed to her, he goes about in any
weather."

Suddenly an idea strikes me. *^ What is
your brother's name ? " I ask.

" Josephs," she answers, rather coldly.

"Is he the member for ? " I ask. It

is strauge how useful little odds and ends of
memories are. I remember about three years

since seeing the walls of placarded with

" Vote for Josephs," but never even knew
whether he was returned or not, for I am not
a politician. My question pleases Mrs. Green-
side, and she answers —

" Oh yes. He is exceedingly clever," she
adds. " He might have been anjrthing he
pleased ; but he never cared to go into Parlia-
ment till last year."

L..

MRS. KEITH' 8 CRIME, 183

She speaks as if he had only had to open the
door and walk in ; evidently her brother is
a very remarkable man. I wonder if she
* knows Mr. Cohen ; but perhaps it will be
wiser not to ask. I remember the letter I
posted from Malaga containing an account of
Mrs. Greenside, and in it I mentioned that
she expected her brother and niece. Then I
do not see why I should conceal my acquaint-
ance with the sardine; there is always some-
thing unpleasant about seciets.

■* Mrs. Greenside, do you know Mr. Frederic
Cohen, in London?" I ask. ^'He Uves in
Princes Gardens."

« Oh yes," she says, in a sUghtly supercilious
manner, and with the air of a person who
knows every one, but only knows him as a
matter of course. " He was one of the young
men who were in love with Helen last season."

" Your niece ? "

" Yes ; but, of course, with her prospects it
was impossible for anything to come of it."

"He is very rich," I say. thinking that

184 MB8. KEITH'S CRIME.

money may be of some advantage in her
eyes.

" Oh, but money really does not matter/'
she answers loftily, "for my niece will have
a large fortune of her own. She is an only
child, and her father is very rich. She ought
to make a very brilliant match, with her
accomplishments and sweetness of disposition."
" I thought Mr. Cohen was related to some
very old Jewish families ? "

"Oh yes," she answers, as if she did not
think much of that. " One of the Bowerings
was very much in love with Helen last season,"
she adds, as if to give me an idea that by a
brilliant match she did not mean marrying
among her own people. " But he wa3 a
younger son ; the eldest one is married."

"And eldest sons are scarce compared to
younger ones," I remark, not quite knowing
what to say.

"And so apt to throw themselves away," she

answers sadly. »

"Mr. Cohen is very good and kind," I tell

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 185

her. " He lias been a staunch and generous
friend to me."

" I dare say he has, dear Mrs. Keith. I can
quite understand his admiring you greatly."

The colour comes to my face, for there i^
something unpleasant in her manner.

« He didn't admire me ; he is very kind and
good " I begin quickly.

" No one could help admiring you," she in-
terrupts softly ; " and then, your sweet little
child — ^no one could help being ready to do
anything in the world for her."

When we go back to our rooms I look round 1 v

them curiously. They are not so grand as ^

Mrs. Greenside's, but they will soon be cosy ^

and homelike. The sitting-room is large and

pleasant (the bedroom leads from it) ; when

my painting things are about, and the odds

and ends from the bottoms of our trunks, and

some cheap bright drapery that I saw in the

shop windows as we came here is put up, it

will look pretty enough. It has a large

balcony, with an awning of matting over it, ^

and that alone gives the room a character.

The window is open, and the bell over the

way is not ringing, so we sit and listen to

the faint sound of the piano in the ccxfe

opposite the front of the hotel. In the

MRS. KEITH'S CHIME. 187

evening we now and then catch the twanging
of a guitar ; and there is a chant, half Eastern
it sounds, that is already ringing in my ears,
and has been ever since we entered Spain. It
is sung by the gipsies, I think, and they must
have known it these hundreds and hundreds
of years. We shall spend many hours sitting
by this window, looking out at the mountains
that rise up beyond the church. There are
only a few houses on the open space to the
left, but they and the sugar-canes and the
esparto grass make up a foreground. Kound
the corner is the sea ; when we are on the
balcony we get a good view of it and the
passing ships, though they are not many.
There is a shady walk just above the beach,
with seats beneath the trees. It will see us
often, and Molly will drink in health as she
breathes the balmy air ; or, for a longer walk,
we can go to the place where the goats are
kept, there Molly can rest awhile and have
some milk. And when this does not content
us, there are two or three rumbling flies, and

188 MBS. KBITS' S CRIME.

we can drive out a mile or two towards the
vega. All these things will make up our life
in Spain. The doctor's house is close by, too
—a pretty house with shaded balconies around
it and a garden full of orange trees. The
house itself is simple enough, but contains
plenty of books, and the rough old man who
is both cook and housekeeper has orders to
admit us whenever we like, and to let us
take away as many books and oranges as we
please.

Zahra is so different from Malaga ; coming
to it is like getting into another atmosphere.
The doctor said the Moors were here, and they
must have been, seeing how near it is to the
cities that were their chief centres ; but, as he
said too, there are few traces of them. I
have looked down every corner, up at every
house, hoping in vain to see some sign or
remembrance of them. Probably such irri-
gation as there is came from them, and what
is left of vegetation here is owing to their
first planting. Then the place has its name,

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 189

which is surely Arabic; but for the rest
all signs have vanished. I shut my eyes
sometimes wondering if the street was here,
and what it looked like hundreds of years ago
in the days of the caliphs, and then in fancy
I see it. There is a Moorish gateway at one
end, and the horseshoe arch stands out clear
and well defined ; and, tall and erect and soft-
footed, the conquerors come up the street, as if
from a dream, and pass by into a dream again.
I see the last gleaming whiteness of their
robes, the last dark face with the turban above
it, vanish into the mist, and hardly realize even
then that it is only my own foolish imagining.
But here in Spain what strikes one most sadly
of all is that the glory of the Moor is like a
dream that was dreamed in Spain's brightest
day, and that, vanishing, left only the darkest
night behind. But whatever this place may
have been, it is now entirely Spanish. Of
other things and other peoples in the past it
seems to have no remembrance, and of them
in the present no consciousness ; it is given up

190 MBS. KEITH'S CHIME.

to itself. No one speaks a word of any lan-
guage but Spanish. Outside the hotel, there is
not a foreigner of any description in all Zahra,
except the doctor. They are all Spaniards of
the lower middle class, or peasants, indolent,
narrow, and drowsy. The hotel itself is com-
fortable, and it is remarkable that there are
only two women belonging to it, i.e. the land-
lady and a woman who apparently comes in
from her house a little way off, to act as
chamber-maid in the morning and kitchen-
maid in the afternoon. The landlady is a fat,
vulgar, careless woman of five-and-forty, much
taken up with her own flirtations, which are
chiefly carried on with the proprietor of the
tumble-down flies, a dirty-looking Spaniard
known in the place as Don Carlos. However,
luckily for her customers, Don Carlos is only
able to devote the evening to her society,
and during the rest of the day she looks
fairly well after her business, which means
that she laughs and scolds and bargains in
the morning, and gossips and sleeps or walks

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 191

along the promenade, with graceful lace on her
head and well-developed figure, in the afternoon.
With all this, however, we in the hotel are only-
amused. We get fair food and plenty of it, the
rooms are kept fairly clean, and the rest is
nothing to us. To me, in spite of the everlasting
weariness and the occasional pain I cannot
shake ofi*, this life is almost happy, for in it
there is the promise that Molly may get well.
The idea has fastened on me that it will be so,
and brightens every hour beyond all words to
describe. And everything in the world seems
to know it — the great hills and the sugar-
canes, the blue sky and the sunshine, the
sea and the clanging bell opposite, the trees
along the walk above the beach, the flowers in
the doctor's garden ; all these things jumbled
up together and each one separately seem to
know some happy secret concerning Molly, and
the secret is that she will get well. Get well I
It makes me laugh for joy to think of it. Oh,
my dear ones who are gone, you would not
grudge me my happiness ? It is not forgetful-

192 MB 8. KEITH'S CBIME.

ness of you ; it is the thankfulness that one of
you is left. Just one, and in her shall you
live to me too, and through her shall all my
world be full of contentment. It may be only
the re-action of all the fear and pain, the
natural coming of the light after the darkness,
on which there is only again the darkness to
follow ; I do not know, and I dare not think.

At last everything is unpacked, I have
bought the chintz and made some hangings,
there are flowers from the doctor's garden in
cheap pottery on the table, an easel is put up,
the favourite books we brought and all the
knick-knacks are put about. I look round
at what is to be our home, and lift Molly up
and kiss her and laugh, for it all looks bright
and sunny and pretty. I carry her to the
window, and we sit down on the shady balcony
to watch the people beneath and the little
group of beggars around the church door
opposite.

" Poor man," Molly says ; *' poor old man.
Do give him a penny, mammy dear. Throw

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 193

him my penny." So Molly's penny goes out to
the brown old beggar man ; and then we shift
a little so as to see the street in front of the
hotel, for, looking up to the right, we can see a
good deal that is going on in it. This place
serves as an excuse for a holiday to the people
in the ugly, dusty one we have left, so twice
a day we see the dirty omnibus from Malaga
arrive. It rattles down the wide street, past
the hotel, and farther on it stops at a little
posada and stays a long time before its door,
till the tired bony horses, harnessed together
with rope, seem unable to fidget any more
and stand quite still, unheeding even the flies.
This omnibus helps to give Zahra its air of
festivity, for it is a happy, gay little place,
and the water-carriers, with barrels decked
with green boughs on their backs or slung
on mules a pace or two in front of them, must
drive a good trade or they would not call out
as lustily as they do day after day.

I know all the people in the hotel by sight
now, except Lord Bexley, who started on an

VOL. L 13

194 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

expedition the day before we came, nearly a
week ago now. So evidently Kalph Bicknell
is not here, or I should have come across him,
or, at any rate, have heard of him through
Mrs. Greenside, Considering how small a
party we are in the hotel, I wonder we have
not made some acquaintance before this. One
thing that keeps me apart from the rest of the
visitors is that I never go down to dinner, but
always sit during the evening in my own
room, so that, except during the luncheon-
hour or out on the walk above the beach, I
seldom come across them. Moreover, Mrs.
Greenside has been so intent on getting
intimate with every one, that I have rather
hung back. I see the Vincents every day at
luncheon. We have arrived at bowing to each
other as we take our seats at table, but they
are some distance from me, and I have not
had the courage to make my cousin's knowing
them an excuse for forcing my acquaintance
on them. They consist of a tall, grey-haired
papa, a rather French-looking grey manrnia.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 195

and a pretty daughter. A very pretty girl is
May Vincent. It is no wonder if Ealph
Bieknell ia in love with her. She is rather
tall, and has a slight, round figure, supple and
easy, as though she had lived much out-of-
doors. She has a sweet oval face and soft
eyes — ^blue, I think, though I can hardly tell
for the changing light that is in them, and
for the dark lashes that shade them — and she
has dark brown hair that waves a little and
droops low over her forehead as Clytie's did.
She makes me think of Clytie, though the
dimples in her face give it an air of sauciness
that was quite unknown to Clytie's. There is
something proud and strong about her, some-
thing in the light step and the graceful walk
that first struck Mrs. Greenside — that suggests
a character and a courage that will prevent
her life from being either tame or colourless.
I never look at her without wondering what
her future will be like, what manner of man
she will marry, and whether he will be Ealph
Bieknell. And yet withal she looks very soft

196 MES. KEITH'S CRIME.

and womanly, and as if she had the bUndness

and tolerance of most loving women ; probably

her life will be circumscribed as their lives

mostly are. You have only to see her once

to know that she possesses one thing — the

unconscious courage of utter truthfulness. I

have looked at her pretty head every day

since we came, but never without feeling

how easy it must be to love her; and when

she turns her face towards Molly, there is an

expression on it that makes my heart go out

to her.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 197

CHAPTER XIV.

To-day we make acquaintance with our neigh-
bours. On a table in the patio, which serves
as a lounge for every one in the hotel, there
are some old English papers. Even to see
them from a distance is fascinating; so after
luncheon I summon courage to go and sit
on one of the wicker chairs beneath the palms,
close by them. Molly is on my lap curiously
locfking round and up at the great leaves
above us. Suddenly Miss Vincent comes and
speaks.

"I hope your little girl is better, Mrs-
Keith ? " she says ; and then half shyly, she
asks, " May I sit down by you ? " and pull-
ing another wicker chair up by mine, she

198 MRS. KEITH* S CRIME.

begins to talk to Molly. Molly tells her about
Marseille, and the lizard, and the ship, and
all the wonders she has seen since she left
home. When Miss Vincent has heard all
about them, she turns to me and says, " Mrs.
Greenside has told us so much about Molly,
we have all been longing to know her. She
tells us, too, that you know some friends of
ours, Mrs. Keith, and mamma has been quite
curious to hear who they are."

I wish Mrs. Greenside had not been so
communicative ; but it does not matter, so
I tell her that Alice Grey is my cousin, and
had desired to be kindly remembered to them
if we met. Then she becomes quite excited,
as people do abroad on hearing of their
friends in England, and we are immediately
as intimate as if we had been a month in the
same house ; so Alice Grey is of some use to
us, after all. Miss Vincent tells me about
a ball Mrs. Grey gave last season, and asks if
I was there, and wonders why we did not see
each other ; but I tell her that I do not go.

MRS, KEITH'S CHIME. 199

to balls any more, and I think, but do not
say so, that I did not even have the chance of
going to this one.

" It was very nice," she says. " The most
exquisite floor, and not too crowded. I think
it is perfectly cruel to ask one to a ball and
not give one room to move* don't you, Mrs.
Keith ? Molly, won't you come on my lap ? "
she asks coaxingly ; " oh, do."

But Molly shakes her head, and says, "No,
thank you ; I want to stay with mummy.
Dear mummy," she adds, kissing my dress.

" Very well," Miss Vincent answers, with an
offended air. "I have a little guitar in mjr
room which was bought at a very funny shop,
near a beautiful palace in Granada, and I shall
go upstairs and shut the door, and play
' Three Blind Mice ' all by myself."

Molly is staring at her intensely, with wide-
open blue eyes, and without taking any notice
of the enticing remark about the guitar, says
gravely, "You have got dimples in your face."

"You dear little thing. Don't you think

200 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

they are very ugly ? It is a sad thing to have
little round holes in your face; worse than
having them in your frock."

" They're not holes, and they are not ugly/'
Molly says stoutly. "Can you play anything
else besides ^ Three Blind Mice ' ? " she asks.
Evidently the mice have made an impression
on her though she does not want to show it.

" Come and sit on my lap and I'll tell you i
all about them," Miss Vincent says ; but Molly
only shakes her head and hides her face against
my shoulder. " You little coquette ; I won't
have anything more to say to you. The blind
mice wouldn't look at you if they knew you
were so unkind to me."

" Why, of course they wouldn't," Molly
answers, with severe common sense ; " blind
mice can't look — can they, mother?" she asks
doubtfully. Then it seems to occur to her
that she ought to make some little return to
Miss Vincent's overtures, so she remarks,
" We threw a penny out of the window to-day
to a poor man."

MRS. KEITH'S CBIME. 201

" I know another friend of yours," I say, for
Mrs. Greenside is coming along the corridor
that leads to the patio, and I know that our
talk will soon be at an end — " Mr. Bicknell."

" Do you ? " and she looks up quickly, and
with such keen interest on her face that it is
easy to see that she knows him very well
indeed.

" I thought he waS with you, from what
Alice Grey said."

"So he is, only he has been on an expe-
dition with Lord Bexley. He is coming back
this very afternoon. Mrs. Greenside, do have
my chair;" she gets up quickly, gives that
lady her chair, and seizing two enormous
cushions on the divan near, puts them one
on the top of each other, and sits down upon
them. "Low seats are so comfortable," she
says.

Mrs. Greenside takes the chair with scarcely
a word of thanks. She considers that girls
are meant to give up to other people, and that
unless they are married, and therefore at the

202 MRS, KEITH'S CRIME.

head of an establishment, they are not worth
considering. Miss Martin told me this acci-
dentally. " Mrs. Greenside dislikes unmarried
people," she said ; '* that is, unmarried women.
She thinks they are always in the way, and so
very tiresome." Mrs. Greenside turns to me,
while the diamonds on her hands sparkle, and
the heavy folds of her black silk dress, that
never rustles, slowly arrange themselves.

" Mrs. Keith,^' she asks, in her most earnest
voice, " tell me how your little girl is ? I
should have sent Miss Martin to see, but she
has been laid up with neuralgia, and every
moment upstairs I have had to devote to
writing to friends in England. They will be
so anxious about me," she adds plaintively.
" And do tell me how you are yourself."

" Thank you, we are both much better, and
delighted with this place."

" I knew you would be," she says, with a
sigh of satisfaction, as if she had been the
means of bringing us here. "Miss Vincent,
when are Lord Bexley and Mr. Bicknell to

MBS. EEITE'S CRIME. 203

return ? " I know that she has never seen
either of them, so rather wonder at the
interest in her tone ; it amuses me to find, too,
that Mrs. Greenside speaks to Miss Vincent
in the tone of one who has known her for
years and takes a grave interest in her afikirs.
" Lord Bexley will be such an interesting man
to meet," she continues, as if to account for
her inquiry. " His book is charming ; I have
written to England for it."

" I have not read it," Miss Vincent says ;
** but he and Mr. Bicknell are coming back this
afterlioon."

" That is why Lady Bexley refused to go for
a drive, perhaps. She is with your mother
now. They are talking about their children."
The last words are said in a S3nnpathetic but
slightly impatient voice.

" Have you many brothers and sisters ? "
T ask Miss Vincent.

*' No, not many : only two little brothers —
they are at school ; and two little sisters — they
are staying with mamma's sister."

204 MBS. KEITETS CRIME.

Mrs. Greenside looks up quickly. " Are
they half brothers and sisters ? " she asks.

"Yes; mamma is not my own mother,"
she says gently ; and, hesitating as if she
thought it unkind to remember it, she adds,
" She is dear papa's second wife."

Mrs. Greenside sighs. " I hope my niece will
never have a step-mother,'' she says, with utter
want of tact.

The girl looks up quickly, and answers,
" Perhaps no one can be quite like one's
own dear mother, Mrs. Greenside ; but I am
very glad that papa married again. It would
have been very sad and lonely for him with-
out a companion : she has always been so
very kind to me, and I love her and am
very grateful to her for making my father
happy. Mamma," she says, as Mr. and Mrs.
Vincent come out on their way to the street,
and Lady Bexley follows them, "mamma
dear, what do you think ? Mrs. Keith is a
cousin of Mrs. Grey's,' and she knows Ralph
too."

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 205

" I am very glad to meet you, Mrs. Keith,"
Mrs. Vincent says holding out her hand as
if she desired to be friendly ; " we have heard
so much of Molly from Mrs. Greenside. You
have come for the winter, I hear."

*^ Yes," I answer, grateful for her friendliness,
and feeling less lonely already as we stand,
Molly and I, in the midst of the pleasant little
group in the patio.

" I feared your little girl was not so well
yesterday as you did not come into luncheon,
and we never see you of an evening. I hope
you get some dinner ? "

" Oh yes," I explain ; " but it is brought
up on a tray, and then I can read, and be
near Molly in bed in the next room."

" Let me sit with Molly this evening while
you go down to dinner, Mrs. Keith," May
says.

" Or Miss Martin would," Mrs. Greenside
puts in.

" No, thank you," I answer. " I much prefer
the simple tray and the open window to the

206 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

long dinner and the hot room ; but thank you
very much."

" You are quite right/' Mr. Vincent says, in
the tone of one who feels it to be his duty to
express his approval of a sensible arrangement,
even though it is one he would not think of
making for himself. " Take my advice, and
always escape a table dJhdte if you can.
And so you know Bicknell ? "

" Yes ; I knew him a great many years ago,
when I was a little girl. We were play-
fellows."

" Very odd, to be sure, how things turn
up," he says. " Come, Caroline ; we must not
keep Lady Bexley waiting any longer."

"You see, Mrs. Greenside," Lady Bexley says,,
in an apologetic, but very formal voice, " Mrs.
Vincent has persuaded me to go out, after all.
I think really I was a little afraid of those
terrible Spanish carriages, afraid to trust myself
in one ; " and she turns to follow the Vincents.
But Mrs. Greenside is not by any means to be
extinguished yet

MBS. KEIIWS CRIME. 207

" Mr. Vincent," she says, " you seem to
know everything. Do tell me how my brother
will get here from Gibraltar. He would hardly
bring his yacht in here. Do you suppose he
would leave it at Gibraltar, and come by land ;
or take it to Malaga, and then come on ? I don't
know in which direction to t^rn my face to
look for him.'*

Mr. Vincent looks at her with a little odd
smile, and his stiff iron-grey moustache looks
extra wiry. He has a way of saying slightly
rude things in a pleasant, patronizing manner
that people seldom resent.

"I should say you had better turn your
face in the direction of the road," he
answers. " He will probably leave his boat
at Malaga, and drive over. What is his yacht
called ? "

" The Flying Dutchman.''

His tone is more respectful when he hears
this. " I know her. She's a fine craft ; belongs
to Josephs the Jew." Mrs. Greenside is silent,
and looks rather annoyed. It is odd how her

208 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

pride in her relations and her half shame of
their persuasion struggle. "He is a very clever
man. What wonderful people the Jews are ;
I wish I had been one myself ; " he adds.

Mrs. Greenside brightens up. "Oh, he's
very, very clever," she says, with a long-drawn
sigh.

Then Mr. Vincent suddenly looks at Mrs.
Greenside, as if from a new point of view.
" And so Josephs is your brother ? " and he
looks at her still more closely, as if he expected
to see a hook in her nose suddenly develop
itself. " Why, you must be one of the great
people too, then ? '*

She tries to answer proudly that it is so,
but her voice hesitates a little. " I suppose so,
Mr. Vincent. But I wish 1 could say that I
did wholly belong to them. My mother was
not a Jewess. She was one of the Sherwins
of Dorsetshire."

" I don't know them," he says.

" She was not strong, poor thing, and I fear
I inherit her constitution. The Jews have

MUS. KEITH'IS CRIME. 209

such Splendid physiques/' she says, determined
to express some unqualified admiration of her
father's race.

" Of course they have ; and don't you know,"
Mr. Vincent says instructively, ^* that one
proof of the Jews being the stronger race is,
that if a Jew and a Gentile marry, the children
are pretty sure to take after the Israelite " — she
does not like this last word at all — " and the
Jewish blood will show itself even after several
Christian generations ? Ah, they are a wonder-
ful people. I have a great respect for them.
Come, Lady Bexley; come, Caroline." And
they all three slowly sally forth.

" May I come with you, Mrs. Keith ? " Miss
Vincent asks, as we get up, and she takes
Molly's hand. She stops to say good-bye when
we get to our door, but I ask her to enter and
see our rooms, and she assents joyfully. " Oh,
what a nice room," she cries, and wanders
round, looking at the books and the little
scraps of adornment. " And there is Molly on
the easel. What a sweet portrait, what a

VOL. I. 14

210 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

pretty thing she looks ! " She laughs, and her
laughter seems to make the whole room bright
and happy. " Mrs. Greenside told us you
painted. She is a very old friend of yours,
isn't she, Mrs. Keith ? ''

" Oh no," I answer, in surprise. " I only
met her on board the boat. She is very
kind," I add, for my conscience pricks me for
not liking her well enough.

" Yes, indeed she is," the girl says eagerly ;
" I am sure of that, only Lady Bexley has taken
a dislike to her, and papa makes fun of her.
I only hope Ralph won't also take a dislike
to her, for he is so rude to people when he
does ; it is very awkward sometimes."

" Yes, it is very awkward," I answer
absently, noticing how her face lights up when
she mentions him ; and then I make her sit
down on the rocking-chair, and she turns it
round a little so that she can look up at
Molly's portrait as well as out at the open
window. She waits half impatiently for me
to speak. I know perfectly that she wants

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 211

me to talk about Kalph, and that my old
acquaintance with him is the chief cause of
my sudden attraction for her.

" Do tell me how you knew Ralph," she says
at last. "It is odd 1 never heard him talk
of you ; but he never does talk much about
people."

" I have not seen him since we were both
children," 1 answer ; " we were playfellows
together."

" How nice. And did he bully you ? " she
asks merrily. This girl, in the fuU tide of
youth and beauty and happiness, fascinates
me ; I sit opposite and look at her, it seems as
if from across the world.

" Yes, he did," 1 answer, amused at the
question ; and ask in turn, " does he bully
you ? "

" Indeed he does," she says, with a laugh
and a sigh together.

"Did he give you that ? " I ask, pointing
to a little half hoop of diamonds on her third
j&nger.

212 MRS. KEITH'S CHIME,

She nods uneasily, and evidently does not
want to talk about it.

" It doesn't mean anything," she says
quickly. *' Oh yes, he is very masterful," she
goes on. *' He thinks that women like master-
ful men ; but I think he would be just as nice,
much nicer, if he didn't always want his own
way. I should know that I had mine some-
times only because he pleased to let me have
it." Then, as if she had suddenly remembered
something, she says, " Perhaps I shouldn't say
this to you, Mrs. Keith, only you don't seem
like a stranger, you knew him so long ago.
Was he a nice boy ? "

" Yes, very."

*' I think he must have been," she says, with
^ sigh ; and then she looks up and says, " He
is very nice now, though he is disagreeable
sometimes."

"So he was as a boy,'' I say. " When I
offended him he used to pinch me," at which
slie laughs out joyously.

" Did he ? " she exclaims. " That is just

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 213

like him. Of course he can't pinch people
now, but he punishes you dreadfully if you
offend him."

" Do you ever offend him ? ''

" Oh yes, sometimes, I suppose. But I must
go. Mrs. Keith, I wonder if you would come
and have some tea in our room presently?
He will be back by five o'clock, and I am sure
mamma would be glad to see you." But I
shake my head.

" Not this afternoon," I say ; " but perhaps
you and Ralph — Mr. Bicknell, I suppose I must
call him — will come and see me for an hour
this evening. I think I must rest for a little
while now."

"You look very tired," she says gently.
" Would you not like to be a little while alone
and quiet ? Perhaps Molly would come with
me for a bit. Will you, dear ? "

" ril be very, very quiet," Molly says
beseechingly, *'but I do want to stay with
mother ; " and she creeps into my arms and lies
quite still.

214 MRS, KEITH'S CRIME.

A few hours later, just after the dinner-bell
has rung, May Vincent taps softly at the door
and comes in again. Her eyes are bright, and
her face is flushed with happiness. A bunch
of scarlet flowers is in her waist-band.

"Are you better, Mrs. Keith?" she asks.

" Yes, I am better," I answer.

" Ralph remembers you perfectly. He says
you were so pretty and such a sweet little girl,
and he means to fall in love with you over
again."

" That is very kind of him ; " and I try to
laugh. " But I fear it must not be to-night,
dear, for I am very tired. I think I must lie
down when Molly goes to bed."

" I am so sorry — I am so sorry," she
repeats softly, touching my hand. " Let us
come to-morrow night. We are going for a
picnic all day. You are not strong enough to
go with us ? " I shake my head. " I will
steal in for a moment, if I may, before I go to
bed to-night, just to see if I can do anything
for you. Molly, you shall have one of these

MRS, KEITH'S CRIME. 215

scarlet flowers ; Ralph brought them from the
mountains ; dear little Molly, and there is a
kiss for you. Now keep still by mother/' And
with the happy smile lighting up her beau-
tiful face, she goes down to meet her lover.

216 MRS, js:eith'8 crime.

CHAPTER XV.

This morning all sense ofs weariness has gone.
Molly looks well, though the doctor looks at
her, as he always does, with an anxious expres-
sion on his face ; it seems sometimes as if
he understood all the past, and in some dim
way held the secret of the future. But it is a
rest and comfort to hear his voice ; he is a
man in whose presence it seems as if nothing
can go very far wrong ; it gives one strength
to see him. He comes in slowly, and quite
naturally taking Molly on his knee begins
to talk with her, a little happy, trivial con-
versation such as children love. When it is
over he looks round the room and admires it,
and going up to Molly's portrait on the easel
sees the good points and the bad ones and
remarks on them. *' I ought to get you some

Mas. KEITH'S CBIM& 217

Commissions from the Spaniards/' he says. " I
do not know the people here very well as yet^
but I will find out about them. As yet all
Spaniards disappoint me; they are so apathetic.''

" Apathetic ? " I say, in surprise.

" They are passionate/' he explains, ^' but
they are forgetful, as passionate people usually
are ; and seem capable of no sustained feeling.
Lord Bexley was saying this only last night."

" Is Lord Bexley interesting ? " I ask.

"He is pleasant and full of fun," he answers.
*" I only saw him last night, when he seemed
to be a little inclined to make fun of Mrs*
Greenside. I am afraid she lends herself
rather easily to it ; but she is a very kind
person." I notice that Dr. George, as he is
called by every one here, always sees the best
side of people. " By the way, ]\Irs. Keith, I
have been wondering if you would care to have
a piano in your room. There is my brother's,
and it is spoiling for want of use. Why
shouldn't you have it over here ? "

" It would be very nice," I answer ; " but

218 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

your brother — perhaps he would not like it to
be moved."

" Oh yes ; I asked him about it before he
started, and he said I could do what I liked
with anything in the house. Til have it
brought over, and Molly shall play to me next
time I come."

" Mummy plays best," Molly says ; "and she
sings, but not like Jack. Jack used to sing
lovely songs, and rock on the rocking-horse."

He has been told about Jack before, so he
makes no answer ; only kisses her and lifts her
gently off his knee, and gets up to go.

" Do the Spaniards grieve very much when
any one belonging to them dies ? " something
makes me ask.

" They accept all the inevitables with
dignity," he answers, "never rejoicing or
grieving over-much. But I must go. I think
Molly is doing very well. Keep her out-of-
doors." He is shaking hands with me, when
Mrs. Greenside enters. She is delighted to get
hold of him.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 219

" I am so glad to see you," she says, in her
heavy, earnest manner. " What an interesting
talk you had with Lord Bexley last night.
He is a delightftd man."

" He is very pleasant," the doctor answers,
with a twinkle in his eye.

" Now, do tell me about Mrs. Keith. Don't
you think she is very fragile ? " she asks
suddenly.

" I am quite well," I say emphatically.

" She is so devoted to her child," Mrs.
Greenside sighs.

Dr. George sees that I do not want the
subject continued, so adroitly changes it.

" When are your relations coming, Mrs.
Greenside ? " he asks. Every one in the
hotel takes an interest in Mrs. Greenside's
relations.

" To-day. I have just had a telegram, and
wanted to tell Mrs. Keith at once, for I knew
she would sympathize with me. She under-
stands a sensitive nature like her own ; " and
Mrs. Greenside sighs again.

220 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

^' I am very glad they are coining ; it will
be a great pleasure to you," he says.

" Oh yes," she answers, with another long-
drawn sigh, as if no words can measure the
happiness it will give her. " I hope you and
my brother will be great friends," she adds
earnestly. " He delights in clever men." The
doctor's eye twinkles again.

" I shall be very glad. But now I fear I
must say good-bye. Then, I'll send the piano
over, Mrs. Keith ; " and he escapes.

" I am so glad to hear your good news, Mrs.
Greenside. How did it come ? " I ask her.

" Oh, they telegraphed the moment they
knew where I was, and said they would start
immediately," she says, as if she wondered
whether I had expected they would do any-
thing else." " How charming you have made
your room. You have so much taste." And
then she stands before Molly's portrait, and
seems charmed by it. " It is a great thing to
have your talent, Mrs. Keith," she says — " a
most precious thing. I wonder if, when you

MBS, KEITH'S CPdME. 221

feel stronger, you would take a commissioix
from me to paint my niece ? I would give
anything to have a portrait of her ; not a full-
size one, but one like this of Molly. Oh,
there is Miss Martin. Miss Martin, do come
and look at this portrait." Miss Martin comes
slowly into the room and shuts the door ; she
stands before the easel for a few minutes.

" Yes, it is very nice ; it is very like," she
says gently, and goes to the window. It is
an odd characteristic of Miss Martin that
whenever it is possible she looks out of
window.

" I am glad you like it." I feel chilly as I
speak, and wrap a little black shawl over my
shoulders, saying that it is cold.

*^ Oh, you are not well," Mrs. Greenside
says, with great concern in her voice. " I
could see you were not well the moment I
entered. Miss Martin, where is my white
Shetland shawl ? "

" It is in the Indian trunk."

^' Will you please get it ? " and Miss Martin

222 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

goes oflf obediently. " Mrs. Keith, you ought
really to speak to the doctor about yourself."

" It is only the reaction after all the worry,"
I answer. " But I will speak to him if I do
not get stronger."

" You must indeed.''

" He is so very kind '*

" And he is devoted to you ; I could see
that on board the ship."

" Devoted to me ? " I say coldly, the blood
going from my face, for I feel that she is
making it impossible to ask personal advice
from him. " He is not more devoted to me
than to any one else."

" Oh yes, he is," she says earnestly.

".You must not say that," I answer; "please
never to say that again, Mrs. Greenside, either
to me or to any one else."

" But, my dear Mrs. Keith, why should I
not say it, and how can he help admiring
you?" Her tone worries more than I can
say.

" Oh no, indeed ; it is all a mistake. Please

MRS. KEITH'S CHIME, 223

never think anything of the sort again ; it is
cruel and untrue "

And suddenly the door opens, and Philip
the doctor's man and Don Carlos the land-
lady's friend appear, bringing in the piano,
and the former has a basket of fresh oranges
for Molly, which Doctor George has sent. Mrs.
Greenside looks at me, but before she can
make any remark. Miss Martin returns with
the shawl. Don Carlos says that senora
Manuela (the landlady) will come presently
to see that the piano is placed as I like, and
he bows and departs with Philip.

*' Mrs. Keith, have you one of these shawls?"
Mrs. Greenside asks, holding up a soft white
Shetland one, so fine that it looks like lace.
*' Then, you must have this — ^you must indeed.
Let me give it to you "

" But indeed, Mrs. Greenside, I do not feel
the cold, and I do not like to take so beautiful
a thing "

" Oh, but you must," she says. " It was
given to me by a very sweet woman two

224 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME,

hours before she died. She was very dear
to me, and I tried to save her life just
as if it had been my own, did I not, Miss
Martin ? "

" Yes, Mrs. Greenside, you did," Miss Martin
answers, still looking out of window, with her
face turned in the direction of the sea.

'' And she died ? ' ' I ask Mrs. Greenside,
with a shudder. Somehow the history of the
sshawl fascinates me.

" Oh yes, she died,'' Mrs. Greenside, says in a
voice of compassion, but as if dying had been
a matter of course ; ^' and the last time I saw
her, she took this shawl oflf her shoulders and
put it on mine. I never saw her afterwards,
and I have never worn it since, and now I
want you to have it. You won't mind accept-
ing it as a token of my great admiration for
your courage in coming all this way alone
Tvdth your child.'*

"But there is nothing to admire in that.
It is only what any mother would do."

" All mothers would not feel so," she sighs ;

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 225

" but, dear Mrs. Keith, your little child is so
sweet I do not wonder at your devotion to
her." And so in a minute she makes me
grateful. Suddenly Miss Martin turns from
the window; I fancy that there are tears iu
her eyes, but it must be only fancy.

" Mrs. Keith," she says, " Mrs. Greenside
does not want me just now. Shall I take
your little girl for a walk ? " I look at her
in surprise. She is generally too much like
a machine to think of this kind of thing.
"Perhaps you are not well enough to go
out yourself to-day ? " she says ; " you look
very tired."

" I want to stay with you, mother," Molly
pleads.

For some unknown reason I cannot bear
to refuse Miss Martin's offered kindness.

" I wish you would go, darling. You might
gather some flowers for me," I say ; and she
assents. So I tie on her little white calico
hood, and she goes oflf in the sunshine with
Miss Martin towards the walk by the sea.

VOL. I. 15

226 MBS. KEITWS CRIME.

" Have the Vincents made up their picnic ? "
I ask Mrs. Greenside.

" Yes," she answers. " The Vincents and
Lord and Lady Bexley and that Mr. Bicknell."

'^TeU me what Mr. BickneU is like."

"He is nothing remarkable," she answers.
"But no doubt the Vincents are anxious to
see their daughter married. Girls are great
responsibilities until they are married ; they
are like trees waiting to be planted."

" But you are not anxious to see your niece
married ? " I say maliciously.

" Oh, but she is like my own child ; and I
should be glad to see her married too, only
I feel that so few young men of the present
day are worthy of her. I shall bring her in
to see you as soon as she comes, if you are
not downstairs. Sometimes w^hen you are
tired you must make her play to you," she
adds.

" Is she very musical ? "

" Oh yes," she answers, in a tone that
signifies that as a matter of course she is

MRS. KEIIH'S CRIME. 227

everything. It is quite certain that Mrs.
Greenside is very staunch to her relations ;
it is impossible to help liking her for it.

I wonder a great deal what Miss Josephs
will be like, and whether she cares for the
sardine, and if people here wUl take kindly to
Mrs. Greenside's relations, for they do not care
much about her. They will stay three or four
weeks at least, Mrs. Greenside thinks, and the
only thing that appears to disturb her is that
Lord and Lady Bexley are going away soon.
They (the Bexleys) want to get back to Italy,
to a villa they have somewhere near Bordi-
ghera, and where they expect friends from
England immediately after Christmas. " Of
course, my brother wUl delight in meeting
Lord Bexley," Mrs. Greenside explains ; "he is
so very interesting, and full of information."

When MoUy comes back, Mrs. Greenside
and Miss Martin go away together, and leave
me with the remembrance of their kindness,
and with the dead woman's shawl about my
shoulders. As they go out of the door, MoUy

228 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

runs after Miss Martin and puts her arms
round her neck and kisses her.

"Take me out again another day," she
says.

Miss Martin colours, and says in her me-
chanical manner, " I will, if Mrs. Greenside
can spare me ; " and follows her employer from
the room.

It takes me by surprise ; she took no
notice of Molly on board ship, and has no
ways that please a child. I wonder what
has happened and yet I do not like to
question Molly ; it would seem like looking
into some recess into which I am not meant
to see. But Molly soon tells me all about it
of her own accord.

" Oh, mummy dear," she says, " we went a
little way, and sat down and looked at the
ships, and then Miss Martin began to cry
because her brother had gone a long way
across the sea, and hadn't said good-bye to her.
And then I told her about Jack, and how he
used to sing ; and then she told me that once

MRS, KEITH'S CRIME. 229

her brother was a little boy, and she used to
love him very much, and they used to have
all manner of games together, but now he
is a man, and it isn't half so nice as when
he was a little boy ; and then she cried and I
didn't know what to do, so I cuddled her up
and kissed her and told her not to cry, and she
called me a little darling."

"Poor Miss Martin."

" Yes ; and she has got a little tiny penknife
in .her purse, and it has been there ever since
her brother was a little boy "

She stops and looks tired and faint ; the
fatigue has been too much for her. I take
her on my lap to rest, and soon she is
asleep ; but her breathing is short, the fever
burns on her face, and for a moment all the
old fears come back.

The landlady enters to arrange a place for
the piano, she looks at Molly carelessly and
shrugs her shoulders. She dislikes children,
and it is an unfortunate thing that the only
woman-servant in the house seems also to

230 MBS. KEITH'S CBIME.

dislike them. Senora Manuela stops before
Molly for a moment with a curious expression
on her face.

" Ah ! " she says, " she will never be strong.
It is no use wishing the weak to live. What
are they to do with life ? "

" One's own child," I answer, while my heart
turns cold.

'*It is not one's self, but one's child, for
whom you should desire what is best," she says,
with another shrug of the shoulders. " Life is
not always best ; " she looks at me and laughs,
as if to let me see that she says it from no ill
feeling, but from calm, philosophical foresight.
" My sister had a child ; it was ill for three
months," she goes on. " Ah, poor dear, it
was a good thing when it died : it is no good
living to bear pain." She says all this more
to herself than to me as she leaves the room.
The door does not fasten easily ; without
thought of the sleeping child, she rattles the
catch, and finally bangs the door.

Molly awakes with a start, and looks about

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 231

her. " Poor Miss Martin ; I am so sorry for
Miss Martin's little brother, mummy," she
says, and closes her sweet eyes again ; when
she is once more asleep, I carry her into the
next room and put her gently down on the
bed, and sit beside her and watch. She is
still sleeping when, two hours later, Mrs.
Greenside taps at the sitting-room door again,
and enters with a girl beside her.

*' Mrs. Keith," she says, " this is my niece.
She is very tired with her journey, but I
wanted her to come at once to see you and
your little Molly.''

I look at the girl curiously. She is fair and
pale. She has a long nose, soft grey eyes,
and pretty light hair twisted round her head,
much in the fashion that I wear mine. I
notice instantly that she has very beautiful
hands. She wears a simple black gown, and
no ornaments of any kind. I say some polite
words of greeting, and as she looks up I
see, almost with surprise, the sweetness of the
smile that lights up the shy, grave face.

232 MRS. KEITH' 8 CRIME.

"I am very glad to meet you/' she says.
*' My aunt has told me of your kindness to
her. I hope I may come and see your little
girl to-morrow, when I am rested."

She says it in a low musical voice that
makes me long to hear her speak again ; but
she seems a little frightened, and looks at me
with a look that says, " Let me go away," and
I do not try to keep her.

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 233

CHAPTER XVL

It is half-past eight. Molly is asleep, my
dinner- tray has gone down, the window is open,
and I can hear the piano going in the cafe
opposite. Just now the last omnibus rattled
past the corner, on its way back to Malaga.
I wonder it goes safely along the rough, un-
lighted roads ; but these Spanish mules have
a safe and sleepy instinct that carries them
anywhere without stumbling. The queer old
man who serves as waiter and general atten-
dant during the latter half of the day, brings
in the lamp and a little pile of papers Dr.
George has sent over, thinking I should like
to see them ; but I am too tired to drag
myself from the lumpy cushions even to read
the news from home. I fear sometimes that

234 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

1 am growing stupid; things are becoming a
little blunted all round. I cannot think, or
read, or work, or care for things as keenly as
formerly ; all my longing is just to get on
to this sofa and rest, just to know that Molly
is well, or that she is sleeping peacefully in
the next room, then all the world and all it
has may slip by.

But this is just a passing phase ; life is not
so feeble that it cannot struggle against it,
and all the hopes and longings and ambitions
will come back. This place, in which we are
strangers, and in which the few people we
know are happier and stronger and better
than ourselves, throws me back on myself
too much, and deepens the shadows in my
lot. In England it was easy to find so
many poor and sick and sorrowful, longing
for sympathy, and aching even for such little
help as I could give, and in sight of their
lives it was impossible to cry out at one's own
griefs — almost impossible not to lose remem-
brance of them, to a certain extent, in the

MBS, ELITE'S CJRLMK 235

longing and eagerness to enter into their lives,
and to help them and comfort and make them,
even for ever so small a space, a little happier
and brighter, a little freer from pain, a little
less cold and hungry. But here one is thrown
on one's self so sadly, and above all things
is alone. To some men it might perhaps
be best, but to a woman it is terrible. But
this feeling wUl pass. What slaves we are to
the lower side of ourselves, and how flesh and
blood can master us. A little pain, a single
blow, a little derangement of so many atoms, a
little failure in the mere mechanical working
of our bodies, and the strongest and the '
weakest are on the same level; and genius,
and intellect, and learning, and noble aspira-
tions, and all longings and strivings, where
are they ?

Some one in the street beneath passes
by, singing the gipsy chant, or what I take
to be the gipsy chant. It seems as if my
soul goes out to follow the voice down the
dim street, along by the trees towards the

236 MBS, KEITH'S CRIME,

still sea, over the uneven ground with the
rough stones and the tracks of sand. I can
feel the cool breeze blowing. I look up
and see the steelly blue of the sky, and far
away at sea there is a light, and over the
waves I go — the smooth, cold waves that have
but little foam on them, and that climb and
roll over and over each other from sheer rest-
lessness, as people toss in their sleep ; for in
this still wind and beneath this blue sky they
do not seem to be alive with all the life that is
theirs in the storm, or with the joyousness that
is theirs in the sunshine, and they are not full
of all the strange memories that moonlight
gives them. They do not know that I am
going on and on, and over and over them
wave after wave, towards the ship at sea.
I go softly, and the little breeze hurries me on
so secretly. How warm it will be on board !
how cosy and bright in the saloon, with the
passengers all about, and the lamps, and the
books, and the bright glasses above the table,
and the sound of the screw as we go on and on

MES, KEITH'S CRIME. 237

towards the land. What land ? Oh, tell me
this ! what land is it they are going to ? Not
a strange land, but the dear one in which the
woman lying on the sofa at Zahra played
when she was a little girl, among the fields at
Minehead ; the land in which her best loved
was carried home with the water dripping from
his hair ; the land in which her little son lies
sleeping. I wonder what the bride is doing
in St. John's Wood, and if she understands
the picture on the easel yet ; if she ever looks
at it, and thinks of the people who walked
round and round the trim garden before it was
all overgrown with rank tall grass, and the sea-
weed was piled up on the shore lower down,

and But some one is here. Ah yes, I

understand: I am the woman at Zahra, and
the woman in the dream is gone ; she is not
me, and I do not know where she may be.
She is some poor soul who comes and rests
in my body awhile, and goes out on strange
journeys, and whispers them all into my
dreaming ears, and then is gone again. I get

238 MRS, KEITH'S CHIME,

up and smooth my rumpled hair. It is very
golden, I think as I look in the glass — a pale,
bright gold, like the sunshine of an early
summer day. I pour some eau-de-cologne on
the top of the mass of plaits, just to awaken
me, and then open the door.

"I was half asleep," I say. " Come in ; I
am so glad to see you both ; " and May
Vincent enters, followed by a man. The man
is fairly tall and well made ; he has browu
eyes and dark brown hair, and he is distinctly
good-looking.

" Dear Mrs. Keith," May says gently, but
in a happy, satisfied voice, " I have brought
Ealph to see you."

" How do you do ? " he says, and looks at
me for full a quarter of a minute, shaking my
hand, as if while he did so he thought of all
the bygone days. "How strange we should
come across each other at last. I have often
thought of you."

They come in, we gather round the open
window, and by the dim lamplight he and I

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 239

look at each other again, long and curiously,
across the memories of all the years that have
passed since we met.

" Why, we used to see each other nearly
every morning ; " he laughs, and I wonder if
he is thinking of the kiss we climbed up the
fence to give each other the day we parted.
He has a merry laugh, and his face lights up
and is at its best when he is amused.

" I remember it all so well," I say ; and we
look at each other again. It is so strange to
meet as man and woman, we who have always
thought of ourselves as children together,
whenever we thought at all.

" You were rather a pretty little girl,
Maggie." I almost start ; it is so long since
any one called me by that name. "May
tells me you contemplate calling me Mr.
Bicknell,*' he remarks, as if he understood
how odd the sound of my own name had
been to me.

"People contemplate many things they
never do," I answer; and then we talk the

240 MRS. KEITH'S CHIME.

old days and haunts of childhood over, wonder-
ing if it be really true that we are grown-up
people now.

" I asked Mrs* Keith if you used to bully
her, Ralph, and she assures me that you did,''
May says, when we have laughed over our old
squabbles. " I believe you were a very dis-
agreeable boy/'

" Do you, miss ? " he answers grandly, just
in the manner he used to answer me years
ago. It brings mornings in the field and
games in the wood all back before my eyes
with a rush. " I never bullied any one ; I was
particularly amiable when I was a boy, as I
am now," he adds solemnly*

" Oh 1 " she cries.

" I believe we used to be sweethearts," he
says, looking at me with another laugh.

"Then the sweetness was all on my side,"
I answer, rather ungraciously ; but I am
thinking of his pinches.

" And the heart too," he answers ; "for you
certainly had mine in those days."

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 241

"i did not deserve so pretty a speech as
that/' I reply humbly.

"That is so like you/' he says ; and then
he turns to May. "She always used to
acknowledge when she was wrong, even in a
trifle. She was very humble and repentant
when she had ofifended me."

" Well ? " she says.

" Well/' he echoes, " why don't you repent
when you offend me, and acknowledge when
you are wrong ? '* They are just like big boy
and girl together ; it is very curious to watch
them.

"So I do," she says, after a moment's
hesitation ; " I always do. I am too proud not
to do so. Only a coward is afraid to make
amends, or to own when he is in the wrong."

She looks proud enough as she says it ;
her voice is eager, and her eyes are raised to
his for a moment. He looks at her, and
then at me, and then at her again; and
I know perfectly that he is thinking how
beautiful she is, and that there is a beautiful

VOL. I. 16

242 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

nature behind those fearless eyes. He is
thinking, too, how bright she is, with her
youth and happiness and utter unconscious-
ness of sorrow ; and I do not know why, but
I feel somehow that he is resolving in his
heart that he will guard her from all the
sorrow and pain that have set their mark for
ever on me/ He turns from her and looks at
my hands. They are lying on my lap, little
thin white hands, with the wedding-ring so
loose that it slips, and would fall off but for
the band of pearls that guards it. Then he
looks up at my face, and while I know that
he is sorry for me, I feel that it is less on
account of all I have suffered than for the
traces it has left.

'' It is so strange to meet you again," he says
gravely. " I can hardly believe it is you, and
tliat you — ^you have been married and have
children ; only one child, though, is it ? "

" One now ; there were two."

"Why, it's twenty years since we met.
You must be nearly thirty, Maggie."

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 243

It is not a wise speech to make to a woman.
Happily I do not mind it.

" It must be quite twenty years," I answer,
"for I was thirty a month ago."

" Were you, Mrs. Keith ? " May exclaims.
" You look about seven-and- twenty ; Mamma
was saying so to-night. Why, you are only
two years younger than Ralph."

" Yes, it is very odd to meet as old fogies," I
say to him, looking across the girl between us.

" I don't feel in the least like an old fogie,"
he answers.

" Neither do I."

" There is not the least occasion to get old
unless one chooses," he says. " I intend to be
as independent of Time as the world itself,
which gets young again every year."

*' And old also," I add maliciously.

"We'll forget that side of the argument,"
he laughs. " Is that your child's portrait ? "
he asks ; he gets up and examines it critically.
" It is rather well done," he says, with some
hesitation, as if he had half expected it to be
badly done, and is surprised.

244 MRS. KEIlirS CRIME.

" Do you think she is pretty ? " I ask, for
he has said nothing about Molly's face, and yet
I have caught its sweetest, dreamiest look.

" It is a nice little face," he answers ;
— " children are a great deal alike, you know,"
he adds, with a little laugh, as if he thought
the remark a joke.

" We are here for her health's sake," I tell
him. " She is not strong."

" So May said ; " but he does not add a
word of sympathy. " I wonder Bournemouth,
or some of those places, would not have done
as well for her," he remarks, in a voice that
gives me to understand that he really thinks
the coming here to have been over-great an
effort to make for so young a child.

''Do you like children?" I ask him, as I
put the easel a little on one side.

"I don't think I do particularly," he
answers ; " but I shall like to see your little
girl ; " and then he says gently, " I thought
of you, Maggie, when I saw your father's
death in the paper years ago. I should have

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 245

written, only I did not know whether you
would remember me ; or where you were."
May is some little distance off while he speaks,
and seems not to hear what he is saying.

"Thank you, Ralph," I say gratefully,
" Do you remember him well ? "

" Perfectly," he answers, " and can see him
riding along the Minehead lanes now. He
always sat bolt upright, and had a way of
looking over the hedges as he went along, as
if he expected to drop on a poacher. "

There is a frank manliness and a certain
simplicity about him as he speaks ; I begin to
understand why May likes him. Suddenly
I hear Molly coughing uneasily in her sleep,
and go to her. As I leave the room a giiitar
is twanging in the street, and they step out on
to the balcony to listen to it.

I stay a few minutes with Molly, arranging
her pillow and listening to her breathing,
and gently smoothing her soft hair. It is a
comfort to be with her again after the hour's
absence, and they will not miss me in the next

246 NBS, KEITH'S CBIME.

room. I sit and think of all that life has
given me since the days when Ralph and
I were playfellows, and am thankful enough
for my lot, even for all the sorrows — that they
have been mine to bear, and not another
woman's.

Presently, when Molly is sleeping soundly
again, and has ceased to cough, I go back to
my visitors. They are still on the balcony,
and do not see me for a moment. I hear
Ralph say, " You little goose," and he puts his
hand on her shoulder just for a moment, but
she shakes it off. I cannot quite make them
out. They are evidently very fond of each
other ; there seems to be some understanding
between them, and yet they do not seem to
be exactly engaged. May looks round and
sees me.

"Do come on the balcony, Mrs. Keith,"
she says ;" it is so lovely."

So I go out ; a clock close by begins to
strike, and a bell rings out in the distance ;
we hear a man's voice singing, and listen till

MBS. KEITH'S CBIMK 247

it dies away. We stand silently looking at
the stars and the sky, and the white church
opposite ; far beyond we see the twinkling
lights at sea— not many, only two or three
perhaps, but they set me journeying into the
far-off again, and I think of the picture on the
easel, and the rocking-horse in the nursery,
and of the little bride, and wonder if she
is laughing. I must not forget to write to
poor nurse to-morrow. When we left England
she was broken-hearted at all that had hap-
pened, and was going to Germany, to her son's
wife.

May gives a long sigh. **The world is
very lovely,'' she says softly, ^* if people were
only worthy of it."

^^ And pray, who is unworthy ? " Ralph asks,
evidently rather astonished at the remark.

She laughs a little. '^ You and I, perhaps,"
she says.

" I don't feel particularly unworthy," he
answers.

"You self-righteous person," she says(

248 MRS. KEITETS CRIME.

reproachfully ; and then she adds, *' I pro-
mised Lord Bexley to remind you of the
billiards at nine o'clock, and nine o'clock
struck half an hour ago/'

" Then why didn't you remind me half an
hour ago ? "

"Don't speak in a masterful tone, sir.
I told Mrs. Keith that you liked being
masterful."

" Did you ? " he answers, in a still more
masterful manner. " You seem to have been
amusing yourself by abusing me to Mrs. Keith
to your heart's content."

" Not to my heart's content at all," she says,
with merry mock humility, "but quite the
reverse, indeed. Alas, alas."

" Why didn't you tell me when it was nine
o'clock, miss ? "

" An' please, sir, we found your company so
pleasant I thought it would be a pity* to lose it,"
she answers saucily ; at which he laughs and
gives his head a little toss, and says he wishes
she would learn to treat her elders with respect.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 249

" Eespect ! " she laughs. " It is so absurd
to expect respect, isn't it ? When you are at
home and official, then it is quite different."
She does not explain what she means, and I
do not like to ask.

" I can't fancy Ralph official," I say.

" Can't you ? " he says absently. " Well, I
shall have to go back soon, I fear, and then
you must fancy it if you think of me at all."
He looks at May itgain for a minute. " I am
teaching her Spanish," he says.

" And scolds me dreadfully," she interrupts.
'' But I am stupid, and he will go to such very
difficult writers."

"We have been learning some maxims in
the ' Conde Lucanor.' Let us see, May ;
what was it you stumbled over so long?
' Quien te alabare con lo — ' "

" I won't listen," she cries merrily, and
stuffs her fingers into her ears. " I am not in
school to-night."

" Obstinate thing I " he exclaims ; and then
they wish me good-night, and he asks if he

250 MBS, KEITH'S CBIME.

may come again, " without this frivolous young
person," looking at May with an expression
in his eyes that must surely satisfy her ; and
then they go away together, laughing and
chattering down the staircase like a couple of
merry school -children. I listen to their voices
curiously; they are like an echo that has
travelled on through all the years.

How strange it has been to meet him again.
I sit down to wonder a bit about all that is
between them, and how it will end; but
instead, I find my thoughts going off to the old
days at Minehead — not to the days when Ralph
and I were boy and girl together, but to the
days when my husband first came to the inn
to paint. He was there a whole summer, and
we knew him only by sight ; but when he
came a second summer, my father thought he
had earned a right to be recognized and, having
made acquaintance, liked him. After that'
he was always at our house, and almost with-
out knowing it we seemed to grow to each
other. It was not that we fell in love — that

JJ/i?5. KEITIPS CRIME. 251

seems to signify something too sudden and
violent ; it was just that our two lives grew
together, until insensibly they became one.
And at last it hardly seemed necessary to tell
me that he loved me ; there was no occasion
for promises and vows between us such as
most lovers bind themselves with. I knew he
loved me long before he spoke, just as he knew,
before any saying of " yes '' or " no " that when
he asked me I should be his wife. Do we
not turn naturally to our own home when
the time comes to go to it ? and so I turned to
him, the home that knew and welcomed me, and
had waited till I was ready, I had no thought
of his not loving me, no fear, no dread of his
not understanding this or that, no more than
he had of my failing him. We knew that all
the world might pass, and all the stars sweep
by, but we should just stand together, with-
out doubt or fear or question of each other.
Was it a very tame love-making ? I do not
think so. It was the calm, still beauty of a
summer that does not wane. We did not

252 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

need storms and clouds and cold gusts, and
sudden sunshine, and all that more uncertain
lovers need, to test our strength. There is a
love that knows no doubt or fear or change,
that is far deeper and more passionate than
that which is always protesting and making
signs to show it has not vanished. The sea is
not deepest where the restless waves ebb and
flow and toss their snowy crests upon the
shingly beach ; but far out, where it flows
still and smooth and there are no stones and
rocks to spend its strength upon. It seemed
so strange that we had ever been apart, there
was no fear of anything coming between us
when we were once together. How strange it
seems that even Death had power to take one
and leave the other. Yet even death is not so
strong as love, and it has left us that, though
one sleeps on not knowing, and the other
sits here and waits. I think sometimes that
death must be a sadder thing to those who love
less. Ah ! but I am speaking in spite of my
own heart. But it is so ; for had we loved each

MBS. KEITirS CRIME. 253

other less, had there been doubts, and fears,
and hopes, and misgivings, as there are between
those two who went laughing down the stairs
just now, I could not have borne the agony of
the end, the vanishing of all possibilities, the
thinking it all over — of wondering how this had
been, and what that had meant, the sense that
never again could one thing be set right and
another explained, or protestations tell how
much or how little we had felt. The love
that wanes, and squabbles, and changes with
the wind, and grows cold when time and space
have come between, or that hangs on a word
and is for ever questioning itself and its fellow,
is it worth having ; is it worth calling love at
all ? Ah, poor heart that has to depend on it,
you have perhaps the little joys of earth, but
you miss the calm of heaven.

254 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

CHAPTER XVTI.

A FORTNIGHT has passed since Mrs. Greenside's
relations arrived, and since Ralph and May first
came to see me. The latter have been many
times since, but never to stay long. Molly
has been ill, though she is better again now ;
I have been ill too, and but for the anxiety
about Molly I should have broken down alto-
gether. It seemed as if some terrible thing
was overtaking me ; a dread I could not express
was dogging me, but I kept my lips shut, and,
when Dr. George came, tried to look bright
and to talk, and he did not even suspect
what the effort cost me. After all, it was
only the re-action, and now that Molly is
looking well again I am getting better too.
Only this craving for happiness is on me still,
the sick disappointment at not getting strong.

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 255

I hate my own selfish impatience, and think
again and again of the many worse lots there
are in the world, but it does not reconcile
me to the possibilities in my own. Age
perhaps gets used to sorrow and pain and
makes them its sad companions, but till one
is old how is one to help longing for health
and brightness? And yet with youth and
age alike I suspect it is the same. We may
keep our lips shut, and hear our silence called
resignation and many fine names ; but wear
what garments we will, our poor human hearts
beat the same beneath them all.

I am glad that we are here in this little inn
and among these pleasant people. It is im-
possible to help liking them, or to help being
interested in their lives and those things
that are much to them. Now that Molly
is better again I am content. They have all
been kind to us and paid us visits. Even
Ralph, who confessed that he did not care for
children, likes Molly, and plays with her and
caresses her ; and he is never tired of going

256 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME.

over old times with me. I have tried to
make him talk about May, but he always
avoids it, though he assents cordially to all
I say in her favour and seems pleased when
her name is mentioned.

"We must get you out for a drive," he
said yesterday ; " it would do you and Molly
good. I will try to-morrow to find something
in the shape of a carriage that won't jolt the
life out of us. Would you like to go out
with me, Molly ? "

" Yes, very much," Molly answered ; " but
mother too ? "

" Oh yes ; mother too," he laughed, " I
wouldn't take you without her for the world ;
I might lose you by the way. Perhaps May
will go with us if you will ask her ? " he
suggested.

"Or if you ask her," I said, amused at his
manner.

" Then it will depend on the young lady's
temper. She is as perverse as she can be
just now."

MES. KEITH'S CRIME. 257

" I dare say it is your fault."

" Oh, no doubt it is ; at the same time,

any one more " But the entrance of Mrs.

Greenside put an end to our talk.

We have not seen much of Mrs. Greenside
lately. She is always kind and anxious, but
now that her brother is here she is a good
deal taken up with all that is going on in the
house. Miss Josephs comes in very often,
and I like her, though 1 have not learnt to
know her very well. She talks more to Molly
than to me. The soft sweet voice in which
she first spoke is natural to her; she never
raises it, and her smile is never less sweet
than on that first day when it caught my
fancy, but I know little more of her. Yes,
Bhe plays well; the beautiful hands seem to
have a charm in them when they touch the
piano. I could fancy that all her soul goes
down to her finger-ends and finds some
strange sympathy in the keys. A haunting
voice seems in them — a yearning and tender-
ness, a memory of many things of which the

YOL. I. 17

258 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

girl who is playing knows nothing. I some-
times look at her and wonder what is behind
the pale face, with the soft shy eyes. There
is something very maidenly and gentle about
her, so that I think the poor sardine's chance
cannot be a very good one ; for he is hardly
the man to take the fancy of this simple
damsel. He would please a merry, laughing,
dashing woman of the world better. His
good-heartedness and straightforwardness, and
all his solid virtues, are things she would
know how to value ; but this girl would only
take them as a matter of course, and expect,
besides, a more heroic, more romantic lover
than I fear it is possible for the sardine to be.
I spoke to her about him once, but she did
not seem much interested — only said, with a
little smile, "aunt told me you knew him,
Mrs. Keith," and changed the subject. Her
father came to see me one day last week.
Mrs. Greenside brought him in, and he at
once talked of Mr. Cohen.

" My sister tells me you know Frederic

MRS. EEITRS CRIME. 259

Cohen," lie said. " He's a very decent fellow,
a very good fellow indeed. I don't know how
it was we did not see more of him."

" I am very glad to hear you say so. He
was a staunch friend to me when I was in
a great deal of trouble," I answered.

" I can quite believe it," Mr. Josephs said.
"I have always found him with the right
notions about him. He ought to be in Parlia-
ment. He is very sound in his views, and
I mean to do my best for him."

" He has very sensible views," I said.

"He has very sensible views indeed," Mr.
Josephs repeated. "I remember particulai'ly
his remarks about this country, and I have
lately proved the truth and value of them
for myself."

" Do you like Spain ? " I asked, though I
knew what his answer would be.

" Like it ! " he exclaimed bitterly, as if all
the persecutions of centuries were in his
mind. " It is not possible to like it. I have
never felt more strongly about anything in

260 MBS. KEITirS CBIME.

my life than I do about Spain. Its very

form of government But then, a lady

knows nothing about politics. I feel a com-
passion for the country itself. It has climate
and beauty — everything but a people to
bless it."

" And the people ? "

He shrugged his shoulders. *'Have done
their best to spoil it. The bare, barren land,
fiice to face with this cloudless sky, is a shame
and reproach to the lazy, helpless people that
encumber it. The Spaniards have done literally
nothing for themselves, and have undone all
that has been done for them."

" But this is a reproach to their rulers rather
than to the people," Mrs. Greenside said.
" Individually they are surely well enough ;
the people are not responsible for the laws they
have to obey."

He shook his head. "People make their
own laws in these days — indirectly, of course,
but still they make them, if they choose.
Spain is too far behind the century to have

MES. KEITH* S CRIME. 261

found this out. The people are warped and
priest-ridden and callous."

" One never imagines till one comes here
that Spaniards are callous and apathetic, but
expects to find them full of fire," I said.

" So they are when they are roused, fire of
a wrong kind ; in any good, manly cause they
are never conspicuous. And, apart from, their
public morals, the people are not good indi-
vidually, Mrs. Keith ; they are cruel and lying
and passionate. Where we at worst use fists,
they use knives."

*' But this is from uncontrolled passions,"
Mrs. Greenside said, with the air of a person
being coached up for an important conversa-
tion in the future.

" Yes, it is from uncontrolled passions," he
answered, " and from centuries of misrule ; a
people wholly destitute of sympathies and
overweighted with superstitions, with a barren
land and an all but bankrupt exchequer."

" And why are the French and Italians so
diflferent ? " I asked.

262 MBS, KEITH'S CRIME.

" The Frencli have a love of country and
enthusiasms that save them from many things,
and the Italians have their simple tastes and
love of nature "

" The Germans have also a great love of
country," Mrs. Greenside began, as if she were
trying the eflFect of a remark.

" What nonsense, Harriet ; we don't want to
discuss all the nations on earth," Mr. Josephs
said quickly ; and then turning to me, he went
on, " I have been much struck in watching
the landlady here. She sits in the evening
fanning herself and talking to her lover. The
other night a sick dog lay down at her feet ;
she kicked it away '*

" Oh, but perhaps she does not like animals,"
Mrs. Greenside said.

'^ I was going on. A few minutes later a
deformed boy, with the disease in his eyes that
is the curse, or one of the curses, of Southern
Spain, came up and said something. She
treated him with open disgust, and, turning
to her companion, said it was a pity he was

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 263

allowed to live ; the deformed and the sick
ought to die."

^' What did the boy say ? " I asked, with a
shudder, vowing that her hands should never
touch Molly.

" Not a word ; that is the curious part of it.
To him it was only the expression of natural
cruelty — cruelty that was not in her alone, but
in him too ; he will mete it out to others as it
is meted out to him. No doubt he throws
stones at foreigners, and especially at women,
already. "

" Perhaps she is a disciple of Darwin, and
believes in the survival of the fittest," Mrs.
Greenside said earnestly, but with a slightly
abashed manner. She is a clever woman, and
by the light of recent theories often makes
appropriate remarks, but she seems a little
afraid of her brother, and does not talk as well
as usual before him.

"Then she should despair of herself," he
said, with grim humour. " She is as little fit
to survive, or less, than the boy she insulted.

264 MBS. KEITH* S CBIME.

If she marries this Spaniard with whom she
spends most of her time, and has children, they
may take after her."

"Mr. Josephs, you are worse than Mr.
Cohen about the Spaniards."

He laughed at the remark. " Our race does
not owe them much," he said bitterly.

" Ah, but the days of persecution are passed."

" Only because the safety of persecution has
passed. I do not believe that the Spaniard is
one whit less cruel now than in the days of the
Inquisition. His religious fervour has cooled,
but not his love of cruelty, as the buU-fight
proves. Give him the excuse, and he would
enjoy a burning as much as ever."

He stopped suddenly, as if he thought he
had expressed quite enough opinion regarding
Spain, and asked after Molly.

'* She is better, thank you," I answered.
" She is out there on the balcony with your
daughter."

" Is she ? " and he got up with a pleased
expression on his face, and went to the window

ME 8. KEITWS CRIME. 265

and saw Helen in the low chair, which had
been placed round the comer to shelter it
from any possible draught, nursing Molly.
" Why, Nellie, you make quite a picture. So
that's your little one, eh, Mrs. Keith ? "

" I want to come to you, mummy," said
Molly.

" Oh, Molly," pleaded Miss Josephs. " Have
I not been kind to you ? "

"Yes, you are very kind," Molly said
beseechingly ; " but I do like being with
mother so."

"Of course you do. Father dear, shall I
come and read to you, or what would you like
to do 1 " and she gave Molly up to me.

" Well, let me see. I suppose you are ill,
Harriet ? " he asked, as if Mrs. Greenside's ill-
ness was a matter of course.

" You know I am never well," she said
reproachfully, as she went oflF with her relations.

" Mrs. Keith, if you are writing to Cohen at
any time, you can give him my very kind
regards," Mr. Josephs looked back to say.

266 MRS. KEITH'S CHIME,

" He is very vulgar," I heard Mrs. Green-
side remark. " I wonder you encourage him.
I know Helen did not like him."

" Ah, that was because you put her up to it.
I think he is a very decent fellow."

All this was said as they went downstairs to
the patio, and all the hotel as well as myself
could hear it.

I wish now I had told Mr. Josephs of the
sardine's letter. It was only the chance to
speak of it that I wanted, and somehow that
did not arise. It came two days ago, and
this is what it said :

'' Dear Mrs. Keith,

"Your letter was very welcome.
You have fallen in with the young lady, and
I have no doubt she and her father have had
a good time without their amiable relation.
I see you are as bad as the rest of your sex,
and determined not to let one have any peace.
Still, if Miss Josephs is willing, I wiU do my
best to please you. She did not seem willing

MBS KEITirS CHIME, 267

last time I saw her, but the best of a feminine
mind is, that you never know how soon it
will change. Let me know when she arrives.
I am half in mind to come and see you ; might
get oflfered a passage home in the Flying
Dutchman. No place like a yacht for
quarrelling — or the reverse. Don't be sur-
prised if I turn up one morning ; in fact, I
should but for Mrs. Greenside. That gentle
female was too much for me last time, and
might be again. I hope the little girl is
better. Glad you have cut Malaga. Told
you the Spaniards were a bad lot, and you'll
find Josephs will agree with you and me.
To return to the other subject : she is a
very nice little girl, if Mrs. Greenside hasn't
spoilt her.

" I should like to hear from you very much
when there is any news.

" Yours ever,

" F. Cohen."

I wonder what will be the end of it ? I do

268 MES. KEITH'S CRIME.

not like to write and raise hopes that may
never be realized, and, though the father is
evidently prepossessed in the sardine's favour,
the daughter has not made a sign of caring
for him in any way. On the whole, I come
to the conclusion that it will be wiser not
to write at all just yet, but to wait and see
how things go on. It would not be pleasant
if he came here only to be refused.

Mr. Josephs' account of the landlady haunts
me ; it confirms all that I had felt about her
myself. I wish I could hear of a good French
or English maid, for if these kind people
staying here now go away before we do,
and I fall ill, who will wait on Molly? It
would be impossible to trust her to these cruel
Spaniards.

A week later, when I am again thinking this
over, May Vincent and Helen Josephs come
in to ask if they may put Molly to bed?
She is a sort of plaything to these happy
girls, and they are never tired of doing things

MRS. KEITRS CRIME. 269

for her. When Molly is in bed they both
stay to talk, and I think each half wishes the
other would go away. At last, May, who has
evidently a bit of news that surprises her, can
restrain her merry tongue no longer.

"Lord and Lady Bexley are not going to
Bordighera after all, Mrs. Keith,'' she says.
"They are going to the Pyrenees, and they
do not start for a fortnight, so they will be
here longer than we expected."

" Yes ? " After all, there is nothing remark-
able in that.

" And they have asked Mrs. Greenside and
Miss Martin to go with them, and she will go,
we think "

" And leave her brother ? " I ask, in surprise.
After all her professions of affection, and after
they have come so far on purpose to see her,
it seems a little odd that she should leave
her relations behind in this little place, for
they are going to stay over Christmas. Mr.
Josephs does not want to get back to England
before the Session begins.

270 MBS. KEITH'S CRIME.

" Oh, papa won't mind," Miss Josephs says ;
" he likes aunt to enjoy herself, and she often
gets tired of us after a little while."

It is strange that Lady Bexley should
invite Mrs. Greenside, for neither she nor
Lord Bexley appeared to like her at first.
It surprises me too that Mrs. Greenside did
not mention the arrangement, for she was iu
here to day, and she generally tells everybody
all that she is going to do ; but this is soon
explained away by her niece.

"Aunt has been envying Lord and Lady
Bexley so much," the little Jewess goes on,
"and saying how many things her state of
health makes her miss ; — it has made her
miss seeing Granada, for one thing. And then
she told Lord Bexley that she wished she
were going to the Pyrenees, that it would be
so interesting to watch whether they would
inspire him sufficiently to write another book ;
quite suddenly this afternoon Lady Bexley
went up to her and asked her if she would
care to go with them. I think it took her

MBS. KEITH'S CRIME. 271

by surprise, for they have not been very
intimate."

"But if Mrs. Greenside is not able to go
even to Granada, surely she cannot get to the
Pyrenees ? " I say.

"Poor auntie said it would be a great
undertaking for her, but she is so fond of
intellectual society she evidently cannot
resist accepting the invitation "

Suddenly Molly calls from the inner room,
" I only want just to kiss you, mummy dear ; "
and she puts her arms around my neck, and
says, "Poor mother, do you remember how
you used to cry about Jack ? Poor dear Jack,
I have been thinking of him."

Miss Josephs comes to the bedroom door
almost before I have time to answer, and
says, " May has gone down, Mrs. Keith. She
is coming to see you after dinner, with Mr.
Bicknell, I think. Shall I play to you a little
while ? I know you like to hear me some-
times," she adds, as if to apologize for asking.

So she goes to the piano, and plays first

272 MBS, KRITWS CRIME.

one thing and then another, while I sit listen-
ing here, holding Molly's hand and hiding my
face down in the bed-clothes. It brings the
past ail back before my eyes. At first all is
bright and happy. There are the green trees
and the woods, and Arthur coming over the
meadow. Presently I hear Jack upon the
rocking-horse, going to and fro, hitting
the floor with a sounding blow as he comes
forward, almost stopping with a little un-
certain swerve as he goes backward — there
he goes, to and fro, to the sound of the girl's
playing. Suddenly she begins an old minuet.
She played it a few days since, and told me
its history — how it was found in manuscript
among a pile of music in an old country house
in Germany, and brought to England by the
finder a hundred years ago. It set me think-
ing then, it sets me dreaming now, and I
shudder as I think of aU the dead people who
have danced to its stately movement. How
strange it is that I can see quite plainly, here
with my eyes shut, so much that has never

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 273

been save in my imagination. There is a long
room with a polished floor, and the wdndows
have little diamond-shaped panes of glass. By
the fireplace, in which the fire has burnt dead
and low, an old woman is sitting, crouching
over the cinders. At the spinet by the window,
with her face looking out, a faded, tired
woman is playing and watching, for ever
watching for some one who never comes. She
is playing the minuet just as the Jewess is.
The woman by the fire looks up. " He'll
never come," she says — "he'll never come
again." Then in at the door and softly over
the polished boards the dancers come. There
are high heels and diamond buckles to their
shoes, there are trains to the ladies' dresses,
they wear wigs and powder ; and soft and slow
and stately they begin to dance. The sounds
go through me ; they are sounds from the dead
world coming back to the living. There the
dancers go, prim and stately, young and old,
fresh and withered, in and out the turns of
the strange old dance. There is one in a

VOL. I. 18

274 MBS. KEITffS CRIME.

peach-coloured coat, and a lady who looks up
as her train sweeps past him. Her little slipper
is down at heel ; the diamond is missing from
her earring. He stoops over her hand and
whispers. So they go on, till the music sounds
farther and farther off, fainter and fainter,
and with drooping heads and weary feet they
steal away — ah, whither? Into the past
again, back to the dead people among whom
they have slept so long, the dead to whom we
all are going. The sounds coming from the
piano are but the sounds that have been
awakened for many in years gone by, that may
still awake again and again in the years to come,
A child may biing them to life, a simple girl
has power to send them on into space, and
yet there is never one, wise or simple, that can
bring back to life the atoms that have moved,
and laughed, and wept, and loved, and forgot,
as they listened to those haunting notes in
the past. Oh ! what is life, and where is it ?
Is it here in my heart that is so sore, or in
my little child sleeping there ; or is it in

MBS. KEITW8 GRIME. 275

those sounds that wander on an3rwhere that
time or chance or fancy send them ? It
seems, as I sit here and listen, as if life for
ever held fast by some strange force is theirs ;
life that is held but a little while by our own
longing that is ours — life that is waiting for
some freak or fancy to let it slip away into
the eternal silence.

END OF VOL. I.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,

LONDON AND BECCLES. C. C. &» Co.

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Full text of "Mrs. Keith's crime [by L.Clifford]."

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