Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 61

TIME'S CHANGES--MONTAGUE ARNOLD.

Gloomy scenes are not agreeable to the general reader we will now pa.s.s over the period when death and its inevitable sorrow overshadowed the once festive halls of "Sunnybank."

A great change had taken place, yet when settlements had been made the estate was in a better condition than was at first supposed. The trustees were men of the strictest integrity, who made ample provision for the afflicted family.

With feelings of relief and grat.i.tude Marguerite learned that "Sunnybank" was to be sold for the benefit of the creditors and that a cosey little home had been provided instead.

With Mrs. Verne it was otherwise.

She went from room to room bemoaning her sad lot and wondering if any other mortal ever had such a cross to bear. Poor woman! It was hard to teach submission to such a spirit.

Phillip Lawson was a true comforter. He was not officious, nor was he remiss, but had a happy faculty of being near when he was most needed.

Marguerite was daily losing part of the disagreeable restraint which had hitherto placed such an inseparable barrier between them, and if at times she appeared forced and formal it was from a sense of shame at her mother's undisguised patronage.

None could now execute Mrs. Verne's slightest wish in a manner like Mr. Lawson, none could give such friendly advice, in fact none could do anything but Mr. Lawson.

The pretty suburban cottage into which Mrs. Verne and Marguerite were now removed was indeed worthy the name of home.

Its surroundings alone were sufficient proof. In summer its neat garden front, vine-clad porch and graceful elms guarding the gateway! But it was when one entered the inviting hall and glanced through the several cosey rooms that the home feeling was realized.

A tasteful parlor looking out upon the garden is the spot where we now care to linger, for seated in a familiar looking arm-chair is Marguerite.

She is busy over a piece of Kensington work which has to be ready for the approaching bazaar.

"It is well that I am of some service," thought the girl as she st.i.tched away upon the pretty designs, admiring the artistic groups of lilies and fern leaves.

Clad in deep mourning Marguerite was striking in appearance and the man must be a stoic indeed who could look upon her without feelings of tender interest.

Such were Phillip Lawson's sentiments as he was ushered into her presence.

"Miss Verne," said the latter on being seated, "I have called this evening to convey a message from Mr. Spriggins."

"Was he in the city to-day--and gone back without calling? Well that is too bad, for I had a message to send to Melindy; there now, that reminds me of the Christmas cards."

"He bade me tell you that it was impossible for him to call to-day, but that he would bring Melindy in on next Tuesday, and I suppose from that you may expect guests for dinner."

Christmas was drawing nigh, and the "Sprigginses" were not forgotten. Marguerite had knitted a handsome scarf to gladden the large heart of Moses, while a pretty tidy had just been completed for the new easy chair in Melindy's best room.

Mr. Spriggins had become a general favorite with the Vernes, and also with Mr. Lawson. He had dined with the latter a fortnight previous, and left brimful of grat.i.tude and good wishes.

Mr. Lawson with all his integrity had been somewhat evasive, but bear in mind the fact that he is doing so from a sense of duty--a solemn obligation.

He did not inform his fair companion that Moses Spriggins had been detained in his office for more than an hour, and that a serious compact was entered into between the lawyer and his former client.

We will not relate the conversation that pa.s.sed, but let the reader imagine the look upon Moses' rubicund face when Mr. Lawson presented the missing doc.u.ment, and made the necessary explanation as to the means by which it came into his possession.

"It is a miracle, nuthin' more nor less," exclaimed Moses, his eyes dancing with delight.

"Things are a-turnin' out jest as I expected. Wal, I do believe I'll beat that ere Dr. Wiggins yet! Pity he wa'nt a Kings County feller too!"

"But Queens is a pretentious county. She must not be set aside, Moses," said the solicitor laughing.

"Wal, there's another subject I have to prophesy on, but I s'pose as your a modest sort o' chap will hold my tongue. (It was no later'n last night Melindy was a-tellin' mother I was too long tongued), and I was only sayin' a word or two about some little family matters.

Wal, I'll keep dark a little bit longer," while Mr. Spriggins gave a very significant glance towards Mr. Lawson, and enveloping himself in his home-made ulster went forth to "bide his time."

And now, while Marguerite is striving to be happy and make others happy, attending to the wants of the needy and awaiting with anxious solicitude the arrival of the English mail, we turn to a darker and sadder picture.

"For G.o.d's sake don't let them carry me off body and soul! Ah, they hiss at me with their venomous tongues! Yes! yes, they are crawling over me! They are sucking the blood in my brain! Evelyn, come to me!

I will not send you away again. Oh, take me out of this fire! I'm burning! Oh G.o.d, I'm burning to death!"

Such were the incoherent ravings of the shabbily clad creature who had been found lying in a gutter at the end of a street leading to an alley in which were several notorious gambling dens.

Like the parable of the Levite and Samaritan many "had pa.s.sed by on the other side," but there are good Samaritans at the present day and one came in the form of an elderly gentleman with locks of h.o.a.ry hair and a benign yet sad expression of countenance. He is accompanied by a sweet-faced woman and a delicate looking child with flaxen curls and eyes of heavenly blue.

"Stay Clarice, we must see who he is, or why he is here," said the old gentleman putting the child in the care of a friend and hastening to the scene with the agility of youth.

"That man was thrown out of that farthest tavern there, sir," said a raw-boned youth, who was standing with his eyes and month open awaiting further developments of the case then before him.

"The same old story, father. They encouraged him until the last farthing is gone, and then he is turned out to die. Oh! how horrible," and the woman laid her hand upon her father's arm as if wishing to get away from the sad and cruel sight.

"He was once a gentleman, sir," said the youth with the air of one who knew much of the affairs of the neighborhood, and was anxious to impress the bystanders.

The old gentleman beckoned to a couple of policemen, and thus armed made his way to the infamous den.

The grey hairs and reverential mien pleaded more than the most honeyed words, and within a short time all necessary information was obtained. Amid shrieks and groans, Montague Arnold was placed in a cab and conveyed to a public hospital, and the good, old Samaritan went on his way happy in the thought of having done his duty.

Nor did he rest here.

On the following day, after having made inquires as to the unfortunate man's condition, he set forth to find the dest.i.tute and unhappy wife. Five or six hours search in a wretched tenement habitation, and a sad scene presented itself.

After climbing the third flight of rickety stairs the old gentleman sees a shabbily dressed woman, and as he glances at the surroundings his soul sickens. All is drear and desolate. The apartment is cold, and a few coals seem trying to keep a little glow that the poor creature may not succ.u.mb to the pitiless element.

Some coa.r.s.e shirts are lying upon the rude table--it is the same old song which Hood made immortal:--

"St.i.tch! st.i.tch! st.i.tch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread A shroud as well as a shirt."

"Do not fear madam, I am no bailiff. I have come to bring you to your husband," said the old gentleman in trembling accents. "Oh spare me, dear sir! I never wish to see his face again! His brutal treatment has left me as you now see--this wretched hole and these dry morsels! Oh G.o.d! did I ever think this would be my sad fate!"

Who could recognize in this wretched-looking creature any semblance to the peerless proud beauty--Evelyn Verne.

Ah, surely the proud soul must have pa.s.sed through the waters of much tribulation--surely she is humbled in the very dust.

"I cannot go, sir. Oh no, I cannot go!" exclaimed the woman in piteous accents, covering her face as if to shut out the sight of human sympathy.