On Stronger Wings

Chapter I

" Do you think she is pretty ? " " Well, no ; not exactly pretty, for I don't quite like her ex pression ; and she is so badly dressed." " Not badly dressed, but remarkably dressed, J think. She may be pretty, but she is so un-English-looking — so colonial, in fact." "Hush, Nellie! she may hear you," said the first speaker ; and her voice sank to a subdued whisper as she glanced in the direction of the girl whom they had so kindly picked to pieces. But as far as a casual glance could tell, her anxiety was un founded, and Maude Melville had not heard the remarks. She sat apparently engrossed in listening to the efforts made by a very young man, with a weak tenor voice, to delight the audience with his rendering of a popular ballad ; and when the last notes had sounded, she was able to smile her thanks with the rest.

But a crowded drawing-room on a sunny afternoon is not exactly a place in which to give way to emotion of any kind ; and so, for all her outward calmness, Maude Melville felt as utterly miser able and lonely as any girl could feel. " A stranger in a strange land," she told herself bitterly. " So un-English— so colonial." Well, if the girls near her were a specimen of what was English, she felt very glad that she did not resemble them. If it were English to make a stranger feel lonely, to discuss loudly her appearance and dress in her presence, and ignore any efforts on her part to make friends, and to act as cruelly as these girls had done, then not only was she glad that she was " so very colonial," but she determined that never again would she go into society — it was her first, and should be her last, appearance.

" So badly dressed," too ! Did she really look different from the girls round her ? and if so, what was the difference ? She was sitting near a long, prettily draped mirror, and turned to look at her reflection in it — not with any thought of admiring herself, but critically, as she would have looked at a picture. And a very pretty picture it was that the mirror reflected back— a slight, graceful figure clad in thin black draperies that made a striking contrast to the light-coloured gowns around her ; large dark-grey eyes, almost hidden in a tangle of black lashes ; a pale clear complexion, lacking the English roses, but very sweet and pure in colouring ; and a mass of dull, fair, curly hair— hair thathad no bright hghts in it, but suggested moonbeams rather than sunshine, and that had an almost unearthly fairness seen against the brim of her large black hat.

Yes, Maude owned to herself, it was not a typical English face that looked back at her with such troubled eyes ; her face lacked colour, as her form lacked strength ; she looked frail and almost ethereal by the side of those pretty, healthy English girls ; and yet there was something very attractive about her, though the grey eyes were too bright with unshed tears to see the beauty. And all at once a great longing came into her heart to go back to the old home in Western AustraUa, and leave England, with all its conventionality and little society laws, that she neither cared for nor understood, for the old, free, untrammelled life. The crowded drawing-room faded from her sight, and she was once more at home by the creek where the blue gum-trees grew, with a book on her knee, and her bare feet dipping in the clear water.

Or, again, she was riding round the station by her father's side on Fairy, her own dear little pony ; and after the ride, the home-coming to the long low house, with the wide verandah, where they sat in lounging-chairs, and dreamed away the time in that sudden darkness that comes with such a strange stillness in the land where they have no twilight. How long she would have sat there, unconscious of the hum of voices around her — that well-bred murmur which is the shibboleth of good society — she did not know ; but she was roused by her hostess's voice ; and looking up, she saw that Lady Stewart was standing before her, with a smile on her kind, motherly face. " I want you to help me, Miss Melville," Lady Stewart was saying. " One of my young friends who promised to sing for me this afternoon has got a dreadful cold, and everyone else either cannot or will not help me.

I have heard how beautifully you sing, and that you can accompany yourself without your notes. Will you do me a great kindness and sing for me now ? " Maude hesitated. She was naturally a shy girl, and to be thus suddenly complimented on her " beautiful singing," and then asked to give a specimen of it to this roomful of strangers, was almost too much for her, highly strung as she tliGn was and distressed at all she had heard. Those girls would probably judge her voice as mercilessly as they had already judged her face ; and for a moment she felt that she must refuse. But another glance at Lady Stewart's kind face, bent so anxiously towards her own, decided her. This was her first visit to Lady Stewart's house, and Mrs. Melville had made a great point of the fact that Maude's first introduction into Brighton society should be at Lady Stewart's, who was one of the leaders of society in Brighton, and a kind, good woman too — though this latter fact troubled Mrs. Melville very little.

The position people held in society, not what they were themselves, was her standard of judgment. Mr. Melville had been a friend of Sir James Stewart's years ago, and when the Melvilles came to England, they decided to settle in Brighton, to be near the Stewarts ; " for they may be able to give us a social lift," said Mrs. Melville. But no such worldly considera tions weighed with Maude. She simply saw a kind old lady troubled because one of her friends had failed her, so she answered very sweetly — " If you think I can be of any use to you, I will gladly do my best." " Thank you so much, my dear," said her hostess, with a smiling face. " Will you sing now ? " And people made way for Lady Stewart as she swept across the room to the grand piano, foUowed by Maude, who was too nervous and excited to notice the curious glances and well-bred stares with which she was favoured, one lady putting up her lorgnon to have a better view of " that Australian girl."

But the sight of the piano calmed the excited girl as nothing else could have done. From a baby, music had been the ruling passion of Maude Melville's life, and whatever care or shadow had as yet crossed her path, she had turned to her old friend the piano, and found there a solace and comfort for all her trouble. And now, as her singers touched the keys, all nervousness vanished — she was no longer unhappy and self-conscious, but was honestly anxious to try her best to please her kind hostess. There were many in that drawing-room who never quite forgot the first time they heard Maude Melville sing. She had a wonderfully sweet, sympathetic voice, with a ring in it that had not been tortured away by over-training, and she put her whole soul into her singing, so that it reached the hearts of others, and lingered in their memories long after the name of the singer had been numbered among the things which were forgotten.

She sang a setting of Joachim Miller's exquisite " River of Rest" that is not generally known ; and, carried away by the beauty and pathos of the words, she sang the last verse with a power and sweetness that fairly astonished her audience, accustomed only to the insipid conventionahty of average drawing-room singing :— ' A storied sweet stream is this River of Rest : The souls of all time keep its ultimate shore ; And journey you east, or journey you west, Unwilling or willing, sure-footed or sore, You surely will come to this River of Rest, This beautiful, beautiful River of Rest." The last notes died away in that profound stillness which is the singer's highest meed of praise, as if people had to shake themselves free from the speU the song had laid on them before they could utter the usual words of thanks.

But, her song sung, Maude sank once more into the shy silent girl she had been before, and took advantage of the entrance of a late and im portant arrival to sUp into the shadow of a deep bay-window, to hide herself from kind but embarrassing comphments. But though it may be very nice to hide away in the embrasure of a window, it has its disadvantages, as Maude was now to find out. Once more she heard herself discussed ; but this time it was a man's voice, and from where she sat she could see the speaker reflected in the same mirror in which she had so anxiously looked to try and discover what made her " so un-English-looking and colonial." But now she herself was hidden and her presence un suspected. "What a lovely voice! "—he was speaking to a lady sitting near him. " I have never heard anything like it before in a drawing-room — so pure and clear ; it hfts one out of oneself for a little.

Do you know who the girl is ? " " She is a Miss Melville, I believe, and has only just come to Brighton. Her father is an old friend of Sir James Stewart's." " I wonder where she lived before she came to Brighton ? There is something so fresh and original about her — so out of the ordinary ; and she has such a lovely face." " Lovely face ! Do you really call it lovely, Mr. Verney ? " said his companion, in a tone of genuine surprise. " She is so pale and colourless, and hasn't any style — so different from the girls one sees." " Yes, that's just it : she is so different in every way from the girls one sees." " Well, I can, perhaps, account for that, for I hear she comes from Western Australia. I'm afraid my geographical knowledge isn't as good as it should be, so my ideas about Western Australia are rather vague, but I believe it is quite the wildest part."

" An Australian," said the young man, thoughtfully. " No doubt that is why she is so original — and so pale," he added, after a moment's pause. " Yes ; Austrahans never have any complexions," assented his companion. " No complexion, Mrs. Murray ! Why, that pale, pure colour ing and dull, fair hair are quite perfect — such a relief from the pink and white cheeks of our English girls. She is a ' Uttle Western flower ' — so fair and frail." " You are getting quite poetical," said Mrs. Murray, with a laugh ; " but I must forgive you. As a study, no doubt her face interests you, and her voice is certainly charming, though it sadly lacks training. But I see everyone is going down-stairs for ices. Suppose you take me ; " and she moved slowly across the room, followed somewhat reluctantly by the young man.

Maude breathed more freely now they had gone. She had felt that it was hardly houourable in her not to make her presence known ; and yet, poor child, she hardly knew what to do. If she had come out of her hiding-place, she must have made them as miserably uncomfortable as she was herself; so she had sat on, in a whirl of different emotions — one moment being roused with indignation, the next overcome with the com pliments that seemed to her extravagant, and which she yet knew were made in perfect good faith. If faces were any criterion of characters, Maude felt that her champion was one who would never say anything that was not true, nor make any statement that he did not really believe. Truth and honesty were written in every Une of the dark determined face, with the plain but firm mouth; while the deep-set kindly eyes, the square set shoulders, the beautifully formed, sensitive, and yet powerful hands, spoke of a kind, honest, self-reliant character, with a clear inteUect and mental gifts of no ordinary measure.

Maude was interested, in spite of herself, in this stranger, whom, she told herself, she had not really seen— only his reflection in a mirror. Just then Lady Stewart came up to her. " My dear, haven't you been down to have an ice yet ? I must find someone to take you at once." " Mr. Verney " — as the young man re-entered the room with Mrs. Murray—" take this young lady down to have an ice. Mr. Verney — Miss Melville." And Lady Stewart hurried off to find cavaliers for other neglected maidens. Maude was unaccountably shy as she went off with her com panion. She felt almost as if she were deceiving him in having heard ali he had said about her, while he was in happy ignorance of the fact. But "the Australian girl" had seen enough of society to know that she could not tell him she had overheard his conversation with Mrs. Murray ; and the difficulty of getting down the crowded stairs precluded all idea of conversation untU they were in the tea-room.

When he had brought her an ice, and found a quiet corner for her to rest in, Verney spoke in his deep, clear voice — " You must let me thank you, Miss Melville, for that song of yours. I haven't enjoyed anything so much for a long time. The ' River of Rest ' is an old favourite of mine, but I didn't know it had been set to music." "Do you know the words? are you fond of them ?" cried Maude eagerly ; and the next moment she felt wildly angry with her self for having asked him if he were fond of Miller's beautiful poem. But Herbert Verney did not smile at her question. " Yes ; I love all poetry that is worthy of the name," he said ; "and I think, of all Miller's poems, the ' River of Rest 'is my favourite. ' Dear, mystical, magical River of Rest,' " he quoted, saying the words softly, more to himself than to the girl by his side.

" I don't think many people care for poetry," said Maude ; and it seemed to the young man that even in speaking her voice had a strange sweetness of its own, as though the winds sweeping over the prairies of the far-off Southern land had taught it notes that dwellers in busy cities have not time to hear or learn. " Don't you think you are making rather a sweeping assertion ? You see, it is only when we get to know people weU that we find out what they really care about, and we must not judge them by the stupid commonplaces that pass for conversation in society." " Yes," said Maude ; " and that is why I hate society — English society, I mean. It is so unreal — so constrained ; there is nothing natural about it. It seems to be everyone's ambition to ' get into society,' and to go to the ' best houses,' and yet it doesn't seem to make them happy.

When I see all these people looking so " She paused for a word. " Bored ? " suggested her companion, with a smile. " Yes, bored : that is just what I wanted to say. Well, when I see all this, and know people call it pleasure, I long to get away from it all, and go back to the old life again." " Were you so fond of ' the old life,' as you call it ? ' Maude paused to think, and then looked up with a bright sudden smile that lit up her pale sweet face. " No, I don't think I was very fond of it, really. At least, I was happy then, but I was always wishing and longing to come to England — only this England isn't the England of my dreams. I pictured quite a different kind of life — the people cleverer than we were in the colonies, with sweeter, statelier manners, and everything on a nobler, better scale ; but really, except that they are colder and stiffer, I don't see much difference between Brighton and Freemantle, as far as society goes."

" Then you are disappointed with everything English ? " " No, not everything. I shall never forget Westminster Abbey, and the first time I went there. It was an afternoon service we went to — just an ordinary one on a week-day — and the music and the hush and stillness of that great church when the service was over Oh, I could have knelt on for ever ! I think it would be so easy to be good if one could go there very often." Herbert Verney did not answer immediately. If he had, he could have told her that it is not " easy to be good " anywhere — least of all in busy London, where there are so many thousands of distractions and pleasures, and so inany temptations. But he felt that this was not the time nor place to speak of deeper things, so he only said — " Yes, you have no Westminster Abbey in Australia, and that is a great want.

The Abbey has always been so much to me, for I have loved it from a boy, and it seems to have woven itself into my life." " Do you live in London ? " questioned Maude ; for she was beginning to feel a deep interest in her companion. " Yes, I live in London." And then, seeing she would like to ask more, he added, " I am an artist, and I think I know every hole and corner of old London ; and I love it all. People talk of the beauties of the country, but to my mind there is nothing so beautiful as a great city, with all its countless inhabitants leading such different lives, seeing such opposite sides of the shield of life. If you live in London, you are never at a loss for a book to read, for the people are your book, and their faces each tell a different story." " Then you know a great many people ?

" " Oh no, Miss Melville ; I am not at aU a fashionable person, I can assure you. The people I know the best are very poor, very helpless, and very hopeless. I have a great friend, a clergyman, who lives in the East End, and spends his life among the poor, and he lets me help him whenever I can." " Oh, tell me about it," began Maude, when she heard a voice saying — "Has anyone seen Miss MelviUe? I cannot find her any where." " I must go," she exclaimed, springing up unceremoniously. " Mrs. Wyllie has brought me here, and I must go back with her. Good-bye ; " and she held out her hand to him. He clasped it firmly ; and as he did so the girl said shyly, " I hope we shall meet again some day; " and then, without giving him time to reply, she left him. Herbert Verney stood looking after her retreating figure.

" I'm afraid my ' little Western flower ' wiU have a hard time of it in England," he thought. " I hope they won't teach her to be like everyone else ; they will quite spoil her if they do, as they will ruin that lovely voice of hers if they take her to some fashionable singing-master. ' Easy to be good ' did she say ? Poor little girl ! she can't have had much experience of the world. I must tell Chartoris that, and see what he says; " and thus musing, Herbert Verney shook hands with his hostess, and went for a stroll by the sea.

Chapter II

" Well, Maude, how did you enjoy yourself — tell me all about it," said Mrs. Melville, as Maude entered the pretty drawing room on her return from Lady Stewart's. Mrs. Melville was an invalid, or imagined herself to be one, which came to very much the same thing. She seldom took any exercise, and spent the greater part of each day lying on a sofa, dressed in an elegant tea-gown, reading novels. She must once have been pretty, but ill-temper had marred whatever beauty her face had formerly possessed, and she was now only a dis satisfied-looking woman, with haggard features and restless eyes whom no aids of dress could beautify. Maude sat down on a low stool at her mother's side, and took the thin hand, covered with costly rings, in her own. " Lady Stewart was very kind to me, mamma ; and there were a great many people there— about three hundred, I believe."

" Were there many smart gowns worn ? and whom did you talk to ? I hope that you tried to make friends with the Fortescue girls. Lady Fortescue's is a house of which I should like you to have the entre'e." Maude flushed painfully. It was the " Fortescue girls " who had commented so loudly on her personal appearance, and had resented all her little efforts to make friends. " You see, I didn't know any of the people, mamma, and everyone was wanting to talk to Mrs. Wyllie, so she had not any time to spare for me ; but " — seeing a cloud gather on her mother's face — " Lady Stewart asked me to sing — and I knew how vexed you would be if I refused, so I sang, and everyone was so kind to me about it." " You sang ? That was right. Always sing whenever you have an opportunity. A girl is not thought anything of in England unless she can sing, or recite, or do something of the kind.

What did you sing ? " " I sang the ' River of Rest,' and I think they hked it, for everyone seemed to listen, and no one had heard it before." " Well, if they hadn't heard it before, that was all right ■ people like anything new ; but I should have chosen a more showy song if I had been you— something to have shown your voice off more." Maude winced. If there was one point on which she was more sensitive than another, it was about music, and her mother's requests for " showy songs " troubled her almost as much as hearing some of her favourites described as "that tuneless thing you are so fond of." " Really, Maude, you are very stupid. Can you not tell me anything amusing ? Most girls would try to bring home a little news to amuse a poor invalid mother ; but you are so utterly selfish you never try to please me in that way.

I suppose it is that you have a mind above gossiping," she added, with a sneer. " I am sorry I am so stupid, mamma ; but there is so httle to tell. The rooms were decorated with beautiful plants and flowers, and there were crowds of well-dressed people ; but I didn't know one of them, and I tried to talk to the Miss Fortescues, but they did not seem to care to make friends." " Then, did not Lady Stewart introduce you to anyone ? " " Yes : when I had sung, people began to go down to the tea room for ices, and Lady Stewart introduced me to a gentleman, who took me down for an ice ; but just as we were talking Mrs. Wyllie came and fetched me away." " That is always the way," sighed Mrs. MelviUe, as she toyed with a black gauze fan. " But what was his name? Who was he?" " He was a Mr. Verney, mamma, and lives in London."

" Lives in London 1 No doubt he is one of the Stewarts' grand friends. What is he — did you find out ? " Maude felt hurt at the question. To her finely-strung nature it seemed so wanting in courtesy to try and " find out" anything more about people than they chose to tell ; but she knew that to resent the remark would only bring a storm about her head, so she answered quietly, " Yes, he is an artist, and he has a great friend, a Mr. Chartoris, who works in the East End ; and oh, mamma ! it has just struck me it must be the very same Mr. Chartoris who preached so beautifully for the East End Missions about six weeks ago. Don't you remember my telling you about the sermon ? Oh, I do wish I had asked Mr. Verney if he were the same." "Perhaps he is," said Mrs. Melville dreamily : "but I don't care for artists, Maude — at least, not for unknown ones.

Artists who have made a name are all. very well ; they are generally rich men, and have a good position in society. But struggling artists are not thought anything of, and are best avoided ; indeed, I am surprised that Lady Stewart should have had such a man at her house." " Mr. Verney is a gentleman, said Maude, rather in dignantly. "Yes; Verney is a good name. I wonder if he is any relation to General Verney, who was a cousin of Lord Verney's ? Now I come to think of it, I fancy the Verneys had a scapegrace son, and I should not be at all surprised to hear that this is the same man. Lady Stewart is so ridiculous ; it would be just like her to befriend a person whom everyone else would ignore. If you meet him again, I should advise you not to remember him. And now I have something to tell you Eva, what do you want ?

" she added sharply, as the door opened softly, and a child of about eleven years old came quietly into the room. ♦ " I only came to see if Maude had come home, mamma," said the child in a timid voice, lifting up a pair of large hazel eyes to her mother as she spoke. She was a delicate-looking girl, too fragile to be absolutely pretty, with a pale complexion, and dark lines under the large eyes, while her face was almost hidden in the masses of thick brown hair that hung about her shoulders. "You had no right to come down-stairs; go back to the school-room immediately," said Mrs. Melville angrily. " I will come up-stairs directly, darling," said Maude, as she looked lovingly towards the disconsolate little figure that disap peared sadly behind the heavy velvet portiere. " Eva is tco disobedient for anything," said Mrs. Melville, as she re-arranged the silken cushions at the back of her shapely head.

" It is all your fault, making her so rude and overbearing ; but you will punish yourself, for if this sort of thing goes on much longer I shall send her to school." " Eva is much too delicate to go to school. My father would never have allowed " began Maude, when she was interrupted by her mother speaking more angrily than before. " That will be for me to decide. And now listen to me, please. You have heard me speak of my cousin, Mrs. Dalrymple, and of the lovely place she has in Hampshire — Norland Towers. I have never seen her since she married Mr. Dalrymple — his ship was stationed at Sydney— and went home to England. Now she is a widow, hke me, but she has two sons instead of two daughters — I am sure she is to be envied for that — and she is living on at the Towers, as neither of them is married."

" They arc too young to marry, I should think." " Oh no ; she is a much older woman than I am, and married long before I did. One of her sons is in the army, and the other is at Cambridge. I heard from her to-day, and she is going down to the Towers for Whitsuntide. Stanley, her eldest son, is home on leave, and Ronald will join them there, as they find it too hot in London. She has asked me to go there and bring both my girls, but in my delicate state of health it is quite out of the question, and I shan't allow Eva to go, so I shall send you, Maude ; and a nice change it will be, too." " But, mamma, I don't know Mrs. Dalrymple." " Well, what difference does that make ? It is a great ad vantage for you to be asked to stay at such a place as Norland Towers, and I am determined you shall go.