Won, but Lost! or, the Mine sprung at the Wizard's Point

Front matter

IN THE PRESS. ZULU-LAND AND THE ZULUS: THEIR HISTORY, BELIEFS, LEGENDS, CUSTOMS, MILITARY SYSTEM, SOCIAL LIFE, MISSIONS, &c, By J. A. Farrer, Barrister-at-Law. Fcap. 8vo, One Shilling. THE NATURAL SON; A DRAMA, By Dumas, Fils. Translated from the French by T. Louis Oxley, with the special permission of the Author. This is the chtf d1 œuvre of the Author's plays, and to the composition of which no less than three years were devoted. THE HUMOROUS LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF WILLIAM PIGG, ESQUIRE, M.P., By the Honble. Charlotte Ellis. LONDON: KERBY & ENDEAN, 190 OXFORD STREET. OR THE MINE SPRUNG AT THE WIZARD'S POINT. BY MARIANNE H. LUMSDEN, author of "lillian's child." " No sunshine without shadow No pleasure without pain. No riches without sorrow, No sorrow without gain." VOL. I. LONDON KERBY & ENDEAN 190 OXFORD STREET All Rights reserved. CONTENTS. PAGE

Chapter I

" Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain and care, And death, and time shall disappear, — Forever there, but never here ! The horologe of eternity Sayeth this incessantly — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " — Longfellow. A line of scarlet coats plodding steadily through the fresh green lanes — a body of men, weary, dusty, travel-stained ; the bronzed complexion and sallow cheek, in striking contrast to the fair hair of many of them, telling of a long sojourn in an Eastern land. They are marching from Farnborough to Aldershot, the gallant 1 50th, whose torn and 1. A ! 2 tattered ensign is a silent witness to their own bravery. As it passes, the names of Peninsular and Waterloo can still be read on the few remaining shreds clinging to the banner-pole. Colonel Dalton, their Commandant, rides slowly along.

A grave handsome man of about nine-and-forty. Stern and unflinching in pursuit of his duty — from him the men knew they could hope for but little sympathy in regimental matters. " Obedience is the soldier's duty " was ever his reply. Obe dience was ever his theme, the sum-total of his thoughts. But all men have two sides to their character, and Colonel Dalton was no exception to the general rule. Apart from his military capacities he was a kind, thought ful, generous friend ; it would have been hard to decide which was the greater favour ite, the Colonel, or his bright, sunny little wife. A week more saw the 150th settled at home again. They occupied a line of huts in the South Camp. Colonel Dalton's was of course one of the larger huts, as befitted his position, but it was small enough even then ; and had it not been that only two children had smiled on their union, Mrs Dalton would have been sadly put about to find room for all ; as it was, one spare corner of her domi cile remained unoccupied, and it is with the future occupant of this spare corner that my story has to do.

" Oh Charles," cried Mrs Dalton, catching sight of her husband as he passed the window of her diminutive drawing-room, and going to the door with a smile of welcome lighting up her face, " I have arranged everything most beautifully for Nellie." " And how about yourself, Wifie ? I cannot have you cramped up for all the Nellies in the world," and he laid his hand ! 4 kindly on her shoulder, with a caressing touch. " But I shan't be cramped up," she an swered brightly. " I have brought all my books and writing materials into one corner of the dining-room, and I only hope Nellie will not mind." " Is she such a grand lady, Mary ? If so, she had better not come to us." " Now you are not to be naughty, Charles. I am sure Nellie will be a dear good girl, and we shall all get on famously." " Have you written to her yet ?

" " No, I waited till you came in. May I ask her to come next week ? " " Any day you like, and say that her old Colonel of a brother-in-law is anxious to make her acquaintance." Mrs Dalton and her sister Ellen or Nellie, were respectively the eldest and youngest of a once large family. Their father, Captain Forsythe, had been obliged, through ill health, to quit the army when still young. Their mother, Mrs Forsythe, was a quiet, lady like woman, very firm and determined ; she managed the whole house, from Captain For sythe down to the little boy who came every morning to blacken the boots. The For sythes rented a small cottage in the neigh bourhood of Exeter, in a pretty, and at that time scarcely known, Devonshire village, called Budleigh Salterton. It was a quiet, unpretending abode, furnished in the plainest and most unostentatious manner, with regard to the strictest economy.

Mary, her eldest daughter, Mrs Forsythe instructed herself. English, French, Italian, and music, were all successively gone through, but the result was not satisfactory. Poor Mary proved a dull pupil in all save music, in which she excelled. To her father she was everything, his most unselfish compan- ! ion, his gentlest nurse, the only one who did not weary of his endless complaints, who did not ridicule his sick fancies. By her mother, and the long string of younger brothers and sisters, she was looked down upon, in fact she led a perfect Cinderella-life. She took it all as a matter of course, firmly believing in her own mind that she was far inferior to the others, both in mind and person. Her life was a ceaseless round of drudgery. All the morning she taught the younger children reading, writing, arithmetic, and the rudiments of French ; this occupied her from nine till twelve ; then she gave one hour to careful study, French one day, and Italian the next.

At one the bell rang for dinner. Woe betide the boy or girl with untidy heads or unwashed hands. It was Mary who was scolded if the three little ones were in disorder, for she was responsible for their appearance. Dinner over, at half past one she began her music lessons which lasted till four, when she was released for two hours to go to her father. Poor Captain Forsythe ! this was the time he most enjoyed, for she would bring a book and read aloud, or if he did not care for that, would sit by his side and talk or sing. All the village gossip Mary carefully collected for her father, who enjoyed thoroughly the little glimpse of the outer world which he saw through her descriptions. Sometimes he was strong enough to go out on her arm for a short stroll, and perhaps once a year would manage to creep to the little church, to kneel at the Communion table.

The Doctors called his illness a decline, but it was gradual ; so gradual that his wife had ceased to think him so ill, and had begun to imagine he could do more if he would. It fretted and worried her to see him sitting day after day, month after month, year after ! year, always in the same room, generally in the same chair. And yet, poor woman, she was tender of him too in her fashion, but the ceaseless strife with poverty had blunted many of her finer feelings. Her children were healthy, that was one blessing, and no Doctor was required for her husband, for doctoring would do him no good. The Vicar taught her sons Greek and Latin, in return for her teaching his daughters French and Italian, and so she managed to educate her children, with Mary's assistance, who, at the early age of ten, had begun to teach the others their letters.

Only once had one of their old friends come to see them, a brother officer of Captain Forsythe's. He took a fancy to Mary, and offered to give her any present she fancied. The child, with charac teristic unselfishness, asked for a parrot who would "talk to Papa when they were all out." " And would you like nothing for your self ?" he asked gently. She sighed and looked at the worn little dress, which was growing too short for her, at the boys' coats, which were out at elbows, and did not reply. She thought the parrot a munificent gift, and would ask for nothing more. Major Jennings understood her silence, and when the parrot arrived, he was accom panied by a large box of different materials for the children's clothes, and Mrs Forsythe made those dresses last for years. But to return to the parrot.

He and his handsome zinc cage were at once placed in Captain Forsythe's room, where he afforded constant amusement to the invalid. His cage door was always open, and he went in and out at will. He picked up her father's way of calling " Mary " ; then when she came in all haste to answer the summons, would ! 10 mimic Captain Forsythe's manner, and say he felt so poorly to-day, and then on Mary's gravely reproving him would laugh and scream " Naughty Poll to laugh at Papa." He would sit quite still, winking one eye, if he saw his master asleep, but the instant he opened his eyes gave a scream of delight, and came fluttering down on his shoulder ; so when the invalid felt too weary for his chatter he would close his eyes, and Poll would lapse into silence. The two eldest sons went out one day for a sail on the sea, but they never returned ; three days after their bodies were washed ashore off Sidmouth.

It was an awful blow to the heretofore never separated family, but theirs was too busy a life to allow of their in dulging their grief. The gap in the home circle was not permitted to be felt, and the poor mother resolutely trampled on her sorrow rather than add by one sign to the troubles of the others. When Mary was eighteen, the scarlet fever broke out, and nearly the whole family succumbed. Mary sickened first, but suffered the least, for within two months the only survivors of the once large family were Mary, her parents, and her youngest sister Nellie. This for a time well nigh prostrated Mrs Forsythe, and Mary, whose teaching duties were so sadly ended, devoted her time to her father, whose daily increasing weakness required unremitting attention ; but it was not for long he needed it, for one day he fell into a peaceful sleep from which he never awoke, so painlessly he passed to his rest.

Mary entering the room to take a last look at his remains, before they were hid from her sight, found the parrot lying on his breast, as it had so often lain in life. Poor Poll was dead, — he could not live without his master. Six months after an event happened which ! 12 completely altered the tenor of Mary's life, giving to it a brightness and colouring she had never before known. It was a letter from India from Major Jennings to Mrs Forsythe, sympathising with her in her sorrows, men tioning how fond he had been of Mary, telling how he and his wife were childless, and finally offering to adopt Mary. " I should like her," he wrote, "to come in the steamer of the ioth of September" (it was then July); " I have lodged with my agents, Grindlay & Co., the sum of for her outfit, and also the expense of her passage."

" Do not send me from you, mamma," sobbed the poor girl ; " I should be miserable and you would be so lonely without me. Oh, do let me stay at home with you." " Now, no nonsense, child," replied Mrs Forsythe; "it is a capital thing for you. Any other girl would jump at such a chance. What would Major Jennings think of us, if we refused his kindness ? I should not think of allowing you to do so. So take your pen and write a pretty note to him, and tell him you will come by the steamer he mentions." So the letters were written and despatched, and Mrs Forsythe took Mary to London to get her things, and then back to Salterton, to spend quietly at home her few remaining weeks. How the time flew ! It seemed but yesterday the letter came, and here she was on board at Southampton, franticly clinging to her mother as she bade her farewell.

" Do not fret, Mary, about me, for I shall have Nellie to look after and teach," were the last words she ever heard from her mother's lips, and Mrs Forsythe returned to her lonely home, and busied herself about her last remaining child. After a few days the misery of the parting wore "off a little for the lonely girl, and she ! 14 began to enjoy the novelty of the scene. Every one was most kind, and not a few felt compassion for the slender girl in her deep mourning, who had always a pleasant word on her lips. At Calcutta Major Jennings met his adopted daughter, and when she felt his kiss on her brow, and heard his fatherly tones, she felt that she could be happy with him and his wife. In Mrs Jennings she found a mother — a mother who thought nothing too good for this daughter. It was strange, yet sweet, to Mary to find herself thought of ; she who had spent her nineteen years without a thought for self, but all for others, could hardly realize that she could be one and the same person.

Mary kept a diary of events which she carefully copied out, and forwarded to her mother every mail with her usual letter. Mrs Forsythe rejoiced in her daughter's prosperity, and was proud when the Jennings told her how much Mary was liked and admired. " We call her our ' Sunbeam,' she is so bright," wrote the Major ; " how can I thank you enough for having entrusted your precious child to our care." It was at Delhi that she met her husband, then Major Dalton. " A regular case of love at first sight," grumbled Major Jennings, when Major Dalton asked for her ; but grumbling availed nothing, and on her twenty-first birthday she became the loved and honoured wife of the only man she had ever cared for. A dull, prosaic courtship, truly, it seemed to the world at large, but the Daltons, wrapped up in each other, cared little —and so time passed on, bringing to Mary the sweet happiness of motherhood, and making her, if possible, sweeter and more charming than ever. !

She had been married about nine years, when news came of her mother's death. The regiment was then under orders for home, so she wrote to her sister, saying how useless it would be for her to come out, only to return, asking her to remain quietly where she was, and on her (Mary's) arrival, she should come to them. This brings us to the time when my story opens, and in my next chapter I will introduce my heroine.

Chapter II

What softened remembrances come o'er the heart In gazing on those we've been lost to so long ! The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng ; As letters, some hand hath invisibly trac'd, When held to the flame will steal out on the sight ; So many a feeling that long seem'd eflac'd, The warmth of a moment like this brings to light." — Moore. A gentlemanly man was slowly pacing up and down the arrival platform at Paddington. It was Colonel Dalton, come from Aldershot to meet his sister-in-law, Ellen Forsythe. As the train was nearly due, he pulled out his watch, and, going to a porter, asked if the next was the train from Exeter. " Yes sir, the up-express," was the man's reply ; then he added the gratuitous informa tion, " she's just been signalled, and will be.

I. B I Von, but Lost I up in two or three minutes." As the express came into the station, and poured forth its stream of passengers, Colonel Dalton looked in vain for a face or form reminding him of his wife. People hurried by, and as his eye scanned each face it failed to recognise any resemblance. So he stood back, waiting till the crowd dispersed and till the platform was gradually cleared — then he noticed a tall slight girl, with dark hair, dressed simply in black. She was looking round with a smile of quick intelligence lighting up her eyes, and hover ing on her lips. " I like her expression," he thought to himself; "of course she is not Nellie, but it can do no harm my enquiring." So courteously lifting his hat, he went up to her, and said, — " Pardon me, but am I speaking to Miss Forsythe ?

" She started with a blush and held out her hand. " You must be Colonel Dalton." " Then you are Nellie." There was no need of further introduction, though the Colonel felt rather than saw that Nellie stood in awe of him ; not that she was shy, for she spoke frankly enough, but her colour came and went painfully, and he saw it would be kindness to leave her to herself. She leaned back silently in a corner of the cab that was rapidly driving them towards Waterloo ; at last she spoke — , " Does Mary like Aldershot as well as India ? " " Scarcely, but she is very glad to be home again, and surrounded by English faces." " Yes," and a sob seemed for a moment to catch her breath, " the exile must be dreadful." He smiled, "We did not look upon our- ! 20 selves as exiles, though there is no place like home.

You are looking very tired, my dear girl, perhaps it would have been better to spend the night in town." " Oh no," she cried eagerly, " it is only my hideous complexion, for I am not really tired." " We shall have time to get something for you to eat at Waterloo, and that will refresh you, for your looks sadly belie your words," and the Colonel smiled kindly. So despite her remonstrances he obliged her to take a glass of wine, and then sent her to rest for a while in the ladies' waiting-room. " I will call you in plenty of time, so don't disturb yourself," he said as he left her at the door. Obedient as a child she took off her hat and lying down she soon fell asleep. She awoke with a start as the waiting-room woman said to her, — " The gentleman is waiting for you, Miss ; it is time you went."

It did not take a second to smooth her hair, put on her hat, and go to her brother in-law. " Oh," she said with a low laugh, " I have been so lazy, Colonel Dalton, would you believe it, I fell fast asleep." " The very thing I was hoping you would do," he replied ; " you look better for the rest." She became very silent ; on reaching Farnborough, they again took a cab and were driven to the camp at Aldershot. As they drew up Mrs Dalton came to the door to receive them. " Here, Mary, I have brought your sister safely," cried her husband. The next moment the two sisters were in each other's arms. " My darling Nellie, I am so glad to see ! 22 you," cried Mary, kissing her; " but you must be tired, — come in and rest." " Am I not to be allowed a brother's privilege?" asked Colonel Dalton; and with out waiting for a reply he bent down and kissed her forehead.

She flushed crimson, and an exclamation of surprise escaped her. Mary laughed at her startled face. " What a shame to tease her, Charles, you really are too bad. Never mind him, Nellie," turning to her sister, " he always teases every one ; let me show you your room, dear, there is only just time for you to take off your hat before dinner," and taking Nellie's arm she led her through another room, and then opening a door said — " This is your own domain, your private sanctum, dear ; you must make yourself quite at home." " I shall be sure to do that," replied the girl with a smile ; " what a pretty house, it is charming, Mary ; how you must like it ! " " I have not been long enough yet to get very fond of it, but I am glad you like it, dear, and I am sure we shall have a very happy time together.

You must not think of un packing anything," seeing Nellie taking out her keys. " Nurse will unpack your things while we are at dinner, if you leave your keys on the table." " But I am not dressed," said Nellie, as she noted her sister's pretty black dinner toilette. " You shall dress to-morrow evening. Hark, there's the dinner bell, come along, you ought to be starving." The evening passed very pleasantly. Nellie had a peep at her little nephew and niece as they lay asleep in their little cots, and at an early hour Mary dismissed her to her room. It looked home-like already, ! 24 now her box was unpacked, and her many treasures scattered about, and the loneliness which had so terribly overpowered her since her mother's death began from that moment gradually to steal away. It was with a sigh of mingled contentment and weariness that she laid her head on the pillow, and in calm untroubled sleep passed her first night in her new home.

She was almost dressed the next morn ing, when a knock, or rather a succession of quick knocks came at her door, and an impatient little voice cried, " Aunt Nellie!" She opened the door, and a little boy of eight entered, whom she knew was her sister's eldest child — a fair, handsome little fellow, very like his mother. "Won't you give Aunt Nellie a kiss?" she asked as she bent down to him. He put out his arms at once, pressing his Or , the Mine Sprung at the Wizard's Point. 25 rosy cheek to hers, then he looked into her face, and said confidentially, " I like you." From that moment Nellie and her little nephew became sworn allies, and he estab lished for himself the right of turning everything in her room topsy-turvy. " Mamma says breakfast is ready," said Charlie, as he slipped his hand into hers, and drew her towards the door.

"And I am ready for breakfast!" laughed Nellie gaily. "Well, dear, have you slept?" asked Mrs Dalton coming forward, and affectionately greeting her young sister. ' ' You do look rested, and less pale than yesterday." " I slept beautifully, thanks, Mary, till I was awoke by bugles sounding. It seemed so strange." "You will soon get accustomed to it," said Colonel Dalton. " I see Master Charlie ! 26 has already introduced himself, but have you seen my little girl ?" " Only when asleep last night." " I must fetch my little woman then, and see what you think of her ;" so saying he left the room, and returned almost directly with a lovely little girl about four years old, in his arms. " Here's my May, Nellie ; run and speak to Aunt Nellie, darling." He placed her on the ground, the little one looked reluctantly at her father, and her sweet rosy lips quivered ominously.

" I won't," she began. " Oh, do not tease her to come to me," implored Nellie hastily. " My child must learn obedience," was the father's reply. " May, come here," called her mother. Slowly, and unwillingly, her tiny tottering feet carried her to her mother's side. " Is May going to be a good or a naughty girl ?" No answer. Mrs Dalton lifted the child on her knee. " My little May," she said gently, " will do what Papa tells her, — and go and kiss Aunt Nellie." Then she put the child down and waited. It was only for a moment. A smile crept like a sunbeam over the baby face. " May good girl now," and without more ado she went and kissed her Aunt. Peace being fully restored, the child ren were despatched to the nursery to get ready for their morning walk, and when Colonel Dalton had started for his duties, the sisters brought their work to the dining room, and sat down " for a long chat," as Mrs Dalton said.

With her work in her hand (she was em- J Von, but Lost ! broidering a pretty dress for May), the elder sister contemplated the younger. Her eye rested approvingly on the silken masses of dark brown hair, on the clear olive skin, the steadfast grey eyes, the pretty straight nose. The mouth was sweet and well formed, slightly underhung, but what spoilt the face, giving it a heaviness that was at variance with its expression, was a full massive chin. With a pretty chin Nellie Forsythe might well have had claims to beauty, and that of no mean order — but with her huge lower jaw she could excite but little admiration. Poor Nellie, she hated the sight of her own face, she, a passionate worshipper of beauty, to have so little ; and yet she was no fool, she knew well her own good points, she knew that many a girl with a really pretty face, envied her her proud dignified bearing, her graceful carriage.

Looking up she met her sister's gaze, and a quick flush mounted to her face, as she said half apologetically — " I am afraid you must be terribly disappointed in me, Mary. I know I am not good looking, I have a hideous complexion." " What a conceited girl," laughed Mrs Dalton lightly, "but my dear Nellie, you must not think such a thing of us. I am, and I know my husband is, more than pleased with our little sister," and she rose and kissed tenderly and sympathetically the little sister's broad, pale low forehead, " and now," she continued as she reseated herself, " tell me all about poor Mamma, if it will not upset you too much." " Oh, no ! " there was a low sweet rever ence in the voice ; " to whom should I speak of her if not to you ? " " Yes," and Mrs Dalton smiled her own peculiarly sunny smile, " we two must share our troubles as well as our joys. ! 30 Did Mamma suffer much at the last, Nellie ?

" " I think not ; she had been ailing a long, long time, never really ill, but never quite well ; then I took the housekeeping ; she must have felt strangely weak and ill to have allowed me to do so." " Indeed she must. I can hardly fancy her sitting quietly and permitting another to take her place." " That was about a year before. After then, she would sit in the dining-room all day, except when we went for a short stroll, then she lost her interest in everything, except your letters ; she used to get quite bright and cheery, especially when your like nesses came, she was never tired of looking at them. I used to get quite jealous ; then she sank into a sort of dreamy state. That was terrible, perhaps once in the day she would open her eyes and try to smile ; oh, it was terrible ! " and, unable to continue her recital, the girl utterly broke down, and sobbed in uncontrolled grief for a time.

" My poor darling, how you must have suffered," and Mrs Dalton rose and pillowed the bent head on her shoulder, and gently soothed and caressed her till by degrees her sobs ceased, and she became calmer. " Forgive me, Mary, for being so foolish. I thought I had more self-control, but you see how weak and silly I am." " I see nothing either weak or silly in your tears, dear. What a lonely time you must have had. Now tell me, where is Hannah?" " She married one of the coastguards, called Vincent ; but, poor thing, he was drowned a short time ago ; not that it was very much loss to her, for he used her very ill. She has a nice little house on the cliff, and takes in needle work." ! 32 " I wonder she does not go again into service ; but has she any family ? " " She had one baby, but it died ; she does find it rather lonely, but she says she won't go into service till I marry, and then she will come to me.

She will have to wait a very long time, I fear, for I am never likely to marry." " I should have fancied you were rather a favourite with gentlemen, Nellie, you have so much to say for yourself." " Oh, I can talk well enough, that is, on some subjects, but I can never get on with gentlemen." " Well, well, we shall see. You play the piano and sing of course." " I play, but I don't play at all well ; to tell the truth, Mary, I am not mad about it; I should dearly like to sing, but I have no voice." " Will you fetch your music and let me hear you, Nellie ?" " Oh, Mary, and you play so beautifully." " Because I chance to play well, and you don't play so well, that is no reason why you should not play, so get your music, Nell ; you see I am disposed to be tyrannical." The music was brought to the drawing-room, and sorely against her will, Miss Forsythe sat down to the piano, which her sister had already opened and placed ready, and began to play in a nervous stumbling manner part of Mozart's exquisite Mass, every note of which is well-nigh a prayer, his " Agnus Dei."