Salome. Marshall Emma

widow and children were left desolate.

      Uncle Loftus had arrived, as Miss Barnes had expected. He had not remained all through the sad week, – while the sunshine reigned without, and darkness and dreariness within Maplestone Court, – but he returned for the funeral; and the same evening he sat in consultation with Mr. Calvert, the lawyer, and Mr. De Brette, with the partners of the great timber concern which had collapsed in the general and widespread pressure of the time. Mr. Wilton's case was rendered far worse by the loss of a large private income derived from shares in the Central Bank. There was literally nothing left to his children but his heavy liabilities and his wife's small settlement.

      "Under three hundred a year," Dr. Loftus Wilton said; "and with all their previous habits and way of life, this will be little enough. My sister-in-law is not a strong woman, and has had her own way, poor thing – I mean she has been blessed with a very indulgent husband."

      "I suppose the eldest boy can earn his living," Mr. De Brette said; "he is over seventeen."

      "He ought to do so. We must get him into an office. Perhaps, when the concern is wound up, Mr. Ferguson may find him a berth when a fresh start is made."

      "A fresh start!" exclaimed Mr. Ferguson; "that will never be, as far as I am concerned. I should think a clerkship in a bank would be better."

      "I think you ought to see Raymond," Dr. Loftus Wilton said; "he is his father's representative, and everything should be laid before him. Then there is the eldest girl, close on sixteen; a little creature, but full of nerve and sense. Shall we call them?"

      The gentlemen seemed doubtful; and Mr. De Brette said, —

      "Poor things! I think we had better leave it to you to tell them what must happen. The house will realize a good deal," he added, looking round; "fine pictures, and everything in good order. The cellar, too, must be valuable – poor Wilton's wine was always of the choicest."

      "Yes, poor fellow. My brother lived up to the mark, perhaps a little too much so; but who was to foresee such a calamity as this?"

      After a little more discussion the party broke up, – the lawyer gathering together the papers and Mr. Wilton's will with a half sigh, as he said, —

      "This is so much waste paper now. It is a melancholy story, and there are hundreds like it. Nothing but losses all round."

      Dr. Loftus Wilton strolled out into the grounds when he was left alone. He would put off talking to the children till the next day, he thought, and there was no immediate necessity to do so. He was sorry for them; but he had a large family, and a hard fight to provide for them out of a professional income as a doctor in a fashionable watering-place, where much was required in the way of appearance, and people were valued very much by what they wore, and very little by what they were. The summer was always a flat time at Roxburgh, and hence Dr. Loftus Wilton could better afford the time away from his practice. "There are good schools at Roxburgh for the small boys, and the two girls could get advantages," he thought; "but then Anna will not trouble herself about poor Arthur's family. In fact, she would not care to have them there. Still, I must do my duty. She and Emily never did hit it off. Anna thought she patronized her; and now it would be the other way, poor things." And then Dr. Wilton lighted another cigar and paced up and down the garden, till at last he found himself on the wooden bridge, and in the stillness of the summer evening heard voices. He went on, and came upon the lake, on the bank of which three black figures were sitting – Salome and her two elder brothers. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and knocking the ashes off his cigar end, Dr. Wilton descended, saying, —

      "The very people I wanted to see. – Here, Reginald, my boy, stop – Raymond, I mean."

      But Raymond, at the sight of his uncle, had suddenly left his seat, and, with his hands in his pockets, had disappeared in the tangled shrubbery which led away from the lake on the other side.

      Reginald, however, stopped when his uncle called, and Salome, rising, said, —

      "Did you want us, Uncle Loftus?" The pale, tear-stained face and little slight figure, in its black, sombre dress, touched Dr. Wilton.

      "Yes, my dear; I came to talk with you and your eldest brother, as – well, as reasonable people. Sit down, Salome," and he drew her towards him on the bench.

      "You know, my dear," he began, "you know you will have to leave Maplestone at once, – the sooner for all of you the better, I think, – for the place is in the possession of your poor father's creditors. Now, my dear, listen to me."

      "I am listening, Uncle Loftus," Salome said.

      "I cannot do much for you, for I have a large family and many expenses; but I have been thinking Roxburgh would be a good place for you all to live in. The small boys could go to school, and – "

      "I mean to teach Carl and Hans, Uncle Loftus. There are Raymond and Reginald. Reginald is not fourteen."

      "Oh, well, Reginald must have a year or two more, I suppose. But Raymond is well over sixteen; he must work for his living."

      "And there is Ada, Uncle Loftus, – she must go on with her lessons."

      "My dear, I am afraid must is a word we shall have to leave alone now. It is what you can afford out of your poor mother's income, not what you must have. Now I want you to ask her what she thinks of my plan. If she approves it, I will look for a small furnished lodging, somewhere in Roxburgh, and I will speak to your Aunt Anna – only you must get your mother's mind about it first. I shall see her to-morrow before I leave, and you can prepare her for my proposition. You must take heart, my dear. Things may brighten."

      "Nothing can bring father back," said Salome passionately. "I could bear anything if only I had him. To have worked so hard for us, and then to die ruined and broken-hearted!"

      Dr. Wilton had nothing to say except, "My dear, don't fret – pray don't. From what I have observed as a medical man, I think your poor father's life would not have been a long one at the best. He had a slight attack, you know, two years ago, when I advised him to go abroad for a few weeks for entire rest. And this fearful blow was too much for him – brought on the last attack of paralysis, which proved fatal. Your brothers ought not to have gone off in that way."

      "I am here, Uncle Loftus," Reginald said. "I have heard every word; I am ready to do anything to help my mother," he continued, drawing himself upright from the long grass where he had been lying full length.

      "That's a brave little man," Dr. Wilton said. "I wish your brother may show the same good feeling." And then he relighted his cigar, and went over the bridge again.

      "How unfeeling he is!" were Reginald's first words. "Oh, dear Sal, don't!" for Salome was sobbing bitterly. "Don't, Sal; and, for any sake, don't let us go to Roxburgh to be patronized by that set of heartless people. Let's stick together, and go and live near a big school, where I can go as a day boy. Not at Rugby though; I shouldn't like that. The fellows in Crawford's house might look down on me as a day boy. It is hard to have to leave Rugby; but I don't mean to give up because I have to do my work somewhere else. One's work doesn't alter – that's one comfort; and I'll do my best. And I have got you, Sal; that's more than most fellows can say, for sisters like you don't grow like blackberries in the hedge."

      "O Reg! I am sure I have not been of much use to you, only I think I understand you. And, Reg" – this was said very earnestly – "you must tell me always when I am untidy, and wake me up when I am in a dream, and remind me to put my books away, and not leave everything in a higgledy-piggledy fashion."

      "Oh, bother it! clever girls like you, who are always thinking and making up stories and verses, often are all of a heap."

      "But that does not make it right, Reg; and I am not a bit clever, really. Think of Ada – how beautifully she works and plays and draws! and I don't do one of those things. Sometimes I think I might make a very little money by writing a story. You know I have written heaps, and torn them up, but now I shall keep the next and read it to you. I have got it all straight in my head, not a hitch anywhere. Reg, isn't it strange I can make all things in my stories go so pit-pat and right, and yet I never can keep my goods straight? Why – would you believe it? – I've already lost one of my new black