The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1884-07-12 00:00:00

"As you please. Only, pray come to the r 0 nt
without more delay. What do you require ?"
"Not much. Nothing for myself, but—for my
child—l am going to—leave him."
"To leave him!" and the gentleman elevated his
eyebrows a little. When?"
"Soon. I am going far away from him and all
who know me. No, Ido not want that," she went
on, seeing him take out his purse. "I am poor
enough, miserably poor, Heaven knows, but I will
accept no charity from you, George Sartoris, in the
shape of money."
"Then what do you want with me ?"
"I will tell you, she answered quietly, but very
earnestly. "I have said that lam going far away,
very far, and never to return. Will you see that
my boy is restored to—his father—with this letter—
'when I am gone, or in case you should hear of my
death."

"Death! What has put such a thought as that
into your mind? You are not ill, are you?"
"Who knows," she replied, dreamily. "Perhaps
it may be that I have some foolish presentiment
that, young as I am, my end is not far distant. In
any case I only ask if you will do as I wish."
He hesitated for a moment,
.and then assented.

"1,11 do what I can," he said. "For the sake of
those old times you just now spoke of."
"You promise that, faithfully ?"
"Upon my honour."
She looked intently at him, as though to assure
herself of his sincerity.
Apparently she was satisfied, or else knew that it
was uselesS to hope for any more binding pledge, and
drew from her pocket a letter and a small bundle of
letters, securely tied and sealed, which she handed to
him.

The former Mr. Sartoris examined, and found ad-
dressed to himself. _ _

"You need not try to read it now," said Gertrude
Grant. "It contains only such instructions as will
be necessary to find the child and return him to his
place in the world when I am gone."
P.," But why not let me take him now? Mr. ---,
well, I won't mention his name, if you object—his
father would be only too glad to recover him, and
I don't know, upon my soul, whether I ought not
to let him know --"

- -
"Not before I give you permission, George, '
eagerly broke in the woman. "You promised me,
remember that."

"Very foolishly. I should have known better.
But I must not break my word, I suppose, though
for the poor little beggar's sake it would be the best
thing to do. flowever, you may trust me so far to
do my utmost for the youngster should occasion
arise-- if he is to be found, that is, after so indefi-
nite a per:od as you have named."
"have no misgiving on that score, George,' re-
turned Gertrude Grant. "And now all that re-
mains is to say good-bye. If you like to take nay
hand once more, before we say farewell for ever, do
so with this assurance from your old playmate's
lips: I have never sinned in the manner you all
believe. lam innocent, so help me Heaven, in this
my last extremity! I am innocent of that crime of
which I was suspected, and for which I am outcast
from home and friends. Can you not believe me F"
And as the pale, haggard woman extended her
hand, George Sartoris involuntarily took it in both
his. Cold, hard, and cynical as he was, incredulous
as to the assertion he had just heard made—an asser-
tion which he believed to be nearly the last desperate
effort of a guilty woman to extort his sympathy—
there was yet enough of human feeling in him to
render it impossible that he should listen quite un-
moved to the sad, pleAding tones of the forlorn
creature before him.
"I wish you would let me help you for yourself,
Gertrude," he sad, gently. "I am not rich, as you
know, but at least I could provide you with the
means of living."
"It is too late," she cried, wildly. "Don't try
to tempt me. My mind is quite made up. Re-
member what you have promised, and now—good-
bye."
"Till when F"
" Ah! who shall say? -Upon this earth, at least,
we can meet no more. Good-bye."
Before he could stop her she was gone, lost
in the hurrying crowd that filled the street, and
George Sartoris, whose transient mood of softness
had vanished almost as rapidly as it was con-
ceived, carelessly shrugged his shoulders and turned
to go.
"She's as high-flown as ever," he muttered
"Words and reasoning are wasted on her. It's an
awful bore to be mixed up in such a matter, but as
to the sentimental rubbish she talks about eternal
partings—bah! it's all bosh."
And with this he signalled a passing hansom, and
was soon being wheeled rapidly across Westminster-
bridge to the more fashionable regions in which he
was at home.
But not without something having occurred in the
meantime which, when he discovered it next morn-
ing, quite put it out of his power to fulfil the
promise he had ma le to Gertrude Grant, who had
hardly disappeared from his side before the slight
figure of Mick Wood, concealed Dehind the arch-
way, but close to them, during the whole of their
interview, glided stealthily out and, while Mr.
Sartoris was watching the woman's receding figure,
plucked the patlet and letter from the overcoat
pocket in which they had been carelessly thrust and
darted off with his ir:ze, the value of which he had
vet to learn.

(To le continued).