The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1885-10-31 00:00:00

04THERINE'S MISTAKE,

Ingestre clenched his hands till the nails went right
into the soft flesh, bit his lips till the blood oozed from
them, but still sat there in his old position, looking
with murder in his eyes.
Little Maxall, exquisitely dressed, daintily gloved,
handing to a seat a lady, who, however, ,leant on the
arm of another gentleman. The lady had a very fair
complexion, was certainly past her first youth, but still
possessed some claims to admiration in her fair skin,
red lips, and abundance of light-coloured hair, which
was elaborately plaited and braided beneath her small,
showy bonnet. Her veil was thrown back when she
entered; but for some reason or other, directly she
had taken her seat, she dropped it over her face. It
might have been she thought George Ingestre's gate
too rude; for he was staring at her.
Maxall did not perceive his guardian at all; for by
the time he had arranged his own position, taken off
one glove, used his scented handkerchief, and done
smiling upon his friend, George Ingestre had risen and

walked away.
Ile did not leave the house, but went downstairs
into the hall, and watched the party from behind one

of the fluted columns.
They seemed to be very merry, and well pleased
with themselves. The third person was a youth of
Maxall's age, taller, patrician-looking, and with some-
thing of the air of a fereigner. Ceorge Ingestre had
no eyes for him; he thought only of watching his ward
and the lady, who seemed on the most intimate terms;
but still there was a certain uneasiness in her manner
not to be disguised.
Through the gossamer veil you could see her large,
wild-looking eyes darting here and there, wandering
and peering into every nook and cranny of the hall.
At last she seemed satisfied, easy; and then, throwing
aside her veil, she gave her attention wholly to her two
companions.
Ingram's solo was done, his work was over for that
evening in the music-hall. He never once thought of
the audience while singing—of turning his eye here or
there upon any individual; had he—had he once
looked up at the crowd of faces ga7ing down upon him
and recognised Mrs. Faunce's among them, he most
probably would not have bounded down the steps of
the lobby in the careless manner he did, believing his
house safe, and his sister Anna under a protecting

eye.
The shortest route for the young man was through
the hall, and out at the entrance-door; he was in a
hurry, so, carpet-bag in hand (containing his evening
dress), he marched along, pushing his way through the
audience, not very good-temperedly, either.
By some means or ether he managed to dig his bag
too forcibly into a French gentleman's back. The
aggrieved person began to swear badly, and knocked
Ingram Ingestre's hat over his eyes. The English-
man's blood was up in an instant; out went his fist
like a dart, and down went the other.
Then followed a hubbub—cries, groans, hisses, and
shouts for the police, mingled with laughter from the
men. Ingram and his antagonist were wrestling furi-
ously, while the crowd alternately neared upon and
then fell back from them.
At the first sound of "a row," the gentlemen had
flocked down from the galleries, and foremost were
Maxall and his companion, the latter leading the way
with delighted glee.
" This way! this way !" he cried. "Mafoi! it will
be as good as a bull-fight ! " and he rushed headlong
upon the combatants, Maxall following more cau-
tiously in the rear, for the truth must be told—Maxall
Maxall loved not fighting.
His companion was no less a person than the
youngest De Resimont, whose acquaintance he had
made in the green-room of one of the theatres. And
now young Ferdinand dashed into the affray with mad
ardour, and broke the ring forming round the two
fighters.
He was knocked down instantly, and Maxall next.
Up again like lightning, and then the fight was uni-
versal.
George Ingestre stood by and watched the prowess
of his relative with unfeigned admiration; and it was
not until he saw him assailed by numbers, and in
an exhausted condition, that he lifted a hand in his
defence.
He went in then, and put his two arms round
Ingram, rearing him above the yelling crowd, which
had now turned its attention upon the excited Ferdi-
nand, who, with Maxall clinging to his coat-tails, was
hitting at everything and everybody. The noise of
the men, the screams of the women, and the other
sounds of confusion, altogether formed a din only to
be heard in the affrays common to places of this
kind.
Ingram began to gather consciousness in the fresh
air outside; for George Ingestre's strong arms had
done him good service, and dragged him out of the
Tni/ec with only a closed eye, a bleeding nose, and
minus the carpet-bag.
"Well, what d'ye feel like now?" he laughed, sur-
veying Ingram from top •to toe under the gas-lamp
against which he had propped him. gave it to
"Preciously sore.° IlHe TiseltOw ! he's smashed my
the, secanftd;fiot, panting, half blind, and choked with
blood.
"True enough; and some more will get their hats
smashed to-night beside you. What fellows English-
men are for anything like a row! You may think your-
self lucky you're not in the lock-up to-night; two or
three others will be, I guess."
"Thanks to you. lam much obliged for your as-
sistance. I can't possibly see you now, with my eye
shut up like this; but you must be a strong fellow to
pull me along as you did. Thanks again. It would
not have done for me to figure in the police-sheet,
since I got my living in a quiet, respectable way.
This black eye will not be the very best thing for
me." (And Miss Bernstein, and what she would
think of it, flashed across his mind.) "Thank you,
again. Shake hands. There; now I'll be off home
in a cab."
"Yes, you had better, before the police catch sight
of you. I should like to know your name, though."
"Ingrain, in public life; Ingram Ross Ingestre
when I'm in private. My address is, Orville Cottage,
Islington. Oh, here's a cab; and yours?" he cried,
leaping into it.
" George Ross Ingestre, of Redfern," was the reply,
as the man lashed his horse, and the Cab moved
on.
There was a movement inside—a hand on the door
—a voice calling "Stop !" but the cabman, guessing
his fare was a culprit escaping justice, dashed on,
and George Ingestre turned away, with a smile en
his lips.

(Yo be contintied,)