Bridgeton pioneer., 1884-10-16
The Widows Lodqer.
CHAPTER 1.
NUMBER TWENTY-SEyEN.


in central London. The time had been
when Cranmore Square could hold it's
own in the way of good Old houses and
fashionable people against many or
most at the West-end, but that time was
gone, and CranmOre Square had to be
content with retired citizens of solid
wealth. high-class journalists, men of
science, painters, respectable solicitors,
and others whose avocatiOns kept them
in the heart of the metropolis, or who
liked to live there. Number twenty
seven, however, was lodging-house.
Not boarding-house. Mary Allenby,
whose pensive face, seen so often at the
drawing-roOm window, would haunt the
passer-by like some fair vision, was not
equal to that. She was only fve-and-
twenty, and had worn her Grape nearly
twelve months now, and her baby Ar
thur-a fine little fellow nearly three
years old-absorbed all the time she
could spare. Not quite twelve months
ago there had been brass plate on the
door, bearing the inscription. Mr.. Ar
thur Allenby, Surgeon. &c.'; not quite
twelve months ago there had been
small silver plate on cotfin-lid, bear
ing the same name and his age, twenty
seven. \ handsome pillar of white
marble bore the same inscription in
IIighgate cemetery. Mary took her
baby there once every week at least, and
wished, as many others have done, that
day could be set apart for mourners.
when the gates would be closed against
the idle and curious, and the friends of
the dead might look at the graves of
their own undisturbed.
When Arthur Allenby first started on
his own account people predicteda a bril-
liant career for him. He had every
thing in his favor-an earnest love for
his profession, a singular success owing
to his delicate skill and rare insight of
character; and his friends had means
enough to keep him supplied with
money until his practice should make
him independent. The first blow to the
ambition they had entered in him was
his marriage; he had not been in prac-
tice a single year before hemade Mary
Lennard his wife, and his mother and
sisters declined to receive her or to visit
her. This so stung his pride that he
would receive no further help from
them, but preferred to live on love and
his own resources. He gave up his
brougham-their money had paid for it
and went to his patients on foot. He
was rising man, full of energy and
hope and genius; but one long, trying
Winter, that brought him new patients
by the score and fees in plenty, killed
him. He went into rapid consump-
ton, and was dead in six months.
Arthur Allenby had no craven fear of
death; he had nothing to repent with
repentance like despair at the eleventh
hour; he had, from the first, studied his
responsibilities with care and prudence
not often seen in so young man. When
he married Mary he insured his life for
three hundred pounds, intending to in
crease the sum when his means permit
ted, and he had taken the house in
Cranmore Square on seven years
lease, furnished it thoroughly and well,
and he had contrived to keep slender
banking account-a very slender one,
for it scarcely lasted through his illness,
and when he died, the house, the furni-
ture, and the insurance money was all
Mary had.
Even when he was dying, ana ho
knew it, he asked nothing for his wife
from his friends. The young doctor
had felt himself deeply injured by their
behavior to her. Mary's only fault was
that she was poor. He had been called
in to attend her father-a broken-down
gentleman, who gained scanty living
in ha o. p,;t Oh
scum, translating, compiling, arranging,
and collecting matter for business-like
literary men, who made a trade of their
work, and found ready-money market
for it. The poor old scholar was glad
to earn few shillings day at labor
he delighted i'll, and Mary was so ac-
customed to helping him that when he
fell i'll she could take his place with the
aid of few notes pencilled down at his
bedside.
But this took her away from him, and
the time came when she was wanted
always. The old man grew like child
for helplessness. 1t is to the credit of
the man who had employed him, that,
in their intervals between hard work
and thOughtless imprOvidence, they
went to the sick mans room and saw
that he did not want for anything; in
fact there was rather surplus of calves
foot jelly, port wine, and cooked chick
en-, there being a general idea that these
were the correct things for an invalid.
Their kindness was not the less sincere
that it came too late. Years of priva-
tion had done their work already.
There was kindness that he valued
as much-perhaps more than this. Ar
thur Allenby spent many an hour with
his patient, listening with sympathetic
attention to the old mans talk of early
days, and the student dreams that clung
to him even now. Arthur became at
last quite as much friend as a physi-
clan, and the time which would have
been his own for leisure was very will
ingly given up for the old man and his
dlngy room, and Mary.
1t was no uncommon thing for her to
come from the museum and find the
doctor there. She was shy at first, but
the shyness soon wore off, and one
memorable afternoon She.-instioated