AUNT ANNE. Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. CHAPTER XV. (continued.) "HERE'S a four-wheeler," Walter said, as he stopped one. "This is quite an adventure, only," he added gently, "you don't look up to much, Aunt Anne." "I shall be better soon," she said, and dropped into silence again. She looked almost vacantly out of window as they went along, and they were afraid to ask questions, for they felt that things had not gone well with her. Presently she turned to Florence. "Did you say the children were at home, my love?" "Yes, dear." The old lady looked out of window again at the green trees in the park and, when they came to them, almost furtively at the shops in Oxford Street. Then she turned to Florence. 66 My love," she said, "I must take those dear children a little present. Would you permit the cabman to stop at a sweetmeat shop; we shall reach one in a moment." 66 Oh, please don't trouble about them, dear Aunt Anne." "I shouldn't like them to think I had forgotten them," she pleaded. "No, and they shan't think it," Walter said, patting her hand. "Hi! stop, cabby. Stay in the cab, Aunt Anne, I'll go and get something for them." In a few minutes he reappeared with two boxes of chocolates. I think that's the sort of thing," he said. She looked at them carefully, opened them, and examined the name of the maker. "You have selected them most judiciously, dear Walter," she answered. "That's all right. Now we'll go on.' She looked at the boxes once more and put them down satisfied. "It was just like you, to save me the fatigue of getting out of the cab," she said to her nephew. "I hope the children will like them, they were always most partial to chocolates. You must remind me to reimburse you for them presently, my dear." And once more she turned to the window. "Aunt Anne, are you looking for any one?" Walter asked presently. "No, my love, but I thought the cabman was going through Portman Square, • Aunt Anne. A Novel. By Mrs. W. K. Clifford, author of "Love Letters of a Worldly Woman," etc. Post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25. Published by Harper & Brothers, New York. and that he would pass William Rammage's house." "That worthy was at Cannes the other day I saw." "He is there till next month," she explained, and then they were all silent until they reached the end of their journey. It was impossible to talk much to Aunt Anne, it seemed to interrupt her thoughts. Silence seemed to have become a habit to her, just as it had to Alfred Wimple. She was a little excited when they stopped at the house, and lingered before the entrance for a moment. Almost sadly she looked up at the balcony on which she had sat with Alfred Wimple, and slowly her left eye winked, as if many things had happened since that happy night, of which only she had a knowledge. They sat her down in an easy-chair, and gave her tea, and made much of her, and asked no questions, only showed their delight at having her with them again. Gradually the tender old face looked happier, the sad lines about the mouth softened, and once there was quite a merry note in her voice, as she laughed and said, "You dear children, you are just the same." It did them good to hear her favorite remarks once more. Then Catty and Monty were brought in, and she kissed them and patronized them and gave them their chocolates and duly sent them away again, just as she always used to do. "I began to work a little hood for Catty," she said, "but I never finished it; it was not that I was dilatory, but that my eyes are not as good as they were." She said the last words sadly, and Florence looking up quickly wondered if they were dimmed from weeping. "Poor Aunt Anne," she said soothingly; "but you are not as lonely as formerly?” "No, my love, but Alfred has a great deal of work to do. It keeps him constantly at his chambers, and his health not being good he is obliged to go out of town very often, so that unwillingly," and she winked sadly, "he is much away from me.' "What work is he doing?" Walter asked. "My dear," she said, with gentle dig. nity, "you must forgive me for not answering that question, but I feel that he would not approve of my discussing his private affairs." rooms in "Have you comfortable town?" Florence asked, to change the subject. "No, my love, they are not very comfortable, but we are not in a pecuniary position to pay a large rent." She paused for a moment and her face became grave and set. Florence watching her fancied that there was a little quiver in the upper lip. "Aunt Anne, dear Aunt Anne, I am certain you are not very happy; tell us what it is. We love you. Do tell us, is anything the matter? Is Mr. Wimple kind to you? Are you poor?" "Yes, do tell us!" Walter said, and put his arm round her thin shoulder, and gave it a little affectionate caress. She hesitated for a moment. "My dears," she said gratefully but a little distantly, "Alfred is very kind to me, but he is very much tried by our circumstances. He is not strong, and he is obliged to be separated from me very often. It causes him much regret, although he is too unselfish to show it." "But you ought not to be so very poor, if Wimple has lots of work," Walter remarked. "I fear it is not very profitable work, dear Walter, and though I have an allowance from Sir William Rammage, it does not defray all our expenses," and she was silent. Walter and Florence were silent too. They could not help it, for Aunt Anne had grown so grave and she seemed to lose herself in her thoughts. Only once did she refer to the past. "Walter, dear," she asked," did you find my little gifts useful when you were away?" Aunt Anne always inquired after the wear and tear of her presents. "Indeed I did," he answered heartily. "I was speaking of them only to-day, wasn't I, Floggie?" But he concealed the fact that all the scissors were lost, lest she should want to give him some more. "Aunt Anne," Florence asked, “isn't there anything we could do for you? You don't look very well." "The spring is so trying, my love," the old lady said gently. "I expect you want a change quite as much as Mr. Wimple." "Oh no, my love. I have been a little annoyed by my landlady, who was impertinent to me this morning. It depresses me to have a liberty taken with me." Perhaps the rent was not paid, Florence thought, but she did not dare to ask. Aunt Anne shivered and pulled her shawl round her again, and explained that she had not put on her warm cloak as it was so sunny and bright, and people might have observed that it was shabby, and while she was talking a really brilliant idea came to Walter. "Aunt Anne," he exclaimed, "why should not you and Wimple go to our cottage at Witley for a bit? Oh! but I forgot, he stays with friends at Liphook, doesn't he?" "No, my love, he lodges with an old retainer." "Oh," said Walter shortly, remembering a different account that Wimple had given him the year before on the memorable morning when they met in the Strand. "I think it would be an excellent thing, if you and he went to our cottage. It is standing empty; we don't want it just yet, and there you could be together." Aunt Anne looked up with keen interest. "Yes, why not?" exclaimed Florence. "I wish you would; you could be quite happy there." "My love," said the old lady eagerly, "it would be delightful. But I am afraid there are reasons that render it impossible for me to accept your kindness." "What reasons? do tell us. Perhaps we can smooth them away." "Florence," said the old lady, "I must be frank with you. I am indebted to some of the tradespeople there, and I am not in a position to pay their bills." They are all paid," Walter said joy. fully, "so don't trouble about them; and moreover, we told them they were never to give us any credit, so I am afraid they won't give you any next time, any more than they will us, but you won't mind that." "And then, my love," the old lady went on, "I have no servants." "I can arrange that," said Florence. "I can telegraph to Jane Mitchell, the postman's sister who always comes in and does for us when we go alone from Saturday to Monday, and take no servant. Do go, Aunt Anne, it will do you a world of good. I shall take you back to your lodgings, and get you ready, and send you off to-morrow morning." Aunt Anne stood up excitedly. 66 My dears," she said, "I will bless you for sending me. I can't bear this separation; I want to be with him, and he wants me, I know he does; it makes him cross and irritable to be away from me." There was almost a wild look in her eyes. They were astonished at her vehemence. But suddenly she seemed to remember something, and all her excitement subsided. "I cannot go until Sir William Rammage returns to town, or his solicitor does. My allowance is not due for some weeks, and the front room door and walked in. Alunfortunately "We'll make that all right, dear, leave it to us," said Walter. "Florence will come round in the morning and carry you off; and Wimple will be quite astonished when you send for him." Aunt Anne looked up almost gaily. 66 Yes, my love, he will be quite astonished; bless you for all your goodness. Now, my dear ones, you must permit me to depart, I shall have so many arrangements to make this evening. Bless you for all your kindness.' "I am going to take you back in a hansom," Walter said. And in a few minutes they were driving to the address she had given, a florist's shop in a street off the Edgware Road. fred Wimple was sitting by a cinder fire, over which he was trying to make some water boil. He looked up as she entered, but he did not rise from the broken canebottomed chair. "Why were you out, Anne?" he asked severely, without giving her any sort of greeting. "My dear one," she said excitedly going forward, "I did not dream of your being here; it is indeed a joyful surprise;" she put her hands on his shoulder and leant down. He turned his head away with a quick movement, and her kiss brushed his cheek near the ear; but she only winked secretly to herself and asked, "When did you come, my darling?" "Two hours ago," he said in the old solemn manner. "I wanted some tea." "I am so sorry, but I never dreamt of your coming. Are you better, my dear one?" she tried to pull the fire together with the little poker. "I think her rooms were on the top floor," Walter said to Florence when he returned, "for she looked up at the windows with a mournful air when we arrived. The house seemed neglected, and the shop had a dead-and-gone air; nothing in it but some decayed plants and a few stray" slugs. It is my opinion that she is left in a garret all by herself, poor dear, while Wimple takes himself off to his chambers, or to his Liphook friends, and has a better time." "He's a horrid thing." "Floggie, do you know that he is our uncle Alfred?" Walter asked wickedly. She looked at him for a moment in bewilderment, then she understood. "Walter," she said, "if you ever say that again I will run away from you. I shall go and write a line to Mrs. Burnett's gardener," she added, "and tell him to meet us with the pony to-morrow; she said I was to use it, and I think it would be good for Aunt Anne not to be excited with the sight of Steggalls' wagonette. I feel certain she is very unhappy." "I don't know how she could expect to be anything else," he answered. "Poor thing, what the deuce did he marry her for? I am certain there is some mystery at the bottom of it." Walter had divined rightly. Aunt Anne's lodging was at the top of the house. When he left her she went slowly up the dark staircase that led to it. On the landing outside her door were her two canvas-covered boxes, one on top of the other. She looked at them for a moment, half hesitatingly, as if she were thinking of the journey they would take to-morrow and of the things she must not forget to put into them. She turned the handle of "I am a little better," he answered. You will never make the water boil over that fire." "Yes I will," and she looked into the coal-scuttle. "Have you come up to town for good, dear Alfred?" The scuttle was empty, but she found some little bits of wood and tried to make a blaze. "I don't know; I am going back to my chambers presently to do a night's work." "And to-morrow," she asked anxiously. "Perhaps you will see me to-morrow,' he answered. "Can you give me something to eat now? and I wish you would make a decent fire." "I will, my dear one," she said; "if you will rest here patiently for a few minutes, I will go down-stairs and ask the landlady to let me have a scuttle of coals." "I have no money," he said sullenly, "understand that." "But I have, my darling," she answered joyfully, "and I am quite sure that you require nourishment. Will you let me go out and buy you a chop?" "Give me some tea; I can get dinner on my way back." "Won't you stay with me this evening, Alfred? I have some news for you, and I have been so lonely," and she looked round the shabby room as if to prove to him how impossible it was to find comfort in it. "No, I can't stay," he answered shortly. "How much money have you got?" "I have a sovereign. Walter slipped it into my glove just now. I have been to see them both, Alfred." "What did they say about me?" 66 They spoke of you most kindly, my darling," she answered, and winked very timidly. "Why couldn't he give you more; a sovereign isn't much," Wimple said discontentedly. "I see Rammage is not coming back from Cannes just yet," he added. "My dear," she said gravely, "you are fatigued with your journey and hungry, and it makes you unhappy. If you will excuse me a moment, I will make some little preparations for your comfort." And with the dignity that always sat so quaintly upon her, she rose from the rug and left the room. She returned in a few minutes, followed by the landlady with a scuttleful of coals. Then she made some tea, and cut some bread and butter, and set it before Alfred Wimple, all the time putting off nervously the telling of her great bit of news. She looked at him while he ate and drank, and her face showed that she was not looking at the actual man before her, but at some one she had endowed with a dozen beauties of heart and soul; she wished he could realize that he possessed them; they might have given him patience, and made him happier. "Did you enjoy the country?" she asked gently. "Yes," he coughed uneasily, "but I was not well. I shall go there again soon." "What do you do all day?" she asked. "Have you any society?" He was silent for a moment, as if struggling with the destitution of speech that always beset him. "I can't give you an account of all my days, Anne," he said, and turned to the fire. "I did not ask it, Alfred; you know that I never intrude upon your privacy. I had some news," she went on with a pathetic note in her voice, "and hoped it would be pleasing to you." "What is it? The expression of his face had not changed for a moment from the one of sulky displeasure it had worn when she entered; and her manner betrayed a certain nervousness, as if she felt that he was with her against his will, and only by gentle propitiation could she keep him at all. "Walter and Florence have offered to lend us their cottage at Witley. We can go to it to-morrow if it is convenient to you, Alfred," she added meekly. "I shall not go there," he said sullenly, and for a moment he looked her full in the face with his dull eyes. "I thought the air of that locality was always beneficial to you." "Thank you, I don't wish to go to that 'locality,' and be laughed at." He half mocked her as he spoke. "Why should you be laughed at?" she asked, with almost a cry of pain in her voice, for she well knew what the answer would be beforehand; but the words were forced from her; she could not help them. He coughed and looked at her again. "People generally laugh at a young man who marries an old woman, Anne." She got up and went to the end of the room and came back again, and put her hand upon his shoulder. "There is no one there to laugh," she said. "There is no one there to know. We need not keep any society." She did not see the absurdity of the last remark, and made it quite gravely. "There are only a few people in the neighborhood at all, and those of an inferior class. It does not matter what they think." "It matters to me what every one thinks." "We cannot remain here much longer," she went on. "The landlady was most impertinent to-day. I think Florence and Walter would help to pay her if we went to the cottage to-morrow. They said they would arrange everything." "It is a long way from Liphook," he said almost to himself; "if any one saw us, they wouldn't suspect that we were married. They would think you were my aunt perhaps." "They may think what they please, Alfred," she answered, "if you are only with me." Then her voice changed. "My dear one, I cannot bear life unless you are gentle to me," she pleaded, "and I cannot bear it here alone any longer, always away from you day after day. I am your wife, Alfred, and if I am an old woman, I love you with all the years I remember, and all the love that has been stored up in me since my youth. I want to be near you, to take care of you, to see that you have comforts. You can say I am your aunt if it pleases you. I never feel that I am your wife; only that it is my great privilege to be near you and to serve you." She stopped as if unable to go on, and he was silent a moment or two before he answered. "I think it might be a good idea; as you say, there is no one about there to know." "Are you ashamed of me?" "I don't want to look ridiculous." Then a flash came into her eyes, and the | or a sugar basin with a very large pair of old spirit asserted itself. "Alfred," she said, "if you do not love me, I think at least you should learn to treat me with respect. If I am so distasteful to you we had better separate. I cannot go on bearing all that I have borne patiently for months. Let me go to Florence and Walter, they will be kind to me, and I will never be a burden upon you. The allowance that William Rammage gives me would keep me in comfort alone, and it struck me the other day, that when he dies perhaps he will leave me something." He looked at her with sudden alarm. The cowed look seemed to have gone from her face to his, and as she saw it she gathered strength, and went on, "I cannot be insulted, Alfred," she said, "I cannot and will not." "Don't be foolish, Anne," he said, “I am irritable sometimes, and I am not strong "That is why I have borne so much from you." "I will go to Witley with you," he went on, ignoring her remark altogether; "that is if you like, and can raise the money to go. I have none." CHAPTER XVI. "FISHER was quite pleased when I asked him if we could get off to Monte Carlo next week," Walter told Florence a little later. "Wasn't he shocked at your gambling propensities?" "Not a bit. He looked as if he would like to go too. He said in rather a pompous manner," - and Walter imitated his editor exactly-"Certainly, certainly; I think, Hibbert, your wife deserves a little treat of some sort after your long absence in the winter, and I am very glad if it is in my power to help you to give it to her.' He looked like the king of the cannibal islands making an act of parliament all by himself." "You are a ridiculous dear." "Thank you, Floggie. Fisher's a nice old chap, and I am very fond of him." "Do you know," said Florence, in rather a shocked tone, "Ethel Dunlop said one day that she believed he looked upon himself as a sort of minor Providence." "Well, he does go about minor Providencing a good deal, which reminds me that he said he was coming in a day or two, to ask you to take him out to buy a wedding present for Ethel." "He'll buy her a Crown Derby tea-set, tongs, see if he doesn't. Ethel said he ought to have married Aunt Anne." "He would have been a thousand times better than Wimple. I wonder how those gay young people are getting on at Witley, and whether they want anything more before we start." "I think they must be all right at present," Florence said, "we sent them a good big box of stores when they went to the cottage; and I know you gave her a little money, dear Walter, and we paid up her debts, so that she cannot be worried. Then of course she has her hundred a year from Sir William to fall back upon, and Mr. Wimple probably has something." "Oh, yes, I suppose they are all right; besides I don't feel too generous towards that beggar Wimple." "I should think not," Florence said virtuously. "Do you know, Walter, once or twice it has struck me that perhaps he won't live; he doesn't look strong, and he is always complaining. Aunt Anne said that he wanted constant change of air." "Oh, yes, I remember she said Liphook was 'beneficial' to him." "If he died she would have her allowance and be free." "No such luck," said Walter. "Besides, if he died, there would be nowhere for him to go to — he'd have to come back again. Heaven wouldn't have him, and after all he isn't quite bad enough for the devil to use his coals upon." "Walter, you mustn't talk in that way, you mustn't indeed," and she put her hand over his mouth again. "All right," he said, struggling to get free, "beg pardon, Floggie, I won't do it again." Mr. Fisher duly arrived the next afternoon. He was a little breathless, though he carefully tried to conceal it, and wore the air of deference but decision which he always thought the right one to assume to women. With much gravity he and Florence set out to buy the wedding present. It resolved itself into a silver butter-dish with a silver cow on the lid, though Florence tried hard to make him choose a set of apostle spoons. "A butter-dish will be much more use. ful, my dear lady." "It will be very useful," Florence echoed, though she feared that Ethel would be a little disappointed when she saw the cow. "And now," said Mr. Fisher in a benevolent voice, as they left the silversmith's |