In the Wilderness | Page 6

been given to Rosamund as a thank-offering by a poor charwoman to
whom she had been kind. It had been in constant use now for over three
years. The charwoman knew this with grateful pride.
Upon the mantelpiece there were other gifts of a similar kind: a
photograph frame made of curly shells, a mug with "A present from
Greenwich" written across it in gold letters, a flesh-colored glass vase
with yellow trimmings, a china cow with its vermilion ears cocked
forward, lying down in a green meadow which just held it, and a toy
trombone with a cord and tassels. There were also several photographs
of poor people in their Sunday clothes. On the walls hung a photograph
of Cardinal Newman, a good copy of a Luini Madonna, two drawings
of heads by Burne-Jones, a small painting--signed "G. F. Watts"--of an
old tree trunk around which ivy was lovingly growing, and one or two
prints.
The floor was polished and partially covered by three good-sized mats.
There was a writing-table on one side of the room with an ebony-and-
gold crucifix standing upon it. Opposite to it, on the other side of the
room near the fireplace, was a bookcase. On the shelves were volumes
of Shakespeare, Dante, Emerson, Wordsworth, Browning, Christina

Rossetti, Newman's "Dream of Gerontius" and "Apologia," Thomas a
Kempis, several works on mystics and mysticism, a life of St.
Catherine of Genoa, another of St. Francis of Assisi, St. Ignatius
Loyola's "Spiritual Exercises," Pascal's "Letters," etc., etc. Over the
windows hung gray-blue curtains.
Into this room Rosamund came that evening; she went to a wardrobe
and began to take down a long sealskin coat. Just then her maid
appeared-- an Italian girl whom she had taken into her service in Milan
when she had studied singing there.
"Shan't I come with you, Signorina?" she asked, as she took the jacket
from her mistress and held it for Rosamund to put on.
"No, thank you, Maria. I'm going to church, the Protestant church."
"I could wait outside or come back to fetch you."
"It's not far. I shall be all right."
"But the fog is terrible. It's like a wall about the house."
"Is it as bad as that?"
She went to one of the windows, pulled aside the curtains, lifted the
blind and tried to look out. But she could not, for the fog pressed
against the window panes and hid the street and the houses opposite.
"It is bad."
She dropped the blind, let the curtains fall into place and turned round.
"But I'd rather go alone. I can't miss the way, and I'm not a nervous
person. You'd be far more frightened than I." She smiled at the girl.
Apparently reassured, or perhaps merely glad that her unselfishness
was not going to be tested, Maria accompanied her mistress downstairs
and let her out. It was Lurby's "evening off," and for once he was not
discreetly on hand.

Church bells were chiming faintly in this City of dreadful night as
Rosamund almost felt her way onward. She heard them and thought
they were sad, and their melancholy seemed to be one with the
melancholy of the atmosphere. Some one passed by her. She just heard
a muffled sound of steps, just discerned a shadow--that was all.
To-morrow she must give an answer to Dion Leith. She went on slowly
in the fog, thinking, thinking. Two vertical lines showed in her usually
smooth forehead.
It was nearly half-past six when she turned into Welby Street. The
church was not a large one and there was no parish attached to it. It was
a proprietary chapel. The income of the incumbent came from pew
rents. His name was Limer, and he was a first-rate preacher of the
sensational type, a pulpit dealer in "actualities." He was also an
excellent musician, and took great pains with his choir. In consequence
of these talents, and of his diligent application of them, St. Mary's was
generally full, and all its pews were let at a high figure. To-night,
however, because of the fog, Rosamund expected to find few people.
One bell was mournfully ringing as she drew near and presently saw a
faint gleaming of light through long narrow windows of painted glass.
"Ping, ping, ping!" It was a thin little summons to prayer. She passed
through a gateway in some railings of wrought ironwork, crossed a
slippery pavement and entered the church.
It was already more than three parts full, and there was a large
proportion of men in the congregation. A smart-looking young man,
evidently a gentleman, who was standing close to the door, nodded to
Rosamund and whispered:
"I'll put you into Lady Millingham's seat. You'll find Mrs. Chetwinde
and Mr. Darlington there."
"Oh, I'd rather--" began Rosamund.
But