Little Novels | Page 7

the side-table.
"Are you a corn-cutter?" was all he could say.
"Excuse me, sir, " returned the polite operator, "the term you use is
quite obsolete in our profession." He rose from his knees, and added
modestly: "I am a Chiropodist."
"I beg your pardon."
"Don't mention it! You are not, I imagine, in want of my professional
services. To what motive may I attribute the honor of your visit?"
By this time Mr. Rayburn had recovered himself.
"I have come here," he answered, "under circumstances which require
apology as well as explanation."
Mr. Zant's highly polished manner betrayed signs of alarm; his
suspicions pointed to a formidable conclusion--a conclusion that shook
him to the innermost recesses of the pocket in which he kept his
money.
"The numerous demands on me--" he began.

Mr. Rayburn smiled.
"Make your mind easy," he replied. "I don't want money. My object is
to speak with you on the subject of a lady who is a relation of yours."
"My sister-in-law!" Mr. Zant exclaimed. "Pray take a seat."
Doubting if he had chosen a convenient time for his visit, Mr. Rayburn
hesitated.
"Am I likely to be in the way of persons who wish to consult you?" he
asked.
"Certainly not. My morning hours of attendance on my clients are from
eleven to one." The clock on the mantelpiece struck the quarter-past
one as he spoke. "I hope you don't bring me bad news?" he said, very
earnestly. "When I called on Mrs. Zant this morning, I heard that she
had gone out for a walk. Is it indiscreet to ask how you became
acquainted with her?"
Mr. Rayburn at once mentioned what he had seen and heard in
Kensington Gardens; not forgetting to add a few words, which
described his interview afterward with Mrs. Zant.
The lady's brother-in-law listened with an interest and sympathy, which
offered the strongest possible contrast to the unprovoked rudeness of
the mistress of the lodging-house. He declared that he could only do
justice to his sense of obligation by following Mr. Rayburn's example,
and expressing himself as frankly as if he had been speaking to an old
friend.
"The sad story of my sister-in-law's life," he said, "will, I think, explain
certain things which must have naturally perplexed you. My brother
was introduced to her at the house of an Australian gentleman, on a
visit to England. She was then employed as governess to his daughters.
So sincere was the regard felt for her by the family that the parents had,
at the entreaty of their children, asked her to accompany them when
they returned to the Colony. The governess thankfully accepted the

proposal."
"Had she no relations in England?" Mr. Rayburn asked.
"She was literally alone in the world, sir. When I tell you that she had
been brought up in the Foundling Hospital, you will understand what I
mean. Oh, there is no romance in my sister-in-law's story! She never
has known, or will know, who her parents were or why they deserted
her. The happiest moment in her life was the moment when she and my
brother first met. It was an instance, on both sides, of love at first sight.
Though not a rich man, my brother had earned a sufficient income in
mercantile pursuits. His character spoke for itself. In a word, he altered
all the poor girl's prospects, as we then hoped and believed, for the
better. Her employers deferred their return to Australia, so that she
might be married from their house. After a happy life of a few weeks
only--"
His voice failed him; he paused, and turned his face from the light.
"Pardon me," he said; "I am not able, even yet, to speak composedly of
my brother's death. Let me only say that the poor young wife was a
widow, before the happy days of the honeymoon were over. That
dreadful calamity struck her down. Before my brother had been
committed to the grave, her life was in danger from brain-fever."
Those words placed in a new light Mr. Rayburn's first fear that her
intellect might be deranged. Looking at him attentively, Mr. Zant
seemed to understand what was passing in the mind of his guest.
"No!" he said. "If the opinions of the medical men are to be trusted, the
result of the illness is injury to her physical strength--not injury to her
mind. I have observed in her, no doubt, a certain waywardness of
temper since her illness; but that is a trifle. As an example of what I
mean, I may tell you that I invited her, on her recovery, to pay me a
visit. My house is not in London--the air doesn't agree with me--my
place of residence is at St. Sallins-on-Sea. I am not myself