The Princess Returns
BERT had a warm welcome from Mr. Corney when he appeared at the top of
the area steps. Cetywayo seemed to remember the boy who had been kind
to him, and in a dignified and distant manner accepted Bert's caresses.
Mrs. Kay, too, greeted him kindly; but she looked ill and wretched.
The sore struggle with her besetting sin was almost more than she
could endure. It resulted in a depression which sometimes manifested
itself as hopeless apathy, and sometimes as extreme irritability. She
was a prey to the most terrible remorse, and, brooding over the past,
could find no hope for the future. In vain her brother strove to cheer
her, in vain he spoke of Him who is the sinner's Friend, and by whose
grace he had himself been delivered from sin. His sister had no faith
to lay hold of the Hand stretched out to her, and every now and again
a relapse into intemperance shattered her confidence in herself and
plunged her deeper in despair.
But Mr. Corney had not lost hope for her. His face had the strained
look of one who bears a burden; but his smile was bright as he welcomed
Bert, and proceeded to prepare a festive meal in honour of his return.
The boy was pleased and grateful; but the old man was quick to perceive
that he too had a burden on his heart.
"No doubt he is sad at leaving the hospital, where the nurses were so
kind to him," thought Mr. Corney, and he did his best to make the boy
feel that he loved him.
Bert was cheered by the old man's kindness, but he kept silence
concerning Prin. Not even to Mr. Corney could he tell how he had seen
his sister, and she had cast him off.
By-and-by it appeared that there were to be fresh changes in Bert's
life. Mr. Corney had resolved to leave the miserable street in which
he lived, and seek a home for himself and his sister somewhere in the
country.
"I'd like to go back to Scotland," he said, "if I could possibly get
the money to carry us so far. My sister has the little bit of money her
husband left her. It comes in quarterly, and she's been wont to drink
it all as she had it. I've saved a trifle, and I'm a handy man at odd
jobs, so I doubt not we shall be able to make a living.
"It's the only chance for her," he added sorrowfully, "to go where
she's out of the way of the drink. Here it's always before her, as you
may say. These streets reek of it. But in God's beautiful country, and
the bonny air of Scotland, she may lose the craving; though it's God's
grace only that can save her, I know."
"Oh, Mr. Corney! What shall I do if you go away?" cried Bert, in sudden
fear. "There'll be no one left."
"I've thought of that," said Mr. Corney heartily, "and you must come
with us, Bert—come with us—that's what you must do. We'll see if we
can't make a man of you in Scotland."
Bert's eyes brightened at the words; but after a moment's reflection,
he shook his head.
"I couldn't go," he said; "I couldn't go where Prin would not be able
to find me if she wanted me. No, I must stay here."
"Then you think your sister will be coming back here?" said Mr. Corney.
"I don't think nothing," Bert replied, "but I mean to stay here."
And from this resolve, he was not to be moved. When Mr. Corney and
his sister departed at the end of August, Bert remained behind in the
stifling, ill-smelling street.
He knew that Prin had long ere this quitted London. He had paid another
visit to the house near Park Lane, and had seen by its closed, deserted
appearance that the family was away. Prin was not likely to return to
London for many months to come, and still less likely was it that when
she came, she would want him; yet Bert clung to the place where they
had lived together during the few months that had elapsed after their
father's death until the Princess fell ill. The unreasoning instinct of
a faithful, loving heart held him there.
It was the close of a fervid day in September. In the country, the
trees were beginning to glow with the brilliant hues which tell of the
summer's decline; but in London only such tokens as the cry of "sweet
lavender," or the display of mellow pears and early apples on the
barrows of the costermongers, testified to the waning of the season. It
was hotter than it had been in June. Though the sun had set, the baked
pavements and walls still gave forth heat, and there was no perceptible
cooling of the atmosphere.
The unlovely life of the street in which Bert lived was being carried
on mainly out of doors. The noise of brawling and strife, the shrill
voices of children mingling with the cries of street vendors, made a
continual hubbub there. Bert, having just returned from selling papers,
sat at the top of the area steps with his back to the street, gazing
down sadly at the empty room which had been occupied by Mr. Corney
and Cetywayo. It was growing dusk, but the noise in the street only
increased as daylight faded.
Bert was paying no heed to what went on behind him. Drunken quarrels
and fights had ceased to interest him, and no one as a rule noticed
him. He started, therefore, and turned round in fear as he felt a hand
upon his shoulder.
[Illustration]
A girl stood behind him. She was tall, and, even in the uncertain
light, it was evident that she was attired in a style very different
from that which marked the girls belonging to the street. But Bert
could not see her face clearly, and he waited in blank surprise till
she said,—
"Why, Bert, don't you know me? How stupid you are!"
It was the Princess! There was no mistaking her, though she spoke in
a wonderfully subdued manner, and scarcely raised her voice above a
whisper.
"Oh, Prin!" exclaimed Bert, his tone ringing with joy as he sprang up.
"It's never you!"
"Hush!" she whispered imperiously. "Don't make such a noise! Let us get
in quickly."
She spoke with an air of haste and fear which alarmed him.
"Oh, Prin, what is the matter? What is frightening you?" he asked.
"Where are you going? You forget that room does not belong to us now."
"Oh!" She shrank back with panting breath, and eyes big with
consternation. "Where can we go, then? Think, Bert. Find some place for
me."
Bert was appalled by the utter strangeness of the situation. That the
Princess, who had always taken the lead and given him his orders,
should now appeal to him in this helpless way, seemed past belief.
Surely she must be ill, or something terrible had happened to her. But
Bert rose to the occasion.
"The room is empty," he said. "I daresay Mrs. Brown would let us have
it, if I asked her. I've saved pennies enough to pay for it for one
week."
"Oh, I've money," said Prin quickly. "Here, take some, and pay for it
in advance."
She gave him two shillings, and Bert hurried away. When she saw the
money in his hand, Mrs. Brown readily agreed to let him have the room.
She was much astonished to hear that his sister had come back, and she
asked various questions, which Bert would not stay to answer, when once
he had obtained possession of the key. He ran back to Prin, opened the
door, and they entered the room.
The place smelt close and musty from having been shut up so long. Dust
lay thickly everywhere. Bert felt that it was a poor place for Prin
to stay in; but she uttered no complaint, only sank on to the nearest
chair, heedless of the dust that covered it, and breathed a sigh of
utter weariness.
"Ah, you're very tired, Prin, and it's a poor room for you after the
lovely houses you've been in; but wait a moment, and I'll open the
window and put the place to rights a bit."
Prin made no reply, and Bert hastened to do as he said. He opened the
window, then ran off to beg a piece of candle from Mrs. Brown, for it
was almost dark in the little room. When he had lighted the candle, he
turned to look at Prin. She sat staring blankly before her with such a
hopeless, miserable expression, that Bert felt a fresh pang of fear.
"Oh, Prin, do tell me what is the matter? What has brought you here
like this? I can see that you are in great trouble."
The colour leaped into her face.
"Now don't begin asking me questions," she cried, with a return to her
usual manner; "can't you see that I am tired to death, and only want to
be left alone? Make haste and put the room straight, so that I can go
to bed."
Bert's glance lingered on her for a moment ere he obeyed her. He noted
that Prin looked both ill and weary, and that her appearance was less
clean and tidy by far than when he last saw her. Her nice frock was
torn and stained with mud, and her boots were very dirty, though there
was little dirt on the London roads in this hot weather.
Bert marvelled at what he saw, but he did not venture to ask another
question just then. He hastened to dust the room, setting to work with
a damp cloth, as he had seen the old sailor do. Working with all his
heart in his desire to make the room fit for Prin, he soon succeeded in
rendering it fairly habitable.
Prin said nothing as he performed his task. She hardly seemed aware of
what he was doing. But when he moved towards the door, intending to run
out and buy something nice for Prin's supper, she suddenly spoke,—
"Where are you going, Bert? Don't leave me. I can't bear to be left
alone!"
"Why, Prin," exclaimed Bert, in surprise, "I was only going out to get
you some supper. You'd like something to eat, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes, to be sure," she replied, with a sob in her voice, "I want
food. I have not eaten anything to-day. But don't be long."
Promising to make great haste, Bert sped on his way. His heart was
filled with distress and fear, yet mingling with these feelings was a
certain sweet content. Whatever had happened, one thing was clear: the
Princess wanted him now.