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A BLAZE OF GLORY, j ——— !

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(Copyright.) A BLAZE OF GLORY, j ——— Br JOHN STRANGE WINTER, Author of "Booties' Babv," "A Name to Conjure With," "The Money Sense," "A Born Soldier," "Beav Ai Jim," &c. ———— SYNOPSIS OF PRECKDING CHAPTERS: Mrs. Garnett, a genteel widow of very small means, determines to marry her seventeen-year-old daughter Betty to Mr. Galbraith, the rich and elderly Vicar of Great Overstanclin^. Betty has fallen in love with Victor L'Estran;e, a cavalry officer, and determines to seek his protection from the persecution of her mother and Mr. Galbraith. Accordingly, she runs away from I home,and travels to the town where L'Es'range's regiment is stationed, only to find from casual conversation in the train, that the troops have been ordered to the Soudan. As her train sfearns into the station she perceives L'Estrange on another platform in readiness to depart. CHAPTER V. OFF TO THE FRONT. When Betty Garnett looked across the gas-lit railway platform and saw the white facings of Victor L'Estrange's regiment drawn up on the other side of the double line of rai 1". her very heart seemed to turn to water within her. She had taken a definite step, she had turned her back on her mother and her home, she had burnt her boats behind her, she had cast her whole life on a single throw of the dice, and they had turned up—blank Here was she two hundred and sixty miles from home. at the spot where she had counted as a certainty on finding L'Estrange, and here was L'Estrange on the very point of going off to active service, on the very point of making a much longer journey from which he might never return. It was even doubtful whether she would be able to get near enough to wave adieu to him. All these thoughts flashed through her mind as the train was slowing up alongside of the platform. She turned to the girl who had come down from London, and who had been the one to give her an etplanation of what was happening in Danford Station. Will they let anyone speak to them, do you think ? she asked. "I don't think so. We're just too late, aa a matter of fact," the girl, Polly, replied. "If we'd been ten minutes or a quarter of an hour earlier, we could have stood at the door and seen 'em file in. As it is, I don't suppose we can get where we can wave a handkerchief to them." Betty gave vent to a great sigh, and the girl looked at her sharply. "Do you know^any of 'em ? she asked. Oh, yes, I do." "Well, you come along with us. Me and my friend mean to get as near as we can. Keep close to us, and we'll try to get a last word." Betty thanked her gratefully, and followed the two girls quickly as they jumped out of the carriage, and )-n along the platform. Polly, indeed, would have jumped down on to the permanent-way and scaled the platform on the opposite side, the platform on which they—the soldiers—were assembled, but a porter, divining her intention, caught her roughly by the arm And prevented her from accomplishing this par- ticular end. Come, young woman, none of that he exclaimed, brusquely. "The public ain't al- lowed on that there platform so don't you try that on, if you please." "Oh, porter, do let us go past," she pleaded. "I've come down to say a last word to a friend. I may never see him again. Do let us step over." "I durstn't do it, miss," said he, somewhat mollified by her pleading tone. "Orders is im- perative on the point. It's not a ha'porth o' use asking me. But, see 'ere: go you out o' that there door "—pointing to the ordinary exit —"and go along to the left, and you'll see a little narrer lane a-tween two wooden railings. It'll take yon up there just past the up-plat- form, and from there, if it ain't choke-full already, you'll get a last look of the men on that side of the carriages at all events." "Oh, thank you kindly; you're a good fellow," said Polly. Now, Annie, and you, little miss, come along, let's run for it." They found the little lane easily enough, and sped along it lest they should find every place at the rails occupied. A good many people were clinging to the places they had taken up, but there was nothing like a crowd. For one thing, nobody who was not personally in'erested in the men would trouble to see them off at such an unearthly hour on a winter's morning, and the regiment had been such a very short time in Danford that very few friendships had teen made by any grade. Those who had found their way there were, almost without exception, strangers to Danford, friend? and relations who had come down from town the previous evening to get a last word and look with those who were going where they had a very likely chance of stopping for ever. Oddly enough, only a few of the wives and children were there. The reason was that, having been hurried away from Blankhampron, with more than a chance of being immediately sent to Egypt, the married women and children had been left in possession of their quarters at Blankhampton Barracks, and the women n< >t on the strength had been earnestly advised by the (ffieers of the regiment to husband their resources by remaining where they were. A few of the last married ones, one or two who were better off, and several sergeants' wives were all fciat represented the usual crowd of weepers !and wailers, which is the almost necessary ■accompaniment of a regiment's departure for •foreign or active service. ft The three girls so strangely different in class and yet so alike in their object, sped along the ?fcarrow lane and soon found themselves like all the others, hanging on to the paling just above ^thv end of the platform. Betty found herself ^tending next to a tall dark girl, very well dressed and evidently a person of some position. fit'a an awful shame," she burst out, in a ofear ringing voice, "that we were not let on to the platform to see the last of them." "victor said it was out of the question," said another roice, further down the paling. Betty pricked up her ears at the word Victor, and looked eagerly to see the rest of 'the party. The last speaker,wag a lady a little .}eyond the middle a. "e, richly dressed, very good-lookir with her were three girls, two dressed aHke in plain tailor made garments, such as made Batty's ;iionth water, with hand- aome furs about their slioulders. The third girl was tall too, taU and eh 11 md very pale. Betty did not know what reh i"n the four might be ,to each other, but she felr bv some strange and curious instinct that the pale faced girl was not Jfcin with the other three. "M". Gilrov is there. frowned t he girl next to Betty. "Why should she be in there and we ■■cut here ? to "My dear," said the elder lady, "she is the 'Colonel's wife. "Well, you are Victor's mother?" retorted Betty's neighbour. Well, dear, they would not let us in, so it's no good grumbling about it. I don't suppose the others like having Mrs. Gilroy %}fh them." "I think she is going with them," said the fair ¡¡;¡rl. -Do yon? Why? Oh, yes. She's getting into the c;image now. Do you see her, mother? In that third carriage from the end." "Depend upon it she is going down to see them embark," said the elder lady. "We might have done that instead of tearing ■eway down here," said the girl next to Betty^ vexedly. t60h, my dear Gwen, it wouldn't have been Any easier," rejoined the mother, "and Victor •Would have hated it. You know how Victor hates a scene. It would have been most em- barrassing for Joy too, all the others knowing that she is engaged to Victor." "Oh, I should have hated it," said the pale girl whom they called Joy. Bettv wondered in a dazed kind of way if another ollicer in the regiment was called Victor, tv the same name as L'Estrange. She glanced aside at this girl, who was also engaged to a Victor, and thought how little she seemed to mind his going. Doubtless he was not like her Victor-no two men could be quite as charming. "Do you see your friend?" asked Polly, breaking in upon her thoughts. "Yeø I see'him," said Betty. u It's more than I do »:y fr sa"1 the. girl, staring eazerly at the platform now almost smpty again. "Do you see Jim, Annie ? "Not now: he's got into the seventh carriage from the end. Ah we shall never see 'em j again, Polly. To or lads, it's all over with 'em I cow." "01; don'' -nv that," called out the girl OQ Eei*' !• f< '■ r '-We are like you, come tc see the las: p oughtn't to look on I the da. k .o.■ r ng them bad luck." J "God know-, I don't want to do that, miss," said Annie, with something like a sob in her throat. "None of us want tha\ no matter what they may be to us personally. said Gwen, in her clear ringing voice. Clu-n ^he tnmed and scanned the platform aci.n. "1 believe just going now. mother, she said. "I don't think Victor can see you. You see he is looking out of the li_;ht into the shadow." She looked eagerly for a moment, then snatched a handkerchief out of her breast. Victor, she caiied. waving it high above her head. There was a moment's silence, a hesitation among the little grout) of officers still standing upon the platform, then L Estrange turned and came hastening down the low embankment towards them. "bother, darling, good-bve. God ble. VOI1." he cried, straining her to his heart. "Good- bve. darling, good-bve. Effie, wish me good luck, oid girl, and take care of the mother. Good-bve, Joy dear girl—it was good of you to come down and see the last of me. Gwen." his voice had dropped a little now that he was quite close to Betty as he stood hanging on to the paling with ghastly face and bloodless lips. "I shall never get back alive out of this. Some- thing tells me so. I trust her to you, remember. God bless you. old girl. we've been the best of chums—— My God, what's that?" The exclamation broke from him almost in a siso. for he had caught just one glimpse of Bett.'s stricken face ere she sank down by tin- paling in a dead faint. "L'Estrange! L'Estrange!" someone called from the platform. ? I must go. but what does this mean ?" I: Estrange cried. "It's nothing, sir," answered Polly. "It's only a young lady as came down with us from London to see the last of a friend. It's been too much for her, poor thing. Don't you trouble. I'll look after her." "L'Estrange! I/Estrange," came the warning cry again. "Coming," he shouted back. "Good-bye. Good-bye." Then he rushed back again, and in less than two minutes the train had started on her way.. When Betty came to herself again the winter day was just breaking through the darkness of night, the platform was empty, the line deserted, the crowd gone—only five women were around her, two of them endeavouring to bring her to her senses again, and the other three looking on. "Better now?" said Gwen L'Estrange, who was supporting her head upon her arm. Betty struggled up. "Oh, yes, thank you. It was very stupid of me to tumble over like that. I never did such a thing in all my life before. I can't think what possessed me." We have nothing to give you here, poor child," said Mrs. L'Estrange, kindly. "I wonder if we could go to the refreshment-room and get a little brandy. Is it open, do you think ?" She spoke in a helpless appealing kind of way, as a woman does who is not in the habit of providing for herself on emergency. "I don't want brandy, thank you very much," said Betty. "It wouldn't help me a bit. Thank you very much for your kindness." She turned away. but Gwen L'Estrange caught her hand. "You look so ill," she said pitifully. "Please don't trouble about me," said Betty. Then a bright thought struck her. "I am sure these kind young ladies will look after me till they go back to London." Yes—yes—we will, dear," put in Polly, eagerly. "It's very kind of you, miss, but we'll take care of her till we're back in town, and if she should feel faint, we'll go right home with her. It's right kind of you to be so feeling, for we're not quite the same as you." Mrs. L'Estrange smiled. It was a very wan smile, painfully near to tears. I have come down to say good-bye to my only son," she said in a shaking voice, "with my two daughters and my son's wife, who is to be. My heart is very sore and I can feel for others." The ready tears welled up in Polly's haggard eyes. "God bless you and bring your son safe back again," she said, if only for your sake. for you're a good woman," and then she dashed her hands across her eyes and put her hand under Betty's arm. "If there was more like you there wouldn't be so many like us." She turned resolutely away, drawing Betty with her, the other girl from London followed walking as one who is blinded with tears. Mrs. L'Estrange stood looking after them. "Gwen," she said, "that little girl is a lady. How comes she to be with those two ? "Accident, I think," answered Gwen. "And she's hard hit too, poor little soul. Fancy dropping down in a dreadful faint like that. I could almost have thought she knew Victor." "Oh, no. He called out because he was so startled to see her drop so suddenly," said Mrs. L'Estrange. "Well now, let us go back to the hotel and try to get some breakfast, Joy, my dear girl. I'm so thankful you were brave enough to keep up till Victor was gone. It would have upset him more than anything if any of us, and especially you, had given way." "Oh, Mrs. L'Estrange," cried the pale girl. "Oh, Mrs. L'Estrange, he will never come back, never, never. I know it. I feel it." She broke down then and bent over the paling sobbing as if her heart would break. "I have seen the last of him—it is all over." "Others are with us," said Mrs. L'Estrange, trying hard to be very cool and collected. "Think of me, if you had dropped down like that poor little girl. I am so thankful you kept up before him. It is natural that you should be overcome now it is all over." "It is all over. All over," said Joy, in a tone of firmest conviction. CHAPTER VI. FACE TO FACE WITH FAILURE. Two minutes after she had parted from L*Estrange's mother and sister, Betty found herself hnrrvins away from the station along the road which led into the town of Danford. Where are we going ? she asked faintly. "To get a good breakfast," responded Polly, promptly. "They're gone, poor fellows, and whether we see any of them again or not, we shall do no good by lying down and dying in the gutter of sheer hunger." Betty could not pretend that she was not absolutely sick and faint with hunger, to say nothing of the fatigue through which she had gone, and the overwhelming disappointment that had met her at the end of her journey. She was too young and too thoroughly inex- perienced to recognise the exact status, or I might say want of social status, enjoyed by the two girls who had befriended her, and she was more anxious to get out of the way of JJ Estrang-e S m jther and sisters, to say nothing of the tall paL girl who was his affianced wife to trouble h-rself about trivial matters, or what seemed only trivial matters to her at that moment. She thought these two young women might be servants, wearing their Sunday best, and though she ha 1 never found herself on intimate terms with anyone like them before, they were kind and friendly towards her, they knew the ropes, so to speak, and they would prevent her being overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness and isolation before she had made up her mind wha to do with tha future. They tramped along the dirty road and came at last to the street which led into the principal street ot the town. That loaks a likclv place, Annie, was Polly's rem rk, as she pointed to a decent .coking coffee-house. I "in you go," said Annie. So i'i they went, and Polly, apparently always the foremost spirit ot the two, ordered a substantial breakfast of coffee and hot rolls, with a good dish of fr ed eggs and bacon. '• Alwavs eat when you rc down in the dumps," she said with a brave att-mpt at jollity. Then she added in a whisper to Betty: "See here, dear, I don't want to pry, but have you any of the ready with you ? If you haven't you must breakfast with me. I'll stand Sam for you." "I've ple» v of m mey, said Betty, with emphasis. Yes, pi "ty of money, but oh, hew kind of you to t:ii ik of it. "Well, dear." sail the other, with easy fanailiariiv, "we shon d be kind to each other; re all 'in the same box, aren't we ? Now Fetty. ulth .ugh she might not be suspected of possessi t^any common sense, from the way in which s'.ie' had acted hitherto, had M feast n instinct of hiding the truth from her comprn ons. ° I don t know about being <»yactly in tfie same box," she said, making a valiant effort to apeak in very collected and ordinary tonea. • You have been very kind and friendly to me, but 1 didn t come down here, you know, to eee the regiment go away, I didn't come to say good-bye to anyone. I came on quite a different errand." Oh, did you really ? Why now, I quite thought you knew the young fellow that came down to say good-bye to his mother." 0 h. whatever should make you think that?" cried Betty. V> hy, when a girl seems eager to see some fc'icr go o.t ly train, and then drops down I i. i hunt warning, in a dead faint, what is one to I'.ink? He gives a great iump and he says: Good God. what's that ?' "aml I tells him at once that you had come down with us to see the last of a friend, and then they called him sharp from the platform and so he went running buck, and in two ;wos the train was gone." "Oh, but there was nothing in that to make you think he knew me," said Betty. Well, if it comes to that, nothing at all, dear. Of course, it was only my fancy. Erl. but that fair girl was bad after he left! I thought -'he d have sobbed her heart out." Betty sat and toyed with her roll like a girl in a dream. So Victor had recognised her, and what could he have thought to find her in companv with two such girls as these She looked "first at one and then at the other as they- sat facing her at the little table. What could he have thought of it all ? To see her watching the departure of the regiment at Danford Station when he had believed her to be safe at Rockborough, to find her with two such companions ? They were not merely not ladies, they were commonness itself. Their looks, hair, hats, dress, accent, grammar, all were significant of the same thing. She must contrive to get rid of them, and then she could think out the situation. Un'.il then, she could do nothing. I am bound to say that all three of them made an excellent breakfast. The coffee was good, and the run from town and the long wait in the raw morning air had sharpened the appetites of all three of them. "What made you faint off like that, dear?" asked the sympathetic Polly, suddenly. blushed violently. "Well, I had never ,,e'n a regiment go away before," she said, in almost apologetic tones "and, to tell you the truth, I was tired and upset, and those ladies next to me-" "Belonging to the young feller that came down to say good-bye ? Ah, they were cut up, poor things, and no mistake about it. I was sorry for 'em. Well, I'm glad you had no more reason for dropping down as if you'd been shot dead. Some people are subject to that kind of thing. I never am. When I die, I believe I shall die standing. Well, what about our getting back to town, Annie? We don't want to spend any more time than we can help in this dog- hole. "There's a train at ten past nine," replied Annie, with her mouth full. "We'll go by it. And you're sure we can do nothing mce for you, dear ? she added, to Betty. „ "Oh. nothing, thank you a thousand times, replied Betty, promptly. "Come as far as the station, and see the last Come as far as the station, and see the last of us." "Yes, I will. Oh, I've plenty of time. Till eleven o'clock, I've nothing to do. Betty was getting quite a diplomatist, and put them off with a glibness which was astonishing even to herself. At this time she was in reality feeling nothing. So long as these two were with her, she felt that she must shew a false face to the world, that she must hide the gaping wounds which had been torn in her heart and her trust. When they were safely off and on their way to London again, she would have time to think, to act, to decide on some plan, and to carry it out. So she would go with them to the station and would see them away, and make quite sure that she had done with them for ever. It seems queer, dear," said Polly, breaking in upon her reflections, that we should be sitting here eating our breattiost quite friendly together, and me and my friend don't even know your name." "My name is Elizabeth," said Betty. "Elizabeth—that's a nice name enough. I suppose your people call you Lizzie? "No, I've never been called Lizzie," replied Betty, volunteering no further information. They sat a while longer, and then went out for a turn down the principal street before it was quite time for their train. It was a wide but very dull street, and the shops were, to those accustomed to London shops, beneath contempt. "My I'm glad I don't live in such a hole as this," said Annie, looking with disdainful eyes at a hat marked Very choice, twenty-three shillings." Twenty-three shillings for a thing like that! I wouldn't put it on my head At last they turned in at the station, and the two took their places in the train for London. At the last moment Polly pressed a piece of folded card into Betty's hand. "If ever you want a friend," she said, all in a hurry, "you just come to me. Write me a line, dear; this will always find me." Then the train began to move, and Betty realised that she was at last all alone in a world of which she knew absolutely nothing. When the train was out of sight Betty opened the card which she still held in her hand. It was a shabby card and badly printed. Miss Violet Drummond, 20, Petersen-road, Fulham, S.W. Miss Violet Drummond,' and her friend had called her Polly How curious Perhaps she had given her the card of a friend. It did not matter, she would never have wanted to make use of it, so she tore it across and across, scattering the fragments over the permanent way. Then she turned and walked out of the station and towards the town. Yes, she was alone in Danford, for she had seen the L'Estrange party go off by the same train as the two girls, Polly and Annie. More than that, she was alone in the world. She had noticed a seat by the roadside not very far from the station, and when she came to it, she sat flown and began to think. Well, she had made a complete hash of everything— everything. She had thrown away mother, home, every chance in life. for the sake of a man who was openly affianced to another woman. He might have been her lover-indeed, she hardly thought of doubting that-but they could never, with that barrier between them, have been anything to each other. It was characteristic of the girl that she never once thought of going back. She had been mistaken. She bad put her hand to the wrong plough, but she never once thought of turning backward. Slie took out her purse and counted her poor little store of money. It was pitifully little. One, two, three, five and sevenpence halfpenny. And that was all that she had between her and starvation. She might try to get work, she might try to make a decent living, but how ? She had no knowledge, no experience. She was ignorant of everything excepting a certain amount of piano-playing, a smattering of drawing, and a toil-rable knowledge of plain needlework. So what could she do ? She bethought her that she might try "her luck at a registry-office for ser- vants. Through that she might find a place as under-nurse, a ward to little girls. She did ~Mt know anything about young children or „vcn little girls, but perhaps that would not matter. So she took up the burden of life again, and walked back into the town, trudging wearily alone, for she was terribly tired, until she came across the kind of office for which she was look- ing. This she entered and preferred her request timidly to an austere looking lady with spec- tacles, who sat at a big clesk by the window. "Any experience? she asked, sharply. "Well, not exactly," stammered Betty. "What do you mean by not exactly?" demanded the lady, looking up and fixing her through the glasses. Either you have experi- ence or you haven't. Which is it?" "Well," said Betty, driven to bay, "I don't know anything about children, but can do housework and I can sew." "Ladies will have some experience," said the agent. "You would have a better chance as maid to young ladies. What references have you ? "None." "No references ? Oh Well that takes away your best chance. "I have never been out." said Betty, firmly. True but you must know people who could speak to your character." |*I don't know a single person in Danford," said Betty, feeling ready to cry. "H'm, that's a pity. Well, sit down there with the others and I'll see what I can do for you. You must pay the fee for entering your name in the books now, a shilling. Thank you." Betty took her seat along with six or seven other applicants in tho further end of the double room. There were only four and seven- pence halfpenny between her and starvation 110 n i i6 lady after another interviewed her until she had seen quite a dozen of them. All objected to her want of experience, some to her youth, and everyone to her absence of references. Quite impossible that I could take you in my home and let you associate with my young daughters without some very positive recommendation, said one lady and after that Bettv, without another word, went out into the street determined that come what might, happen what would, she would never set foot in that house again. She wandered along like a girl in a dream. The street was beginning to get crowded, and Danford folk are none too dainty or gentle in their manners. She found herself pushed and jostled as she wandered aimlesssly on, and she was too heart-sick and sorrowful to resent, it. But she never thought of going back. She had burnt her boats behind her and she did not even regret the fact. But what should she, could she do ? She had taken her life into her own hands and they had proved utterly and absolutely in- competent to perform the task she had given them. Still, what could she do? There was one way. There was one door by which every mistake could be made right, one course by which every difficulty could be smoothed out. She could get something some- where which would put an end to all her troubles. Her mother would never know, nobody would know, and least of all the one who had gone away that morning, the one whom she had come so far to seek, the one who had, though perhaps without knowing it or meaning it, failed her. And she made up her mind that she would take that way. She would spend her little remaining money on what would carry her safely and easily through that door which was the refuge of the worn-out and weary, those who early or late had found life a mistake, an impossibility. So, full of this resolve, Betty walked into the first chemist's shop that she saw and said: "If you please I want a small quantity of laudanum." (To be continued.)

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