MABEL'S PROGRESS

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."

BOOK IV.
CHAPTER IX. CONFIDENCES.

MRS. SAXELBY, on her arrival in Dublin with
Dooley, was met by the news of Mr. Charlewood's
sudden death, and of the calamity—now
known to all the world—that had overtaken
the great house of Gandry and Charlewood.
The tidings shocked her greatly. She had seen
Clement on the night before she left Hammerham,
and he had then made no mention of his
father's illness, or of impending disaster. Yet
this was the very evening on which Lady
Popham's concert took place, and on which Walter
had received the fatal telegram.

"It is true," said Mrs. Saxelby, musingly,
"that Clement looked shockingly ill—quite
haggard and old."

Mabel drooped her head wearily.

"You are pale to-day, Mabel," said her
mother. She held her daughter a little away from
her, with both hands upon the girl's dark shining
hair. The face she looked on now was more
beautiful than that from which she had parted
at Hazlehurst. There was more depth of
expression in the grey eyes, shaded by their thick
lashes. The contour of the cheeks was, perhaps,
somewhat less full, but the features looked more
formed and set, and the graceful lithe figure
had become developed into the rounded outlines
of early womanhood.

"You look better than when you left
Eastfield, my child," said Mrs. Saxelby, regarding
her fondly. "And yet you are working terribly
hard here, too."

"Yes, mamma dear; but there is all the
difference between free labour and the treadmill!
My work here is done willingly, and
there is hope at the end of it."

The widow and her children were installed in
the lodgings which had been taken for them in
Kelly's-square, in the near neighbourhood of
Mr. Walton's house. Mrs. Saxelby had already
taken the colours of the people about her with
chameleon-like facility, and seemed to have
forgotten her former doubts and objections to the
theatre completely. She was never weary of
listening to Mabel's theatrical experiences; or
of hearing her daughter tell, with very innocent
pride, of the favour with which the audience
now received her, of the practice she was getting,
and of the daily progress that she felt she was
making in her art. But very often, and, as it
were, in Mabel's own despite, the talk between
the mother and daughter would come round to
the topic of the Charlewoods' altered fortunes.

"Dear, dear!" Mrs. Saxelby would say for
the hundredth time, "to think—only to think
of the Charlewoods' coming to be poor!"

Once, when they had been sitting silent in
the twilight of a Sunday evening, Mrs. Saxelby
exclaimed, suddenly, "How strangely things
come about in this world, don't they?
Fortune's wheel! Yes, truly a wheel. And it turns
and turns—only some people get shaken off
into the mire, and never have a chance of rising
again. Do you remember, my dear, that day of
the music meeting, and the accident?"

Mabel turned her head. Her mother could
not see her face in the dim light, but her
attitude was attentive.

"I will tell you what made me think of it,
Mabel. I saw that little girl with your cousin
Polly in church to-day, and it seemed so curious
to reflect upon the changes that have taken
place since you first saw her. Do you remember
that day when Clement Charlewood—poor
Clement!—tried to dissuade you from going to New
Bridge-street?"

A little pause.

"Mabel! Do you remember?"

"Yes, mamma."

"And to think now that that child's brother
should be received by such people as Lady
Popham! By-the-by, I have never yet seen her
brother. It is odd, considering that the little
girl is to be apprenticed to your cousin's
husband. How kind it was of Mr. Bensa to take
her without a premium, was it not?"

This time the response was instant and
hearty.

"Very kind, mamma. The Bensas' are
thoroughly good people."

"Of course," pursued Mrs. Saxelby,  "Mr.
Bensa will pay himself out of her earnings, if
he succeeds in making a singer of her. But,
then, look at the risks meanwhile! It is odd,
though, that I should not have chanced to see
the brother yet. I remember you mentioned
these Trescotts once or twice in your letters from
Kilclare, and I concluded that they were quite