The girl from nowhere

by Mrs. Baillie Reynolds

For the first time the delicate nature of the situation occurred to him. It filled him with a queer tumult of indignation and championship. He was to be trusted to take care of her, this white flower, which a tempest had blown against his heart! He felt himself filled with the spirit of knight-errantry. His courage rose and a new sense of joy filled all his veins. Perhaps the hard work, the country air, and Vronsky's hospitality had something to do with the dawning of his new interest in life. But to him it seemed that it was all Rona.

He did a fine day's work that day, and when it was over he bought his usual halfpenny paper, saw that there was no mention in it of himself or the girl, and went on to the hotel, where he found Vronsky happy over a telegram from the mine manager whom he expected, to say that he was crossing to Southampton the following day.

Meanwhile, he had received letters from two mine owners in England, full of cruelly hard words. His dictionary lay before him, and a transcript of the frantic attempt he had made to decipher their contents. It was very evident that he needed not only a translator but an amanuensis, if he was to reply to his correspondents.

Felix buckled down to the work. He translated with care, wrote out a French version of the letters received, and drafted answers in English from the engineer's French dictation.

Then he turned his attention to a German letter, which proved to be the most interesting of all. The writer of this was extremely anxious to be first in the field, and to make all the new machinery if the market were fairly sure. He was too busy to come to England, but implored Vronsky to come over to Hamburg at his expense, that they might converse together over the matter.

This was a difficult journey for Vronsky, who, though he spoke French fluently, and could also speak Turkish and Arabic, knew hardly a word of either German or English. He said he would go if Felix would come with him as his secretary. He was not a rich man, but he would give him a pound a week, and advance money for clothes. It would take him out of the country, away from the Brotherhood—it would give him a new start.

Felix was terribly tempted. But he stood firm. He should not be here, where he was, were it not for Rona. It was she who had kept him back from the miserable, cowardly end he had planned for himself. As he sat, in the cheerful coffee-room, a good cigar in his mouth, a glass of fine ale at his side, and watched the prosperous life of the quiet town flowing along in the irregular, unpretending street, he felt that the world was a pleasant place, and wondered that he could have thought of quitting it. Here he was, and, such as he was, he was hers.

He looked sadly at the kind, intense face of Vronsky and shook his head. He could not go without his sister.

"Tiens!" replied Vronsky, "let us not be rash. Who knows? My business may detain me here longer than I expect. Then you may go and fetch your sister and bring her too."

Felix's eyes lit up. But almost immediately clouded again. He felt there might be inconveniences in traveling about with a sister who is not your sister. He accepted the fee for his secretarial work, and after much pressing consented to dine again with his friend, as it seemed churlish to decline, thereby condemning him to an evening of solitude and silence. They parted on more friendly terms than ever.