AN OLD SONG

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 357, 12 March 1903, Page 8

AN OLD SONG

By Mrs. Moses P. Handy.

j <c«erric*t,uauby_ut-OTBra-i<-t«.)

j A LICE FRAZIER was 22 years of age ;_ft when she married Silas Hopkins; 'she was 27 when he died, leaving her r«ole heir to all his wealth. Strictly .speaking, it would be more correct to say that he had married her; she had •mall volition in the matter. It had never occurred to her to regard Mr. H<pkins as a possible suitor. Almost as old as her father, his hair nearly as gray, he had been the familiar friend of the family ever since •he could remember. As a child she sat on his knee, and he brought her toys and candy; as a young lady he kept her supplied with flowers and .anaiinee tickets. The Fraziers were well off enough to have all the necessaries and many •f the luxuries of life, but they could Slot afford superfluities. Mr. Frazier •was a director of the Buil Dog Security bank, in which a.au his moderate fortune was invested; having implicit confidence in the bank, he had not hesitated to trust all his egg's therein. It was the old story of a bunk president and ;re_?urer speculating with the money of the depositors, and when "the ccnse.jutnt crash came Mr. Frazier was overwhelmed, not only because pof his persona! loss, but by a crushing *ense of responsibility for the losses by others He argued that as a director he should have detected and prevented dishonesty before it entailed ru>n. This was why the shock killed him; not instantly, since he lingered for days afterwards, but the news brought on a paralytic stroke from which he never entirely rallied. Alice was awny. visiting a wealthy relative at n fashionable seaside resort, when the calamity befell. It was Mr. Hopkins who sent the dispatch announelus her father's illness; Mr. Hopkins who with his coupe met her at the railway station when she hurried home. . ~ <. Alice found her father tormented by anxiety, which amounted to anguish, about his wife and daughter. His life was insured for a trifling sum, so small that it was impossible they could live on it even after his death; meanwhile he was helpless and bankrupt. Then it was that Mr. Hopkins asked „ Alice to be his wife, saying, simply, that he had loved her for years, but never thought to tell her so. Now he ventured to beg- that in her time of need ■she would give him the right to provide fi.r her and hers. And, without waiting for Alice to answer, he assured htr father that to do so would be the greatest happiness which he could a.~k. Oh, the look of ineffable relief which came ir.ro the face of the dying man! He did not ask if his daughter were willing, but, bracing himself to a final effort, took her hand and laid it in that of his friend. "God bless you both," he nj>:rn:::red, and then, with a smile on his lips, went out into the Great Hereafter. After this it was more than ever Mr. nopkins who did everything. Alioe felt herself bound hand and foot; although the bonds were of softest silk, .they were strong as steel. How could she tell them about Dick? Dick, who loved her, and whom she loved dearly, but who had nothing buthis youth and strength, his manly beauty and his pay as ensign in the United States r.avy? Dick, for whom she had promised to wait a lifetime, if need be, and who had sailed away on a three-years' cruise the day before Mr. Hopkins' telegram came. There was a naval station near the watering place where Alice was visiting, and the officers of the man-o'-war In port were coming and going continoally. As one of the pnettiest girls at the Cape, Alic» had been one of the belles of the season. She and Richard Harvie had fallen in love with each other, after the inconsequent manner of young things who take no thonck: of the future. They hadsettled it that they were to be married when Dick got his "step;" meanwhile he was to perioral prodigies of valor, and it would be happiness to be engaged-

There were momenta when Alioe felt Impelled to tell Mr. Hopkins the story and throw herself upon his magnanimity, which she felt sure would not fail, but refrained for tha sake of her mother. Crushed and broken-hearted, Mrs. Frazier had but one joy left, the' satisfaction which she took in her daujrht-r's engagement to Mr. Hopkins. V."hr-n it came to the point, Alice felt tlui: the must suffer anything rather than deprive her <A that. She wrote to Dick and waited feverishly f..r an answer, her letter being scarcely more than an incoherent appeal f.;r advice. Weeks passed, bringing no reply, and Alice bethought herself bitterly that it had been generally understood at tha Cape that J£i_t

PrsziVr was the only child of well-to-fj_o parents. [• She let Mr. Hopkins an her mother 16x the wedding day, and resigned herfcelf to the inevitable. It was on her •yiarriage morn that the expected letter came: "I am deeply grieved to hear of your lom mnd sympathize with you and your mother. In justice to yourself, since you ask my counsel, 1 must advise you to accept your wealthy suitor; a poor devil like me cannot expect to count. "May you hav« all the happiness you deserve. "Sincerely yours, f "R. S. HARVIB." Alice read the note twice, seeing <mly the sarcasm, and not the pain between the lines. It stung her to the quick, yet she felt relief that he had accepted the situation so quietly. Then she burned the note and set herself steadfastly to forget the writer. The majority of women are like cats, in that they purr to the hand which strokes them gently and accept life's cream graciously. Mr. Hopkins adored his young wife and rejoiced to gratify her every whim. Moreover, Alice had always been fond of him, and to her surprise •he found herself by no means unhappy. It would be too much to say that •he ceased to remember Dick, but that young man was thousands of miles away,, and the thinking did no harm, even though, during the Spanish war, she searched the newspapers for news of him, and felt a little thrill of pride and pleasure when she saw that Ensign Richard Scott Harvie had been promoted to a lieutenantcy for distinguished gallantry in action. She could not guess that Dick, pierced to the core by what he considered her mercenary course, had made up his mind to let her see that the loss had been hers. That was shortly before Mr. Hopkins was taken ill—a long and serious illness —and Alice's wifely anxiety drove everything else out of her mind. Her husband's death was a genuine grief to her, all the greater because she felt that in return for his whole heart she had given him so little of her own. She missed him even more than she had done her father, and fell into a sort of apathy -which lasted until she was roused by the discovery that her mother's health was failing. "It is nothing serious," the doctors told her. "She needs change of air rather than medicine. Take her to Old Point Comfort. This climate is deadly at this time of year." The change did good to both mother and daughter. Alice soon found herself taking more than a languid interest in life. The proximity of Portsmouth, with its navy yard, made naval uniforms a frequent sight, and revived old memories. It was scarcely a surprise to her when, as .-he entered the hotel parlor one evening after dinner, she found herself face to face with Dick Harvie. Involuntarily she extended both hands. "Oh, Dick!" she exclaimed, and recovered her self-possession almost instantly, feeling the chill of his manner. Mr. Harvie barely touched her hand with one of his; the other arm rested in a sling. "Mrs. Hopkins?" he said, coolly. "This is an Unexpected pleasure." Alice shrank into herself, like a sea anemone, but she managed to ask, politely: "You have been wounded?" "Only a trifle. My ship and I are both in dock for repairs. Excuse me," and he left her to join a group at the further end of the room. Thereafter, although they saw each other almost every day, their intercourse was of the scantiest. Alice was persuaded that Dick wished to avoid her, and kept carefully out of his way. This was not difficult. All the other women lionized him as a hero, and Alice, as befitted her widow's weeds, held herself aloof from gay company. She had no idea that the old wound rankled still in her lover's heart, that he shunned her as a burnt child dreads the fire. "He despises me too much to notice me," she told herself, bitterly, and devoted herself more tenderly to her mother. A week went by thus; then fate led Dick Harvie past the door of the music room, where he heard a wellremembered voice in song. He paused behind the heavy portiere in time to hear Alice sing the last line of "Annie Laurie." '.'How beautifully you sing those Scotch ballads," said one admiring voice. "Pray don't stop," cooed another. "You know ' 'Auld Bobin Gray,' do you not, Mrs. Hopkins?" asked the accompanist, a musician in the pay of the hotel. "Pray sing it for us; it is so admirably adapted to.your voice," and she played the prelude without waiting for yea or nay. There was a little tremor in Alioe's" voice as she began, or at least Dick fancied so, but as she sang it disappeared, and she held her little audience spellbound. Dick, listening behind the curtain, scarcely breathed while the thrilling tones rehearsed the pathetio tale of filial self-sacrifice. It moved him to the depths, and his eye* were moist as she sang the last veraet "I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to eplat I daurna think o' Jamie, for that wad be S sin; But I'll do my beit a gude wife to be, For uuld Robin Gray Is a kind mon to me." As the song ended, with a half sob which was the perfection of artistlo j finish, there was a murmur of applause and earnest requests for more. But Alice excused herself, smilingly}' she had already left her mother t©Q long. A» eh* pawed through the portiegfA on her way out, her eyes cast down, to hide the tears which were ready to start, a hand was laid on her arm, and •he lifted her lashes to meet Dick's eyes with the old love-look in them which she knew so well. ' "Was that really and truly the was* ' of it. Alice?" he whispered. And Alice could only cob. under he* I bresth: "Oh. Tifckl" '" wwa, «