SHORT STORY

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 380, 20 August 1903, Page 7

SHORT STORY

"There, Jane dear, everything is perfect; I don't think anyone could help taking the room?.' as ahe spoke, my sister Ida flitted ab: u\ touching with loving fingors the roses in the eld blue bowl, giving a more graceful fold to the c urtain, and then flung herself into a corner of the low window-seat with a sigh of content. J crossed the rocm and sat beside her, gazing out in silence r u the great glittering expanse of sea that stretched before the windows. The voices of children on the beach came to the ear, blended with the distant scind of the band on the parade. From the garden came the scent of the icaes that clambered up the front of thehcuw, peeping in at the windows with their little dewy faces. It was a levaly June day, with its rcse3, and as I looked at Ida there was, I thought, a. young life also in its June. She was very dear to me, my little Bister, tu£ then everybody loved Ida. She was bo merry, and withal so innocent, it did one good to look at her merry brown * eyes and nailing rosy mouth* We wero very lonely, she and I, and on the d°ata of cur mother and loss of our . annuity we had decided to let two room 3 in cur little cottage, peimauently if possible, if not, then for the summer. > With a last look rcuid the pretty room we went ujito* era* "Email parlcur. It was a tiny place, and, like our bedroom, looked away over the moorland. The view over the moorland was the one I liked best. In my girlhood I had often slipped up to this room when the long shadows were deepening to watch for one coming who would ccrae no more. Bat that ie an old Btory now, and of interest to no one but myself, 'Jane, I hope, whoever comes, that it won't be a fussy old maid or some cross, fat old man.' I kaow just the very person I would like.' 'Hush, my dear, we shall be glad of anyone.' •No,indeed, anyone might be thatkful to get into this pretty hcuse, with an angel like you to wait on them.' As I looked at her sweet face a vague fear filled my heart, and, oh, how earnestly I roped f- at it might be an old maid, for who cculd help falling ia love with Ida ? _ and I eculd not spare her. Just then our dcor bell rang, and in a few minutes our little maid Susan knocked and with solemn air announced 'a gent laman to see Miss Barrie.' Ida jumped up. 'He has come. Courage, Jane; now remember, refuse decidedly a fat old ™nr\ or aa old maid; remember the items.' She lifted her hand and began to count on her fingers—tall, dark, thin, good nose, aice grey eyes' face a little sad.' I broke away. She wbispared after me, ' Jane, short or fat, No!' As I entered the sunny room it struck me that the stranger fulfilled one requirement—he was tall; and aa he turned from the window it seemed he was not lacking ia the other qualities. Xhe clever eyes were grey, and though apparently young, there were lines of care on his face. ' You have rooms to let, Miss Barrie. Is this one of them ?' I bowed. ' Yes, this and the bedroom above are the two rooms.' * This is a charming room; I seem to feel at home in it at once. Some one must have had an artist's soul who gathered together thoss paintings.' ' Yes, my father was a scholar and a gentleman.' ' Yes, these pictures and books tell their own story,* he said. 'And now I will have a look at the bedroom.' We went upstairs. I hoped the stranger did not notice the flutter of a white gown as we ascended. In the roomy bedroom, with ita rose-wreathed window, he smiled complacently. * Yes, this is first-rate. One word ,• lam a very shy old fellow, and would not care to meet a lot of. strangers about. You have bo other boarders ?' ' No, my eister, myself and a little maid make up our household.' * All right; then I'll send on my traps and return to tea.' At the gate he turned and looked at the house, bo he may have Been a merry face that peeped out from behind the curtai-"- * I like nan, "Jane, decidedly like him; he is clever, I'm sure. He has not that nose for nothing,' she said rather vaguely, ■ Come/ I said, " and help me to set tea nicely.'. When we had finished, the tea table looked very tempting- with ite old silver, pretty china, and bowl of roses. * The low rays of the sun came in and lit it all up. Just then a cab rattled up, and while we attended to the luggage being brought in, Ida superintended the dainty omelet ia the kitchen. After tea, when I came in to take his orders for the next day, he was sitting looking out to sea, and his face was sad enough to please Ida. He turned to me. 'How peaceful it is in this twilight. Tva been wondering if eorrow could ever come here.' ' It has come here, sir.' ' Well, I hope it may never come back.' But I shook my head. In the morning - Ida went off to market He must have ""* ssen her go, for later on he said to me that my sister looked very young. ' She is young, only nineteen.' He gave ". little sigh. ' She is very pretty, Miaa Barrie.' ' 8a I think, and I know that she is as good as she is pretty.' Later ia the day, while we were both busy ia the fruit garden, he came and joined us. Ida was introduced, and soon they were busy chatting, while Ida filled her basket; no one could be long strange with her. So the summer days wore on, and they became fast friends. Both sketched well; when I lift my weary old eyes now, thsj rest on a lovely painting of Ida, in her white gown, with her hands full of roses, her sailing face as sweet aa the roses. g. Autumn came, and Mr. Grantly (J believe till this moment I've never told you his name) still stayed on. One evening in early winter he came into our little parlour to hear Ida sing. She often sat in the gloaming, and eaag to us between the lights. He came in, and after a little glance rouad the room, and a little look of disappointment, he came and eat down beside me. • Miss Barrie, ycu are not an inquisitive

Miss Barrie's lodger.

person, and, as you never ask questions, I am going to bother ycu with a little of my history. lam a lonely beiag, with a fair measure of wealth and health. I've done a deal of travelling in my day, but of late I've come to the conclusion that I would like to settle dowH, and to settle down here in this quiet retreat. Sd I shall stay here as long as you can be troubled with me, or—' Quite suddenly he stopped, and jußt then a merry voice called out ■ All in the dark ? What mischief are you plotting there in the firelight ?' Mr. Granfcly rose. * Miss Ida, just before the lights come do sing one song.' She sat down, running her fingers over the keys, and then began one of my old favcurites, 'Fear no more the heat o'the sun.' When she finished, Mr. Grantly left the room. She came and knelt at my side, laying her head on my lap. I softly stroked her curly hair. * H:w good you are to me, Jane; no onß can over be so dear to me as my own sister, no, no one I' There was so defiant a ring in her voice that I thiek she was answering her heart's soft impeachmont. 'No, no,' I rfp!i6d; 'some day a *braw wooer,'as the Scotch say, will come and take you away. I shall bo very lonely then, but I will not begrudge you to a good man.' For three yesrs life moved on in this quiet fashion. Mr. Grantly became more and more one of ourselves. Tongues wagged freely over his apparent love for Ida, but he never spoke to her or tome. On an autumn morning, three years after his firßt coming to us, the poßt brought a letter to him from a foreign country I was in my kitchen, when he came and tapped at the door. I ran out, my hands ail over fleur. ' I have had bad news, MiBB Barrie, and must leave at once.' I looked the dismay I felt. ' But you will return P* ' I am not able even to promise that.* All the forenoon he packed, and in the dusk a cab came for him. We stood in the hall, Ida very pale and trembling much. Very slowly he came downstairs, and just turned to glance into the room which had known him so long. Then he joined us, 'Good-bye, Miss Barrie; you have given me three happy years;' and then he took my child's hand. 'Good-bye, Ida,' he said, very low. She looked up eagerly, her face flushing. I think Bhe expected him to kiss her, but he only looked at her long and sadly, dropped her hand, and in a minute or two the cab rolled away. ' Come, Ida/ I said briskly,« Come, we'll have a cup of tea; that will cheer us up. We have been spoiled, having too good a lodger.' She caught me tightly, laid her poor head on my shoulder- ' Oh, Jane! Never, never, never let us have a boarder again.' The months crept into years, but we heard no more of Mr. Grantly. At times we thought he might be dead; indeed, I hoped it; only thus could his silence be explained. Ida was now my chief care. With the going of Mr. Grantly her merry old personality vanished. She grew quiet and pale, and by-and-by came a cough that seemed to echo from a grave not very far away. Very gently she entered on the long stages of the last journey. From the sofa to her bed Bhe fought the battle, till at last all hope died in me, and I knew that I was to lose my sister. Summer had come again, and one glorious summer day she lay in her little white bed watching the clouds flit along the blue eky. It was very quiet. The kind neighbour who helped me was at -work in the kitchen. Suddenly, Ida roused herself— ' Are we alone, Jane ?' ' Yes, my dearest' ' Then come, Jane, lean close down.' I put my head on her pillow. * Jane, if Mr. Grantly should ever come back.' I raised my head, but she softly drew it back to its resting place. 'lf he ever comes back, be nice to him, Jine, for my Bake.' She paused. * 1 loved him very much. How could I help it ? He was so clever, and I was an ignorant girl. I thought he cared for me, but it was all a mistake. Jane, be kind to him. telling him I never blamed him—never!' She turned to the window. I I shall not be here at the next sunset. You will miss me, tut don't grieve, and don't blame him; it was all my own fault. Kiss me ; Jane, I'll go to sleep.' She slept, but when the beauty of the summer night was fully kindled in the sky her gentle spirit winged its flight far away, and I was alone. Next afternoon, I was Bitting by her a little. She was so lovely, lying among th'e flowers kind friends had brought, It was very quiet. Ontside there was the same splash of waves, the same hot hush lay over everything. It was Btrangely like the summer day that brought to us our first and last lodger. Just then the bell rang, and I heard the Blow step 3 of my fiiind go to open the door. By-and-by she tapped at my door. 'A gentleman to see Miss Barrie.' I went down, opened the door, and there, just as he had stood, long ago, was Mr. Grantly. He came quickly forward, took my hands in his, all the time smiling with so frea and joyous a face, that I Btood dumb. * Now sit here, dear friend, and hear my story, and don't say a word till I'm done. When I came here first I often Bpoke about myself, but I always kept one thing back, namely, that I was married. Yes, married at twenty-two, to a woman much my senior. We were very unhappy, for I was poor. We parted. Soon after, an uncle died, leaving his money to me. I had then loßt all traces of her. I came here, and waa very happy, till a letter came, telling me that she was ill in Paris and wished to see me. I went to her and found the illness a sham. She had heard of my legacy and wished to share it. All these years we have travelled aboat, never long in one place. She is dead. She died in Jamaica, to which place we had gone. Then, when a year had elapsed, I came back. My heart was never away. Why am I back? Oh, surely you know; to claim her, my Ida, with a clear brow, and no barriers between. I wounded her ia goinj away so abruptly, my little dove. Now I shall atone in the years to come ?' Then he ceased, and I wept—the first tears that had come to my relief,

You are too late/ I said, ia a dull, passionless tone; ' she is dead.' I rose and beckoned hhn to follow, and together we entered the room where the beautiful face smiled amid the flowere Long, long he stood gazing at her. *Didßhe ever speak of meP' he whispered. | Then I told him all her simple little I messages. He bent down and softly ' kissed her brow. Ah, once that marble 1 cheek would have plowed rosy-red to feel i that caress. He waited till the funeral was over. A month later he returned, and we sat by her grave and talked. He told me he had settled all his affairs, and was going out to Australia. He told me he had eettled an annuity on me, so that no money cares csuld vex me more. • I thought often, in my weary wanderings, that we" would yet all be so happy together, with our dear sister Jane to keep us in order. But it was not to be,' He went back to get a rose from the porch. At the station we kissed each other solemnly, knowing we should meet no more this side of Time, and then the train carried Mr. Grantly out of my life for ever. I am an old woman now, but my home iB still in the cottage, nnd when, on summer afterncons, I make my feeble way to the grave of my Ida to reßt, there is no bitterness in my heart, but only love for the man who was t > have been my brother. —L. Stewart.