SHORT STORY

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 404, 4 February 1904, Page 7

SHORT STORY

Everyone said it wan a 'good match* when Edith Salvia married old Geld, the rich stockbroker, True, he was close on fifty.and She agirl of two-asd-twenty; bat he was rich and greatly respected, and those who knew prophesied that he would make an excellent husband. So they were married, and indeed her happiness teemed to be full up when It came one sunny day in late September. It was a sunny morning, She remembered. Was ever a babe like It ? Never in the world! And as it grew up, everyone '*& It was the image of Her—the same blue eyes, the same soft wavy hair, the same small ears set back daintily close to the head. Oh! the ecstasy of feeling Its hot, nestling; head against her cheek, of listenma; to the first babbled sounds, and construing them into expressions of affection, of hearing the first distinct word that It spoke! i« It was now in its fourth year, a winsome, pretty child, giving full promise of all the radiant beauty of Its mother. It , had already come to tie conclusion that J there was no one in the world worth troubling about 'except the beautiful, softly-clad being It called ■Mummie.' Certainly Here was a serious something, with grey hair, who was invariably kind in itß way to It, and called It 'hia little co-/ bat he only appeared seldom, and when be did he seemed to be thinking of something far away, and never 'had any tone for a romp. So he did not really count; it was Bhe who was all in all to It. And surely all Heaven bent down to listen what time It knelt at her knee, and closed Itß eyes solemnly, and babbled the prayer She had taught It: * Goblfies-dearpa-dearma-make me-goc-girl -keepsall- from - sinnanwickneeß - for flhrisahe-sve. ■■men f It scarcely knew what the words meant, but it was tile one solemn moment of Its daily life, and was regarded accordingly. Things want badly fox Mr Gold. Speculations, 'good things,' came to nothing; bad bask and bad judgment were running away with his fortune. He plunged more deeply to extricate himself. Helosthis head. He became daily more abstracted —more melancholy—more serious. He was seldom at homo now, finding no comfort, after the worry of the day, in his youngwife. Bos Me became restless; he longed to be always out in the world of business, fighting earnestly among his fellows, watching every opportunity of getting back some at least of his losses. The bnantifnl woman he had led to the altar four years before began, in some indefinable way, to bore him; She was so unaetkmsl The time he was forced to spend at home was wasted time. And slowly, but surely, the youngwife began to feel—vaguely at first, clearly ato wards—that all was not well with httv There ■eessed to be opening at her feet a> gap in Kfn a gsp that even Itcouid not fill. Vainly She busied herself as best She might, that She might not allow herself to think, to dream, to understand. Vainly She prattled to It ef fairies, and giants, and of a wonderful time to come, when everyone would be happy and rich, and would all possess the moat marvellous toys and sweets and dolls. All her lore went out to It, and It returned it fully, even to the extent of rebelling bitterly against the nurse, who sometimes tried to pretend she was 'Mummie*—as if thexe could be two 'Mummies' in all the world.

Butinvain. Do what She would there grew upon nee day by day that strange, wretched feeling of loneliness. She was a mother, and worshipped her babe; but She was also a wife, and her heart was , breaking for a little love. But how It did console her, to be sore! How She loved Its pretty tricks—hiding behind a iftrcon —disappearing most mysteriously—to pounce out Jnadealj upon 'Kummie'l And how well She pretended emprise when, after a fruitless search in every comer of the room, Its little chubby legs were at last discovered sticking out from under the table i What a delight it was to be Its raother-confesßor when, for some revolt against the tyrannies of I nurth.» She had to reprove It, and It buried its rosy, tear-stained face in her lap, and sobbingly promised improvement for the future i And how earnestly She joined in the little one's prayer that they might be 'kept from all sin and wicksdaees—f or Christ's sake 1' It *waa at this time that She met a fiielM of her husband's, a Mr Beginald Danfakr. Daniels lived more or less the life of a'man about town,* but those who knew him beat spoke of him as a far more seriousman than He pretended to be. He was very popular—this tall, well-knit soldier of thirty—with men and women alike, and deservedly eo. Excellingin all manly sports—the best of company at the club—a reckless card-play ox- a perfect dancer—what wonder P

Gold waa glad, rather than otherwise, to allow his friend the ran of Ms Hume, 1 that pises of boredom which he felt it his duty toviiit occasionally with platitudes on bis lipe, and the eases of ansaeoaßsfnl bntinesa on his mind. He was glad that Danish should be willing to escort his wife to" theatres end nee-meetings and other amusements he himself 'had no time* foe. Baggie, in his happy-go-lucky way, found all this greatly to hia taste t there was something about the ennny head, the almost pathetic face, that attracted him itrongly. He was an easy-going man, and did not stop to analyse hia feelings, unto, one fine day, He found it was too lste, and He awakened to the discovery that He had never come across such a woman. And SheP What of her t She, too, drifted—life suddenly seemed so much ifwMßntoi now that He had come into her Bte. He become like a brother to her; to him She confided the secrete, one|by one, ef hernnrestfullittle life. Soon He wis BegfJt, She Edith—it seemed quite oeturaL She felt that hare, at least, waa one to whom her well-being, her life, was precious. And the thing grew as these things do grow, and will continue to grow to the end of the chapter, unless they be nipped in the bod. And stronger men than easy-going Beggie, and happier women than lonely, lovesick young Edith, have failed to root out this pleasant weed —if weed it be—in time from their garden of life. They had just returned from the opera together one evening. Mr Gold had not arrived home from a meeting he was attending about some South African mines. J. light supper was set, aad the flr

HE, SHE, AND IT.

Wined brightly. Beggie unfastened her cloak; as He did so it struck him that never before did her beauty seem as fresh and as fragrant as now I She felt her fingers touch her throat accidentally as He undid the garment j the touch -thrilled her a* nevox before she had been thrilled I They were together now—He and She. She sat down, and dared not look at him. Half nervously He poured out a glass of champagae, and" tffared it to her. Then He, too, Bat down Bilently, and gazed fa a dream at the wayy hair—the white, bent neck—the downcast eyes, whose lashes vainly tried to hide their beantj. Almost unconsciously he moved closer to her. 'Bdie . . . Edie . . . . ' He murmured, and then stopped confused. She raised her head, and looked into his eyes. Neither spoke —it seemed un- : necessary. Face to face as they were, the truth—the happy, cruel truth came home to each. The lips were silent, but the eyes spoke out boldly, 'llove you,' and' I love you, too.' The house was silent; the servants were in bed. Bo hum of the bußy world outside penetrated those thick, warm curtains, except when, every now and then, a hansom jingled by in the darkness. They were alone, He and She—quite alone—the Man and the Woman. The shaded lamps threw down their softest rays on her an she sat there, the fair head drooped, a red, tell-tale spot burning in each cheek, the white suggestion on her boßom rising and falling more rapidly—more fully—than usual. Beggie stood over her, still dreaming—dreaming! A man—a woman—who really loves forgets for once friends, honour, God Himself. It may be for only a moment of time; but that moment comes, and comes surely, in the lives of all true men and women (of human dolls I speak not), when Lave first declares its rule begun. The earth may quake—the stars may fall —yet for that moment, for the lover there exists nothing but the thing beloved. Tnat moment never cornea a second time —it couldn't.

Beggie beat closer over her. It teemed quite natural to kneel before her—to take that hand in his. It seemed part of the law of nature that, when her face was turned slowly up to his, He should touch lightly that snowy brow with his lips. . . He bent lower still .... their eyes were level , *. . . their lips . , Oh! is there no angel above who watches over a good woman when her moment comes, when, for one instant* she is unable to keep watch over herself; when poor, weak, protesting celf-control has said its last word, and vanished into thin air; when she stands dazed on the verge of a torrent that will carry her Heaven knows where? Is there none, among all the angels of our childhood, to stretch out a hand to a fainting, falling sister P None? Who can Bay? The door-handlfl clicked two or three times, as though the fingers on it were not strong enough for their task. The door opened at length, and in toddled noiselessly aJany figure in white, with bare feet. This was It. He and She turned. It had already come to regard Beggie as one of Its best friends, and approached mother fearlessly. It was very sleeov and the little eyes were full of slumber' sand. • Mammie, me'a been waitin' so long for oo to turn and say pairs I Metoodn»tgo to steep.* It yawned very widely. 'Turn, Mammie, dear. . . . I'se tired waitin'. ... I tought oo'd fordotten. . TBt so seepy! ... My feetiea is'so' tolar , The child had already nestled close to her mother, and the mother's hand closed over the 'told feeties/ The well-known tep brought instant sleep* the weary little eyelids closed. * • I toodu't wait .... any SiP ™V*-L Mummle * 'Oo told me <*od wouldn't tate tare of us unless I say piairs . . , , an* . . . , . . . so . . . so . . . tired 1' The Man and the Woman kept silence. Suddenly the little one began aS Solemnly, Bleepily It remembered thatlt had not yet repeated the words which were to keep them all safe through the dark, mysterious night. 'Goblees-dearpa . . , ; deanaa .... make me goo' .... rfxi .... keepsall from siunanwickness .... am . . . , an' . . . '•**••• Chrissake

So It did not hear Its mother repeat, in a choking voice, 'for Christ's sake. Amen !' It did not feel that It was carried swiftly upstairs, and that the lovely woman who corned It was sobbing as if her heart was breaking. It never felt the hot tears that streamed upon Its hair. It never heard the wild outburst

'My darling . . . . my darlin*

But It awoke sumciently to feel that it was being pressed oloser than usual to mother's breast and realised that something was not quite right. Sleepily connacting this with the 'sayprairs.* on which the poor little mind had been runninß» Uiroiightheendless evening, It repeated, 'KeepsaU .... sin .. . *ioknesa ... Chrisake ... a-a-men.* He stood gazing into the fire for some tune. Then He lit a cigar, and said, in a tone of amazement: 'Good God! What a low brute I must be: • She cune downstairs again later on, quite cool, quite collected; and even the £ ar stains made her look the more lovely. Her dress was slightly soiled at the knee, as ttongh She had knelt upon a carpet. Good-night, Captain Daniels.* And frankly, very frankly, She held ont her Daniels raised it to her lips. M°LS6i ""G ol * "W" God blew ycu I Qod blesa you! So He and She parted. That is alL—Victor Hswktt