SHORT STORY.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 444, 20 October 1904, Page 7

SHORT STORY.

PP BTTTTEKFLY.,

GEOFFBEY HABLAND paused as he laid his hand on the wicket gate that admitted to the shady orchard, and his brow contracted, almost with displeasure, as his eyes rested on the girl who was swinging gaily beneath the old apple tree. She was a slim-waisted, merry-eyed girl, looking little more than a child in her simple white gown and large straw hat, and as she swung to and fro, her joyous laughter mingling with the infantile chuckles of tha two small figures in Kate Greenaway costumes who pushed the swing, she formed a picture that would have been extremely attractive to most men.

Geoffrey Harland, M.D., in the conventional frock coat and silk hat of the professional man, formed a somewhat inconj gruous figure in this Arcadian scene. He was a tall, well-built young fellow, with a clean shaven, pale face, marred, however, by a certain stern expression not often found in one who is still on the right side of thirty.

He stood there, leaning on the gate, until the girl caught sight of him. As she did so a little cry, as if of dismay, left her lips, and flashing prettily she leaped lightly down and ran towards him. ' Geoffrey !' she cried, in a tone of surprise.

He .vatched her in silence as she bound up her disordered tresses and straightened her hat—watched her with unappreciative eyes.

' I want to have a talk with you, Darrie,' i he said finally. « Send the children away.' She turned to the two little ones, who were clinging shyly to her dress, and consoling them with a kiss apiece bade them run and play. 'Now, dear,' she said, slipping her hand through his arm and taking a rosy-cheeked apple from her pocket, «what is it ? Something very serious ? You look as grave as a judge. But then you always look grave, don't you?' she added, smiling. • Perhaps I do,' he returned; * the same cannot be said of you, though.' She took a bite at her apple and laughed. ' No, I suppose I'm not one of the serious kind,' she said. «It wouldn't do for. us all to be alike, you know, dear—fancy how dull we should grow I We were made this way on purpose—the merry ones to liven the gloomy on; 6. You need livening a bit; it would do you good to come and have a swing.' ' Darrie,' don't be absurd,' he said, hal testily ; ' this is no time for frivolity. I have come over on a matter of great importance—on a matter which concerns us both.' She took another bite and sat down on the swing, twisting one arm round the rope. Her lover leaned against the moss-grown tree, his hands in his pockets, his hat slightly tilted over his brows. •It is about that post I told you I was trying for,' he began. ' I have been chosen . to fill it.' •Geoffrey! Really?' He nodded. •Hurrah!' She threw up her hat and caught it deftly. ~h 'Dear, lam so.glad I' Jf He shifted uneasily and the lines on his brow deepened, • Of course, it is a great advance for me,' he said, ' but it changes everything materially.' ' Changes everything ?' • Yes. I thought of asking you to marry me at once, now. That- is what I have been looking forward to, but—well, there are many things to be considered.' She threw a swift' glance at him. •I scarcely know whether it would be right for me to ask you to go with me to this place,' he continued. 'lt will be sack a great change. It is a lonely parish—a perfect wilderness indeed, far from any town, no society ' • And you think I cannot exist without society ?' • lam sure of it,' he answered with conviction. 'You have always been accustomed to it, and it has become part of your life. I have gauged your character completely. You have the heart of a butterfly. You will never look seriously upon life. You were made to "live in a whirl of pleasure. This, is your proper sphere, and I should be doing wrong if I took you out of it.'

'Am I—am I to understand that you think our engagement a mistake?' she murmured, her head bent so that he could not see her face. • Why, yes, that is the conclusion I have come to. We are not suited to each other. Our tastes are too dissimilar. You can never enter into all my-projects, and I have no sympathy with your society ways. We should have nothing in common. Yes, it has been a mistake, and lam thankful I have found it out in time.' She said nothing, * So,' he went on, 'I think it better to release you from your promise. I ought never to have bound you as I did. I have been to blame. You are but "a child. Our love affair has been a piece of folly. , I am ashamed of it,' and he coloured slightly, as if he considered his passion a weakness. Still she said nothing. 'I leave here to-morrow,' he resumed, after a pause. *So I—l shall have to say good-bye.' She ro«e, as it seemed, with an effort, and • held out her hand.

' I am sorry you don't think me serious enough, Geoffrey dear,' she said, in a voice that was scarcely audible. ' Oh, it can't be helped J' he responded. * We are all made differently, and for a man who has nothing to do but frivel away his time—who has not his living to earn, why, you'll do very well. That is the right sort of husband for you.' She bent her head still lower, possibly to hide the deep, burning flush that dyed her cheeks. ' Geoffrey,* I want to ask you something,' she said at length, laying her hand on his arm.

•Yea?' 'lt is this: Are—are you breaking with me because you have found someone else — someone you care for better?' ' Because ? Good heavens, no ! How could you think it! I have found nobody. The sort of woman I want is not easily found.' ' Well, I—l hope you will find her, dear, some day,' she murmured, ' and—and if you think it is for the best, I will try and think so too. Now I will leave you, the sun is rather strong. Good-bye.' ' Good-bye.' So they parted.

• • • • As a rule Geoffrey Harland allowed himself to be guided by his head rather than by his heart. He had broken this rule once : that was j*hen £ he had asked General Sylvestre's daughter to be bis wife. All along he had his misgivings as to the wisdom of.the step f but Darrie's beauty had caused him to throw prudence to the winds.

Lately, however, he had-grown more and more convinced that their betrothal, was a mistake. She was a mere butterfly, one of those creatures who are m ide to bask in the aunshins of life, quite unfit to be the

helpmate of a hard-working doctor. If she had only been more of a woman and less of a child!

That night he remained up late, for he had much to do. His room was strewn with portmanteaus, hooks, &c. He opened his desk and began to sort his papers. Amongst them were Darrie's letters and her photograph. He looked at the latter long and steadily. She had been caught in one of her merriest moods; laughter danced within her eyes, and a smile lurked about her lips. It was a charming picture, and he sighed half regretfuliy as he put it down. Men had deemed him lucky to win such a prize. He had been lucky, yet Then he opened her letters. They were written in a light and humorous vein which jarred upon his present mocd. He regarded them as the productions of a shallow mind. Yes, he <had acted quite for the best in severing the connection. It had been a wrench, of course, for he loved her; but then she was unworthy of his" love. She was incapable of a deep and lasting passion. At this moment his reflections were disturbed by a violent ring at the night bell. Instantly his dreamy abstractedness disappeared. He was wanted. A serious case, no doubt. In a trice he was at the door.

The red lamp showed him a farm hand, panting and gasping, on the step. ' What is it ?' he asked, in quick decisive tones.

The man pointed to the west, and Harland, following his hand, perceived a bright flame which cast a rosy glow upon the sky. One glance was sufficient; then he staggered back, overcome with horror.

The Grange, General Sylvestre's house, was on fire!

In a few seconds he had recovered his wits. Telling the man to saddle his mare he hastily put on his bcots. By the time he had done so the horse was at the door. Leaping to its back he gave it a smart cut, and instantly was bounding away at a wild gallop. Luckily for him his mare was sure-footed, for his attention was riveted upon those tongues of flame as they spurted upward. The home was an old structure, and, being built largely of wood, it burnt like tinder.

Passing through the lodge gates he dashed up the avenue. In front of the mansion all was hurry and confusion. Men were rushing to and fro like silly sheep in a crowded thoroughfare. As Harland flung himself from the saddle the old General—white and trembling—came to him, his hands clasped piteoUsly. • Geoffrey !' he cried. 'My child ! Save her!' ' She is in the house ?'

1 Yes ; you know she sleeps in the turret chamber with the little ones, and it is cut off.'

He lifted his eyes to the burning building. At one end was the turret the old man had spoken of. *

• She—she is there ?' he gasped. ' Yes ': and the father's lips were white and twitching. Harland hurried from his side. Something must be done. 'A ladder—quick!' he shouted. 'What are you all about, you men?' turning angrily to several of the servants. They answered that there was no ladder long enough to reach the windowsi ' Then a rope ?'

•The stables and cart sheds be burnt, sir,' a man replied; « and all the ropes were kept there.' At this moment the turret window opened and a girlish figure in white appeared. •Miss Darrie 1'

A murmur ran through the crowd, broken by a sob. She stepped out on the narrow balcony, half carrying, half dragging the frightened little ones. Harland looked at her with agonised eyes. Had he expected to see her utterly devoid of self-possession? If so, this expectation was not verified. Although her face was quite colourless she kept her head admirably.

• Geoffrey, what £an we do ?' the distracted father waileS. /

The young man clenched his hands tight and watched her as she approached the edge of the platform. The greedy flames were shooting up Uke so many fiends eager for their prey. ■ Have you no ladder ?' she asked, speaking in a singularly calm voice. Someone answered, * No*' ■ No ropes ?' Again they said, • No.' They saw her bite her lip hard, as a woman does when she wants to think, she was thinking. Through her brain there flashed all the stories she had read of prisoners who had escaped from danger by means of ropes improvised from their blankets. She realised, however, that this chance of escape was debarred her. Before she could manufacture such a rcpe the flames would reach her. No, she must think of another way—or perish. Meanwhile the crowd stood there, women weeping, the men white and silent.

Then, as the ruddy flames played upon her face, they saw it light up with sudden inspiration. • A blanket —quick 1' she cried.

What was her aim ? Could it be possible that—? Then their slow brains caught her idea and they raised a cheer. She was almost hidden in smoke now. Her white nightdress was blackened, her face and hands grimy. The two children, overcome by the fumes, lay at her feet, senseless.

Raising one in her arms she looked down. A dozen hands held the sheet and the crowd drew their breath.

'Ready;' ' Ay, ay,' and their grip tightened. Through the wreaths of smoke came the precious ball of white, to fall with a soft thud, and then to be snatched up by eager hands and pressed passionately to a woman's breast.

Again she called; again she flung the small form ; again it was deftly caught. The woodwork was crackling now. The lead coping dropped in hot splashes. She was fast growing faint.

Oh a little time! a little strength! Harland reeled like a drunken man. ' Jump—for heaven's sake, jump !' She clambered on the burning rails—swooned—and fell.

Outside the chamber door in the long corridor Harland paced to and fro with restless steps, his arms folded, his face working with agitation. For many hours he had paced here now, waiting, ever waiting, for the news that was so long in coming. Within that room the grim battle of life and death was fiercely "waging, and each moment the end might come. The next day Harland was permitted to enter the darkened room.

' I can't refuse her any longer,' the doctor said.

' What ? She has been asking for me?' ' Continually. But you must promise to be very quiet. There must be no excitement.'

'\ou may trust me,' he said eagerly; and then he turned the handle. 'Geoffrey?' Softly she uttered his name, and the faint colour stole into her cheeks.

He fell on his knees by the bedside. His eyes were dim. How grievously, how deeply he had Wronged her.

' Don't, dear ?' she said

1 Dame; can you forgive me?' 'Forgive? Then you have changed? You do not think me altogether unfit ' 'Unfit. Oh, I was a fool!—a fool! It is I who am unfit. I was a brute. I never deserved your love.'

' Hush, dear, hush !' 'lt is true. Why don't you send me away.' ' Why ? Well, because I want you—-I want you always.' ' You want me, after V ' Yes; that is, if you will have me.' 'Oh, Darriel' t 1 They—they say I shall be disfigured perhaps for ever!' ' I care not.' ' You will have • even then?' ' Yes, even then, you will forgive.'