HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER.

Greymouth Evening Star, Volume XXXI, 16 January 1901, Page 4

HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER.

It was Alec Le Breton’s last day in England. On the morrow he was sailing for South Africa in the Stirling Castle. In spite of his twenty-two years, Le Breton was still a boy at heart, and took an exalted view of life. It was quite in keeping with his guileless nature that he should fall in love with a woman much older than himself. He worshipped his idol with a humble adoration that asked for no return. He was content to bask in the smiles of his divinity, and was happy if he could render her some slight service. He was, at the present moment, in the seventh heaven of delight for Miss Ferrars was strolling with him through thp picture galleries at Longstone Abbey, and, for a rare, short interval, he had his adored one all to himself. _ Beatrice Ferrars was showing him the masterpieces of the great collection, and relating the most interesting histories of her ancestors, but Alec was too much occupied in listening to the musical tones of her sweet voice, and m admiring ilhe graceful curves of her white hand and arm as she pointed out some chef-d’ieuvre, to pay great hood to the portraits of the, Ferrars family that smirked or glowered down at him from the walls. “My brother will be fortunate in having such a friend as you always beside him,” Beatrice said. “Ho is the dearest and best of boys, but he is so easily led, either for good or evil. With you to guide and counsel him I know that the influence will be always for good, and I feel as hanPV as it is possible to feel on the eve of his departure for the seat of this terrible —terrible war.” , . , Alec laughed with unalloyed, boyish pleasure at her praise. But, being an Englishman, he was fain to utter a disCl “I*don’t think Guy will appreciate any attempt on my part to-'boss it,over him,”

he said. “You sea there is little more than a year’s difference in our ages, and 1 in many ways he is more a man of the i world than I am.” “He likes and trusts you,” returned Beatrice, “and in his though ful moments he has expressed the greatest respect for your judgment. He knows full well, as L know, that you are the soul of truth and honour, and that your word is sacred. Do not judge him by what he says m his wilder moods. It makes me so happy to think that I can confide him to your care, and I am sure that, for my sake, you will undertake the solemn trust.” Miss'Ferrars was thoroughly aware ot her power over this boy. Her one absorbing passion was her love for her young brother, ten years her junior, for whose advantage she would not have hesitated to sacrifice either her own happiness or, if need be, that of others. Therefore she did not shrink from placing a heavy burden on shoulders that might_ very possibly prove unequal to the strain. Sjie had found a willing slave, and she did not scruple to take advantage of his willingness* A heightened colour and a slight access of dignity in Lo Breton,s gait betrayed that the flattery had gone home, and Beatrice discreetly changed the subject. They paused in front of a full-length portrait representing a young man in the dress of the period ot Charles I. The gay velvet doublet, the deep lace collar, and long curling hair well became the handsome face depicted so ably by the master hand whoso cunning had preserved for all time the lineaments of many a dashing gallant Cavalier “in his Habit as he lived.” La Breton uttered an involuntary exclamation. Ho was about to remark on the extraordinary resemblance borne by the portrait to the present owner of Longstone Abbey, Guy Ferrars, when Beatrice interrupted him. “What should you say is the chief characteristic ot that face ?” she asked. Le Breton examined the portrait attentively. “It is a handsome face, he said, at length, “but the mouth shows weakness and indecision, and there is just a suspicion of craftiness in the eyes. “He was a traitor and a coward,” cried Beatrice, flushing with the depth of her contempt. “His handsome face and his debonnair manner are but masks for viliany. He pretended to serve his King, with loyal devotion, and he helped to betray him into the hands of his enemies. Were I the owner of Longstone Abbey the canvas should, long ere this, have been hacked into the veriest atoms and cast to the four winds of heaven.” Le Breton was supremely thankful that he had made no reference to the likeness between the recreant Cavalier and her brother Guy. Ho laughed uneasily, and suggested that it would bo impossible to proceed in so summary a fashion with priceless heirlooms.” “No,” returned Beatrice, bitterly ‘Having been painted by Vandyck, he. and his infamy must live for ever, to the everlasting shame and disgrace ot the house of Ferrars.” Alec turned to admire a conscious beauty depicted by Sir Peter Lely, and the unusual excitement evinced by Miss Ferrars quickly subsided. Guy Ferrars, who dreaded nothing so 1 much as what ho termed the blues, had 1 elected, on the evening proceeding his departure, to'have a dinner party of his own especial chums, i “If we three spend the last night by ' ourselves,” he explained, “we shall have Beatie dissolving into tears all over the , shop, and painting horrible pictures of the • most ghostly possibilities. If I am des- • tined to be a prisoner at Pretoria I don’t i want to suffer in anticipation. It will be quite beastly enough when it comes to i pass. And supposing ray riddled course is ; to be laid in a lonely grave on the open ; veldt I shall be spared the supreme horror 1 of discussing the cheerful possibility ■ beforehand. So, to avoid the morbid, -I

have got together a regular jolly crew, and our last night, for some time to come, in old England shall bo a ripping one.”

Tim fun was threatening to become fast and furious when Miss Ferrars rose from the dinner-table. Le Breton opened the door at the end of the long room for her to pass through. She paused for an instant on the threshold. “I shall not see you in the morning,” -ihe said, almost in a whisper. “Goodbye, and may God keep and save you 1 ttemember! You have promised to stand between him and danger—or disgrace. From my inmost heart I thank and bless you.” Lo Breton longed for the olden days, when he could have knelt at his lady’s feet and sworn his fealty in lofty sounding periods. As it was, only the words, “Oh, it’s all right, Miss Ferrars.” came lamely to his aid to express his boundless devotion.

He felt that Guy Ferrars on the open veldt with nothing to face but danger and stern duty would be less responsibility thad Guy Ferras beset by the wiles and witcheries of social life. And as, later on, he sat in his tent, pipe in mouth and pen in hand, on the eve of an expected engagement, he thought he might safely say in his letter to Beatrice that he had done his utmost to fulfil her behest, and that he had succeeded. To-morrow was to cover them both with glory or to lay them low in a soldier’s grave. He was writing rapidly, absorbed in his task, when Ferrars entered. “ Busy, eh ?” he asked. “ Last will and testament, or love letters ? Am I de trop '? ” “ Sit down, there’s a good fellow,” growled Alec. “I shall have finished in a minute or two.” But Ferrars did not sit down. He

fidgeted about, taking up several articles and putting them down again in an abstracted and purposeless manner. It was plain that something had got on his nerves. “ Have a pipe, Guy,” cried Alec, in desperation. “ You’ll find plenty of ’bacca there.” Ferrars did not light up, however. He threw himself on to a biscuit-box that did duty for a chair. Le Breton folded up his letter, placed

it in an envelope, and affixed the stamp. Then he turned round and faced his friend. The sight that met his eyes fairly startled him. Guy Ferrars was white to the very lips, and his features and his nerveless hands were twitching pitably. “What the douce is the matter, old man ?” asked Lo Breton. “ Are you ill ?” “ For Heaven’s sake, Lo Breton, give me some grandy,” gasped Ferrars. Alec found a flask and tossed it over to him. After a pull at its contents Ferrars succeeded in controlling himself. There was silence for a time, during which Alec gazed at him in undisguised amazement. Ferrars winched a bit under this scrutiny. Then he asked, “ How do you feel about to-morrow, Alec Le Breton laughed as he re-lighted his pipe. “ Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think about it much. I suppose I shall feel a bit funky, just at first. Most fellows do, I believe. But they all say it soon wears off.’’ Great drops of sweat stood on Guy’s forehead, “ Suppose,” he muttered, almost under his breath —“ suppose, Alec, it should not wear off 1 Suppose, in the thick of battle, a sudden, deadly fear should overpower you—a fear so great as to crush out all the manhood in you—a fear that would bid you fly from the face of the enemy or cast you, grovelling at their very feet, shrieking aloud for mercy ? What then ?” Le Breton started at him. “ Good God, Ferrars ! ” ho exclaimed, “ do you mean to tell me to my face that I am a coward ?” Alec assumed an attitude that was almost threatening, but his arm dropped to his s'cle when he saw the abject misery depicted on the other’s face.

“ Not you, Le Breton,” groaned Guy. hiding his eyes with bis hand. “lam speaking, God help me, of myself. Le Breton stood aghast. Ho coma find no words, either of comfort or contempt, in which to reply. Ferrars went on. “ Despise me, if you will, Alee. You cannot have a greater contempt for me than I have for myself. Do you believe in heredity '? I fancy there miist be something in it. W e had a craven in the family long ago. His portrait hangs m the long gallery. You may have seen it. To save his miserable skin he betrayed his King, who trusted him, into the bauds of the enemy, who trusted him not a jot. He was condemned to die, and died the death of a traitor, an abject, howling coward to the last.” Again there was a pause. “Does Miss Ferrars know of this —this weakness ?” asked Alee, in a low voice.

“Yes,” returned Guy.” “And it is her wish that I now make this request. I beg of yon if. in the midst of battle, you shoul ! see this cursed panic overcoming mo, to put a pistol to my head before I have lime to disgrace the family name that I am so unworthy to bear.’’ Great Heaven ! Had Beatrice no pity 2 No thought but for the family honour and her brother’s good name? The burden she had laid upon Alec’s shoulders seemed greater than he could bear. “Do you realise what you are asking me ?” he cried, hoarsely. “To stain my hands with murder! To stamp the brand of Cain upon my brow!” The look of utter despair came again J into Guy’s hollow eyes. “Then you re- j fuse,” ho said. “And she told me that you had promised.” Le Breton heard again, as clearly as when they were spoken, Beatrice Ferrars’ parting words. He crossed the space that divided the two men and took Guy’s trembling hand. “I will not retract my word,” ho said. “I here solemnly renew my promise to stand between you and danger—or disgrace.” On the far horizon the sun was setting in a lurid glow that stained with vivid crimson the haggard, determined faces of a handful of men who were holding an entrenched kopje, and warmed, even to seeming life, the pallid, ghastly faces of the dead and dying strewn around. The roar ot cannon, the cruel rattle of nfle fire mingled with the roll of distant thunder. The flash of powder seemed answered from heaven by the forks of blinding lightning that rent the blackness of the eastern sky, From four o’clock in the morning Le Breton and his men had held the kopje against threefold their number, hoping against hope for the reinforcements that never came—their last despairing thought to keep the enemy at bay till the convoy had got clear and safe away, even though its safety should be bought at the expense of all their lives. And, in all truth, it looked as though the heavy price was to be paid in full as man after man dropped beside the gallant young officer, till he and his subordinate were the only living souls left amid that scene of carnage. The Boer commandant sickened at the long continued, useless slaughter. He advanced towards the gallant two. “Throw down your arms,” he said. “Resistance is useless.” The only reply was a well-aimed shot that laid him low upon his horse’s neck. A roar burst from the opposing force. The men rose and rushed forward to avenge their leader’s death. “Look out, Guy!” cried Le Breton. “Let’em all come! Only pot as many as you can. We’ll sell our lives dearly.” But, as he spoke, he saw the deadly pallor creeping oyer Ferrar’s face. “A white handkerchief,” gasped Guy. “Give me a white handkerchief. What’s the use of chucking our lives away like this?” “White handkerchief be d d!” shouted Lo Breton. “Would you surrender to these dirty skunks ? The men, God bless’em, have taught us how to die. Shall we, their officers, who saw them fall, show the white feather to a wretched rabble of skulking, ignorant Boers ?” But Ferrars was beyond rousing to heroic deeds. The terrible curse of

abject fear was mastering’ him. He snatched a blood-stained handkerchief from the ground, and with a shaking hand fastened it to a rifle. Then, raising the weapon on high, he was about to wave the white flag above his head, when a pistol shot rang out on the momentary silence, and Guy Ferrars, shot through the temple, rolled over, dead at Alec Le Breton’s feet.

After lying many weeks between life and death in a Boer hospital, Lo Breton was liberated by the advancing Imperial troops and invalided home. He had saved a valuable convoy and had won distinction. When next he saw Beatrice Ferrars he humbly laid his laurals at her feet. They were worthless without her need of praise“l kept my promise,” he said in a voice husky with emotion. “No living man can say that a Ferrars quailed before a mob of dirty peasants.” “Thank you,” replied Beatrice, holding out her hand with queenly gesture. Le Breton was about to raise it to his lips when he saw her shudder and shrink back. Stung to the quick, he dropped her hand, and, with a low bow, passed on. For her sake he had made his life one long, lasting, bitter regret, and in her eyes he was, and would le to the end, her brother’s murderer—nothing more.

Why The Ship Had a List. Apropos of the weight of our Premier and his Native Minister the “Post” has the following:—During the trip of the Mokoia from Wellington to Sydney, carrying the Premier, the Hon. J. Carroll, and party, the vessel had a slight list to starboard. One evening at dinner a discussion arose at one of the tables as to the cause. Various reasons and explanations were advanced without solving the question to the general satisfaction, until one of the diners, who had listened quietly to the argument, said:—“Gentlemen, you are all wrong, I investigated the case last night, and the cause of the list in this ship is that Messrs Seddon and Carroll are sleeping on the same side of it.”

The Fiji Inter-Island Trade. It is intended to place the Kia Ora, which has been lying at the Port for some time, in the Fiji inter-island trade. The Maori, it is understood, will be withdrawn from the trade Commenting on the change, which takes place this month, the Fiji “Times” says : —“ The management of the Union Steam Ship Company, under whose auspices the inter island traT-g steamer Maori has been running for the past two or three years, have made arrangements to replace the steamer with a much finer one. That such is the ease will be good news to country residents whose bent carries them to either Suva or Levuka. The steamer selected to supersede the Maori is the Kia Ora. The passenger accommodation is situated amidships and is especially good, while the ship is fitted with electric light.