Short Story.

Matamata Record, Volume II, Issue 87, 20 June 1918, Page 4

Short Story.

In Three Parts. (Published by Arrangement with the Proprietors of the Copyright.) KNOCK AT THE DOOR. By SHAN F. BULLOCK, "Author of "The Barrys,'* "Robert p'hcrne," etc. PART 111. Heavens, what a question! Had she ever ceased thinking? Had she ever since those days lived for anything save this hour? And now it was come —and somehow the hour was empty. No joy, no leap of the heart; only disappointment and pain. Not a grip of the hand, not a passionate word, not a gleam in his eyes. Oh, where were those old days, and where was he who then had held her hand at parting and 'made her promise? Only flirting—only boy and girl—only words to ho forgotten —only laughter now, and chance recollections, and the dream-hero sitting there with his hat in his hands, and changed almost out of knowing. Where were the curls, the merry blue eyes, the fresh young face; where the ringing laugh, the soft voice; where jthe Hush Lindsay who had won her heart? Gone. And in his place had pome this other Hugh, gross, heavy, his eyes cold, her hair thinning, his ivoice harsh, wordliness on his face. ,And the promise was forgotten 1 And he asked if she remembered I ' ' Hetty shivered a little; then roused herself. "Yes," she answered, with a smile, "I have thought of you—sometimes. One can't forget always, or everything, even when one tries. Perhaps women remember more and longer than men do." [ "H'mmi Perhaps they do! Yet I fclon't know. I've had a busy time of It all these years, making my way in the world. I've travelled, and worked hard, and had my own experiences; bu,t often in the thick of it I've managed to think of you for a minute, Hetty, utd wish you well. And now, you see, ['ve talk a while. Soon as tea vias over I said to Aunt Jane, 'I supjope you know a girl called Hetty Slyers, who lives hereabouts?' 'To be sire, I dp,' says Aunt Jane. 'Don't I jfltp her ©very Sunday in church?' 'ls ;Sat soP* I answers. 'She's well, I ippePHp 61 'e n of ner getting married P* 'Not much,', says Aunt Jane, ipr all that there's a man in the case, [ ijelieve.'- And then, after some more ;a}k, 1 got up, put on my Chat, and fjSdked over to see you. If you rememm, J promised you I would—and you >e J*ve kept my promise." I "6,6 you bave o " answered Hetty, still gmiijng. "That's good of you, and I'm pfcy thankful. It would have troubled me if you'd left Aunt Jane's without keeping what you call your promise. Maybe you would never have had another chance." j ' ( #h! and why, Hetty?'' "' "Just because if you'd waited a litjfcle longer I might have be'en married t« feur Aunt Jane's 'man in the case.' " ! "I see." Hugh sat fumbling with his hat-brim. After a moment he looked bp. "I suppose I may offer you my cen(jrajulations . ?,) he said. "That's as you wish." "Then I do. I suppose it's himself is the friend who's talking with your lather in the parlor?" "It is," said Hetty. "Just so." Hugh Lindsay rose and fetood looking down at Hetty, an elbow pn the mantel and his cheek resting his hand. "A few years make a jbig difference in the lives of people," he said. "Look >.t ourselves. We were as boy and girl, and for a week we're best of friends; then we part, and after a time we meet again, and nothing .is jthe same. Here are you, a woman ! (grown and going to be married; and piere am I, a grown man and " ! He paused and looked at Hetty with hard, scrutinising eyes. No; this was jpot the girl or" his memory. She had £aded; she was plainer; her hands were poarse; she had forgotten how to dress; and she was dull. l|e straightened himtself and stood with his back to the iempty grate. ©""" ■ "I'm going to be married, too," he continued. "You see, it's time I had k wife, Hetty. I've bought a big farm pown in Tyrone; kind of gentleman's place, you see; and I expect they'll make me a magistrate, and I'll be needing someone to keep house for me, and do the entertaining and all the rest. I've two or three in my eye ifcat would do; but I can only marry one, and bo I'll need " "To be making a choice between them, Mr. Lindsay." Hetty had risen. She stood facing Hugh, hands behind jher and head erect. In her eyes was a glowing light, on her cheeks was a Seep flush. 'lt's well to be you, bo it lis, that can make your choice among women for one to keep house for you iat your fine place in Tyrone; and it's pvell, I suppose, tjjat one of them will liave the good luck of your choice. For myself, that sterns a strange way to (begin married life—but' what about me jand my thoughts P You'd only laugh if {I told you my notions about men and women choosing each other, and you'd ilaugh more if you knew all the romantic ideas I've got into my head since ftve parted all those years ago at Ballybore. We were foolish then, Mr. Lindkay; but.ithank God, we're found wisUom now.'l rejoice that the world has treated you so well, and I hope you'll make a good choice, and I'm glad to ge* you. And, if you ever come this

way again, be sure to ask your Aunt Jane where I am: and if I'm married, then don't fear '.© come and see us. We'll be homely, bin. comfortable, I hope, and I think we'U be happy." Hetty moved towaids the door, stopped, and turned. "I must»bo going to see mother," she said. "But, maybe, you'd like to sit awhile with father and his friend in the parlour. They'll make you very welcome." "No, no. I didn't mean to stay. 1 only came to see yourself and have n talk. Just for old time's sake," said Hugh, and followed Hetty out, and stood by her on the step, looking across the snow-clad fields. Somehow, he felt unwilling to go. Something in Hetty held him. She had spirit. She came ofj a good stock. Her father had money. After all, she was a fine girl still, and worth having. Suppose—suppose < "We may never see each other Hetty," he said softly, and stooping q little. "That's Mr. Lindsay. Bui what if we don't? We've managed 60 far; I suppose we can manage now until the end. It's hard weather, fen'| it? I hopo you'll have a pleasant walk." "Thanks. Well, good-njght, Hetty* Good luck, and a Happy Christmas td 'you and all." "I wish you the same, Mr. Lindsay. Good-night. And -be remembering mq to your Aunt Jane." On the step Hetty stood until the, clash of the avenue gate told her that Hugh was on the road. Then, closing the door, she went back to the little; room, and sat a good while on thehaircloth sofa; then carried the lamp! into the kitchen, blew it out, and wentj into the parlor. There James and her father, in a haze of tobacco smoke, sat by the firl discussing the Irish land TJbej made room, and she sat down between them. "Ha, you look already, Hetty," said James. "Sow have yd'uj managed it ? S*trong tea, or what P ' "No," she said, smlilng r -"only rldj myself of foolishness. mind now. Go on talking. I like to hear yduj and father." She drew her chair nearer to JamesJ and presently her hand stole down iotcj his. (The End.)