TOTARA-NUI.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume VI, Issue 29, 3 February 1871, Page 3

TOTARA-NUI.

AN ORIG-INAL STORY. (Written for the Australasian). _o Chapter VIII. THE BLOW FALLS. "To-morrow you will be turned off, Maggie," says Mab. "Yes dear, how much to-morrow liolds for me," answers her cousin in a dreamy tone. She prophecies unknowingly. To-morrow, yes, tomorrow. But that to-morrow, which is always to bring in so much, that seems so/ full of hope and bright anticipation, where' is it ? Is it not rather a wraith, a mockery, a will-o'-tke-wisp, luring us ou with its deceptive gleams ? The saying of " Merry as a marriage bell " seems as if it would be fulfilled afc Totara-nui. There is none of that dismal attempt at merri- ' ment which so aften prevails the nigke belore a wedding. The two people who a are chiefly interesteU in the coming event supremely happy secure, they think, from trouble, so near the fulfilment of their love-dream. Here they are, sitting ou the verandah alone for the first time to-day. Through the closed windows come merry laoghteri and happy voices ;'they are resting a little wbile from the bustle. Up in the blue sky the tiny stars flicker out fuintly. for the hsj/ red suugleams have hardly faded yet. " Melville, don't you hate tim time ? I , do. To me it is so mournful to watch the -glorious sun slowly dying, touching with tender reluctant fiugers each little hill, each gleaming flat and mass of bush, with soft farewell, and brightening the dark banks of clouds. He seems so. loth to leave us, so fearful thnt something sad " may come to us in tbe blank night when we are so helpless. I hate to see the golden tints melt into crimson, and so gra- ' dually fade away to-cheerless, grey. Ab, ihe glorious sun ! I could implore him to stay 1 those stars are so cold and flickering, so small, and ihe sun is so great and ' warm, it loves everything, ifc kisses the "little buds into flowers, and dauces with Hitle beams upon the water ; ifc sends its .tender hands wandering in amous: the - (dark places and turns them all bright. Darling, don't! you love the sun?" she says with earnest face and brightening eyes, "My pel; has a silyer tongue and the heart of a poet." / ' Her look answers with a sweet caress.

" Now, you listen to me, and see if you can love this time, after all, a little for my sake. You remember, the first time 1 and old Denton came over after you came, you would not show, because of c promiscuous garments,' as Mab said. Well, just at this time in the evening I was sitting by the corner window in the dining-room, and I saw. some one pass through the littlo gate into the shrubbery, and walk down amongst the trees to the terrace walk. You were dressed in a soft blue dress that fell in soft fotds around you — it was Patty's, I think ; your.hair was all unloosed, and huug about your shoulders in goldeu waves, and as you came back again, and I saw your face, it seemed in perfect keeping with the quietness of evening, and just over your head, as you stood a moment, a bright star came out ■with hopeful light — a good omen, darling, was it not ; and then as I looked at yon, I thought if ever I marry, that girl shall be my wife ! Now will you like this changing time of sun and starlight ? " "Yes," she answ.ers softly, "always now", because it gave you to me, you dar- * ling ;" and she looks with an earnest look at the twinkling stars. Indoors, Mab is bewitching the meek youg clergyman by singing a simple song, which seems mora.to be desired and listened to than the most touching or solemn hymn or chant he has ever heard, Oh ! weak human nature, and oh ! recreant young offshoot of St. Augustine. Carry Matson is here, and consequently John is happy ; while, of course, Patty and Den must be, as they are together, Frank is, on the whole, in good spirits ; he resigns himself, as he best can, and just now he is even buoyant. " Seen the loveliest girl down at old Sawbones." Not broken-hearted, is he ? Everything seems so sunny and full of promise. Opening one of the French windows, Maggie comes and passes through tbe room into the drawing-room where the wedding breakfast is laid on a long white table, thence into her own room where the open door of the wardrobe reveals the shimmer of the bridal dress. From her table she takes a tiny ring case, and returning with her plaid around her, sits down again by Melville's side. He, opening the case, takes her hand, the right, then dropping that he clasps the other haud, the left, and slips the ring on her finger; and down to the little golden band she looks -with an infinite happiness. "My pet, do you mind getting the guard; its a shame to trouble you, but I am afraid that wretched man has sent it too large after all." She rises, but he takes her hand, and pressing the wedding ring more firrcly on, says, " There, my darling wife." "Yes, to-morrow." she answers. "No, now," he repeats impatiently, " now ; I consider you my wife as much now as you will be to-morrow, with the exception of the ceremony we shall go through ; mine always." "You know I am," she says, and presently goes away for her guard — goes, however, with a strange awed feeling. As she disappears in the house, he, with that same hushed feeling in his loving passionate heart, saunters slowly down the path towards tha shrubbery, his hand playing unconsciously with a tiny flower she gave him. What is this ? A faint rustling in the bushes, a gleaming vengeful face, a heavy blow on his shoulder, and he is confronted by the demoniac face of Tahaki. Without a word on either side, in a second, Melville has seized on him, and the two, overbalanced with the shock of Tahaki's sudden onslaught, are rolling over and over in the wet grass. .Into Melville's brain rushes a current of thoughts. He knows intuitively that this is a battle for dear life ; there will be no mercy on bis antagonist's* side. How can he be merciful when, if he loses, to-morrow -is lost, to-morrow that holds so much of him. His hand with Herculean strength grasps Tahaki's throat, his face is fanned by the hot breath of his foe, and every moment almost, asharp stab of pain follows Tahaki's uplifted hand. He is wounded, bleeding, his strength is leaving him. In this crisis of his fate he never thinks of crying out. It is not a moment, and while I tell the tale all is over. Tahaki chokes in Melville's stroug grasp ; but the latter is faint and weak, and with a superhuman effort of dying ferocity the gleaming knife flashes ono moment in the starlight, und is buried in Melville's breast. The two lie there motionless, the dark face is rigid in death, and Melville is fainting and motionless,. with closed eyes. "Melville," comes a soft voice from the garden. It awakens him. " Faithful to the end," the dying eyes turn languidly in the direction of the sound. The pallid lips murmur her name. Here she comes down the -path, alas, to what end? she turns the great lauriistinus bush; and, she sees — with a low cry of anguish, like a wounded thing, she Is beside him ; jMahead is pillowed on the loving breast j she

raißes one piercing cry for help, and then, smoothing the dying face, lavishes upon him every passionate eudearing name she can think of. The dark brown eyes open once more, and a faint motion of the arms implies the impotent wish to shield and succour her. Voices are heard approaching, and lights flashing. Too late, too late. He makes an effort to raise himself up, but his head falls wearily on her shoulder ; her golden^hair all loose falls like a veil over their faces and masks this last kiss of the man she was to have married on the morrow. To be continued.