A Romance Of The Khaki

Free Lance, Volume III, Issue 117, 27 September 1902, Page 20

A Romance Of The Khaki

" rf|SE days seem so long, and I am I so tired of waiting. It seems ages ago since you told me that the Pendaroon had reached Sydney. Surely, Frank must be in New Zealand by thus time?" Mrs. Branwin walks to the other side of the room, groaning inwardly. For how can she tell this daughter of her's, sick almost to death and nearly blind, that Frank Lome died just before the Pendaroon, with the returning troopers on board, reached Sydney! Kathie is dying; the least shock may hasten the end. She resolves, not in the least knowing how she is -oing to do it, that at all hazards the truth must be kept from her. The sick "irl stirs uneasily. "Hark mother, someone is coming up the path— Frank's footsteps, I am certain." .„ , . , , Mrs. Branwin stares as if fascinated at the figure in khaki — Frank Lome, or his ghost! Yet Fran* is dead! Kathie staggers to her feet, holding out both arms with a cry of joy. "Dear old Frank, you are only just in tame, but I knew you would come." He turns, with a look of sorrow and pdty, to Mrs. Branwin, who grasps his arm in a frenzy. "Yes just in tune, Frank Lome. Poor Kathie. Be very careful. Any shook will kill her. Do you hear! She is dying, dying!" . She almost hisses the last words into his ear, and his lips just form the words, "I understand," as he takes Kathie in his arms and kisses her. "How strangely you talk, mother. Just as if my own dear boy would do anything to hurt me! But its all true," she adds, mournfully, "so dont let us waste any time. Mother, leave vb together while you get him some tea. Poor old fellow, you are nearly melted, and we have such a lot to say to each other, haven't we?" A couple of hours later a strange story is being told to Mrs. Branwin, while Kathie sleeps, exhausted with excitement. „ Th« man who bears such a marvellous resemblance to Frank Lome is his brother Fred. He had been living in Australia for years, dead to all his friends, and had gone to South Africa with one of the contingents about the same time that Frank had gone from New Zealand. Both were returning invalided when they met on the Pendaroon. Just before Frank died, he had implored his brother to oome on to New Zealand and break the news of his death to his "little girl "as he called her. To poor, halfdistracted Mrs. Branwin his strange likeness to Frank and KatluWs mistake seem like a special providence. She implores Frank, by all the saints, to yield to her prayers. "They were to have been married directly he returned," she says. "You are bo very Like, and poor Frank was not well known in this part of tihe country, for we came from the south. The doctor sa^s it is only a matter of weeks. For the love of heaven, let her die hiapp". believing you are her lover." And her passionate appeal prevails. After all, what does it matter? he thinks. His friends in England have lost sight of him for so long that they no doubt think him dead. If he can make her happy for the little time that is left, why not? So, to all intents and purposes he becomes Frank Lorne, and, naviner a liking for a country life, and plenty of money, he purchases a run that is in the market, and. with Kathie and Mrs. Branwin, settles down at "Morella." And then a strange thing happens. Her happiness in her new life has euch an extraordinary effect on Kathie that she begins to mend, to the amaze*ment of the dootor. Mrs. Branwin is almost beside herself with alternate joy and fear. Suppose she should recover her eyesight as well? Lome himself has grown very fond of his half-blind wife, and is perfectly happy. It is a very hot day, about a fortnight before Christmas. Lorne has been up very early, and has ridden over to the township for the mail (a triweekly affair at Morella), and is lying on the couch with the papers spread out round him when Kathie conies feeling her way slowly into the room. She drops down on her knees by the side of him, and strokes his face softly. He smiles, for he knows that this is a "little way" of Kathie's when she wants anything. "Well, dear, what is it this time?" "I want to go to town to-morrow, Frank. Do you mind?" "To-morrow? Oh, wait till OBrien comes back, only two or three days and then I'll take you. How'll that do?" "But — but, I want to go myself. It's very particular business of my very own. You see, Frank — " "By yourself, dear? Impossible' I can't let you do that. What terribly important business do you want to be after, Mrs. Lorne, without your husband P"

She pouts, and looks ready to ciy. "Listen Frank , must let me go this time. I've got my things all packed, and Mary OBrien is going with me. Will that satisfy you? All you're got to do is to say yes, like a darling. Now, don't be vexed Frank. You've always made me so happy. I'll promise to be back for Christmas Day." And she twines her arms round his neck, knowing that she has won the day. Through the red afternoon sunlight Lome rides slowly alone, letting the bridle drop on Zulu's neck, for he is thinking. Kathie promised to be home for Christmas, and it is only two days off now. He has been away since early morning, looking after the sheep in one of the out-lying paddocks, so he does not know that Kathie is at that moment impatiently waiting him m the diningroom at Morella. They have arrived half an hour before, to find the house deserted, and Mrs. Branwm having her afternoon nap. Mary OBrien has iu&t put the finishing touches to the table she has been laying, and turns eagerly to the window." "Mr. Lome is coming along the road," she said, and Kathie gets ud and begins to dance round the room in great excitement. "And now I'll leave you, Mrs. Lome dear," and the warm-heart-ed Irish girl kisses her, and goes out. Kathie sits down in a low wicker chair, and waits, her eyes — seeing eves now — fixed on the door. She hears him oanter up the path, whistling "Kathleen Mavourneen," and tie his horse to the verandah post.. With a bound he comes to the door of the room. "Why, little woman, when in the world did — " Then, he stops at the look of frozen horror on her face, as she puts out both hands to ward him off. "Who in God's name are yon p Not Frank Lome, though you are marvellously like him." It is past midnight, and Kathie sits at the window of the O'Briens' cottage, sobbing as if her heart would break. Her last passionate words to her husband had been : "You may go on wear, ing my poor Frank's name if you care to but I shall never live under the same roof with you asrain. You are an imposter and a fraud, and I hope I never look on your face again, for I think I hate you. I shall go over to O'Brien's till I have made my plans." And when poor, tearful Mrs. Branwin pleads for fororreness, she pushes her roughly away. "No, not even you, mother! How could you do it? No, you must not come with me. I want to be alone to think over it all." As she reaches the door, she looks back with curious eyes at the bar of red sunlight falling across the white tablecloth. It looks so like a streak of fire. Now she sits watching the distant homestead, with the solemn Ruahine mountains in the background. And she thinks of her little innocent secret. She had gone to town to have an oDeration performed on her eyes. It had been successful bewond all expectation. And this is the end of it all ? Better to hare been blind, and happy. He had been very good to her ; he is Frank's brother, and poor Frank is dead. So she muses thinking vaguely that the dawn is surely coming early. That rt of light just behind Morella that has been watching seems to be getting brighter and brighter. It seems to be flickering strangely, too! Her heart gives a great lean to her throat. "Mary!" she calls, softly at first, then, as the horrid certainty grows, she shrieks, "My God! Morella is all on fire!" The station hands are gathering in front of the blazing building, when a flying figure in white slips in between them. "Holy Virecin, 'tis the mistress and her stone blind!" ejaculated Pat Burke, laying hold of the tail of her wrapper. "Where is my husband?" she pants. "Isn't he with you, mistress, dear? The ould lady is sitting under the trees there, and — " Before any of them can guess her intentions, she has dashed into the blazing building. Instinctively she turns to f> little room right ait the back, that he uses as an office. The flames are creeping slowly along the top of tlie walls and he is lying, with his head resting on the table, asleep' A letter that he has been writing lies beside him. In lees than, a second her eyes> have taken the sense of it all in. He says he is sorry for the deception he has practised on her, but he did it all for the best. As for asking or exoecting her to live with him again, she need not be afraid. He will go back to Africa, and ride so far into the next fight that he will never be found. And he begs her to forgive him, for he has learnt to love her dearly. That is all. Not one word of reproach for the poor, weak woman, her mother.

She shakes him frantically. "My dear, dear husband, forgive me!" she w ads. Not. even in that supreme moment oan she give him Frank's name. But, still he sleeps on, while the flames creep and crawl round them, like fiery .snakes, suffocating and choking the life out of her. Then, an agony of despair seizes her, and putting forth all her feeble strength she tries to drag him out. He halt «akes, dazed and stupified by the smoke and clasps her tightly in his arms. "Poor little Kathie " he murmuis. Encouraging; w ords and \ oices sound loudly m her eai-s, and then she knows no more. • • « People often w onder why Mrs. Lome so often calls her husband Fred, instead of Frank, but she laughingly says that "she prefers it." But. when their fi lends ask them if the-"' intend visiting England for a holiday, Lome says, "New Zealand is erood enough for me. I haven't the slightest desire to visit the Old Country just yet awhile."