REPENTANCE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2808, 8 January 1908, Page 83

REPENTANCE.

By J. M'N.

My twenty-fii-ht birthday. The bare, leafless trees stand out painfully against the dull grey sky and the ground is covered with scow. How different from what I had hoped it would have been! Not that it really matters much now whether it is dull or .fine. My tmeniy-firsi biritaay! B«t tfcexe IB H.O gay party here, as I had planned. The house is- dull, the sky is dull — in fact, the whole world seems dull to-day. Auntj :s: s trying to appear bright and cheerful, and failing dreadfully, for every now and then, v/hen she •thinks I am not watching, she stealthily •wipes away her tears; for I write this knowing that before it will be read I shall have passed to the better shores of the spirit land. It will seem strange fco you that I should write this when even no, w the shadow of Death is nigh ; but I do it that the world may know Sow noble, how unselfish, he was. How I long for thu time when I shall thank him. and shall know . that I have teen forgiven ! Ah, well, when the journey of life is drawing to -a close and we look back and review our lives, -we sigh for the chance to live them over "again and en cvi errors; but we 6igh in* vain, for there is no second chance awaiting us, no going back to start at the beginning again. Just a short six months ago I would have shrunk in fear and trembling at the thought of death; to me then death seemed something far off, vague and terrible. But that terror has left me now. and I leave this world without a regret, except the thought of leaving uncle end aunty; but they will soon follow me to that beautiful home beyond the skies, and then we shall never part again. How I love to think of those last bright summer days of my life I I ami an -orphan, but I have lived" here on this out-of-the-way station of uncle's as long as I can remember. Aunty has been almost a mother to me, always loving and 1 kind; and uncle in his own way- was fond .of me too, I think, though I thought once that he never cared for anything but the price of wool. What a lovely, dreamy life it has^ "been, living here away among •the mountains! — quiet, certainly, but nevertheless beautiful. How I' wish I could describe to you the old ivy-covered) homestead, with the bush-clad mountain at the back, the sloping green lawn and the sparkling river in the front, with the flowers growing do^in to the river bank! When I look back and ■think of the delightful days I have spent wandering through the bush or by the ferny banks of some madly-rushing stream. I sigh for ihe time that has gone to return no. more. How vividly that last day of my old life rises before me now, contrasting so painfully with to-day — that lovely summer afternoon when Donald and- I wandered by the river side in the shade of the willows .and listened to the birds singing overhead end the far-off drowsy humming of the bees. Ah, how beautiful it all was, how calm and peaceful! But, Alas, how easily things go wrong,! — A sigh too much or a kiss too long, Then follow tears and a heart WTung with pain, And life is never the same again.

"I think I shall go with Mr S. to the JSall to-night,- Donald," I said, as we were turning home; "he is such a jolly fellow, and you are so quiet, it would be a- change, you know."

.1 knew well that Donald! was fearfully jealous, but the spirit of mischief was in me, or I would not have said it. I had seen his face change 'as soon as I mentioned 1 Mr S.s name, but I was too wilful to- stop. •"I wish," Donald said after a moment's eilence, "that you wouldn't flirt with, that fellow; everybody is talking about you, and you know that it isn't really fair to him or yourself or to me." My temper was always hasty, and I seemed *o loss- all control of it at. the thought of people saying X 'flirted with that hateful Mr S." Had they said it, or was Donald only saying it to annoy me? I know not which; but in an instant I had drawn nay engagement ring from my finger and tossed it^jnto the clear river a-t our feet. And when it lay at th« bottom with the diamonds sparkling in the sun, I turned to my companion and- said with angry defiance: "You shall go out of my life now as that has done, for I would 1 never marry a man who is so hatefully jealous." Donald's face was very white as he answered, "You are annoyed now. I had no right to say to you what I have said, but when you think it- over afterwards you will find I am not wholly to blame. In the meantime we shall not quarrel." But I would listen to no more. "Quarrel!" I said l flippantly, "No, indeed; it is much too hot for that!" "Oh, here you are!!' Runty's voice behind me made me- start. "I have been looking for you everywhere. Mr S. wants to know tf he may drive you to-night to the dance." "Oh, certainly, Mr S., you shall have that pleasure," I said, laughing. And then I left -them to dress for the ball. I looked along the road as I stepped into the waiting buggy ©n hour later, and there in the distance was Donald walking along with his head bent down. A strange, horrible feeling of remorse took possession of me, and I wished that it was he who was coming with me; but the next minute I braced myself vp — it would never do to show the white feather now. I had told him to go out of my life, and could only expect that he would do it; only I did ■wish that "I hadn't been so hasty. By this time we were going at a fearful pace; Mir S. did .not" seem to have any control over the torse at all. so- I turned my thoughts from Donald and my hasty temper, and began to. "wonder whether I should be safer out on th§ ground. Just then a rabbit darted across th« road in front the horses, and they ew«rved for an instant and! then plunged madly forward.' Mr S. promptly threw the -jreins aside and told me l to jump out, tut before I couH realise what he had saM be

had sprung out : evidentljr he. was not going T to risk his life to save mine. And so I was left alone, with the horses rushing straight towards a sharp turning in the road, where there was a wall of rock on one side and a deep gully on the other. Jump out I could not, and I was equally helpless to check the horses. But ju&t then a ray of hope came to me, for walking on ahead was Donald, his head still bent. He was very near the turning now. Would he see me in time? Surely he would; surely he would save me from that horrible death! He- must have been very absorbed in his thought, for he never looked back till he was right at the turning andl I was not twenty yards behind him then. He stood for <a moment, as if perplexed, and then rush back towards us. I don't know how he oauglit the horses: I only know that they stopped for an instant, and .he told me to jump out. I sprang up, i but my dress caught as I was getting out, and I fell heavily to the ground. I have an idea that the horses plunged forward again, but after that I knew the world no more for weeks. During those weeks I hovered between life and death. Now at last the struggle is over, and I am* awaiting the coining of death. Donald has long since baen laid to rest. I have not seen his grave, , but I can imagine the green mound in the , far-away country cemetery, where lies the , man who gave his life trying to save mine. ■ The Angel of Death is waiting for me now. so I will lay aside my pen for ever, and say good-bye-- to the world. But Igo to join him.