UNWILLING WITNESS.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 7066, 11 February 1893, Page 4

UNWILLING WITNESS.

LITERATURE-

.TCONTINUED.I * You answer it to yourself/ aha *aid, •and if truth and justice do not sum* mon you, you have no right to be there.’ * There are other obligations besides those which truth and justice lay upon us.’ * But I think those must coma first.’ 'Now you touch upon the reason why I wish to place my little problem before you. I had decided in favour of certain other obligations; I daresay I hare become morbid about them. Because of your untroubled preference for truth and justice,, and because you are a stranger, unbiased, as a wise young judge should be, I desire to set my difficulty before you, I am tired of it My conscience, when I question it, gives out only indistinct mu*taring#/ ‘ Ton ask too much of me. I eanoot do this lor you, Mr Bodewin. I am not untroubled. 1 am not unbiased. I was thinking of my father ; when I spake to you I feared you might be refusing to ties if y because you knew of some reason, unknown to him or to Mr Craig, why he ought not lo have won his suit. It was, of coarse, my own misgiving entirely. I have never mentioned it uj «ny one, but it seemed to me a terrible ih ng that you should be willing to stand aside and see an honest mao commit an unuitentional fraud.’ ‘But I told you I belieyed your father’s side was the right side, did 1 not ? ’ ‘ Yes, and I was satisfied.’ * Then, once more, please why did you ask me that question P ’ ‘ Why did I—what ? ’ said Josephine confusedly. ‘lt was after I gave you, unconsciously enough, that satisfaction you •peak of, that you said —well, you will not let me repeat the words. Was there not another misgiving P ’ Has that been satisfied ?’ * No/ said Josephine helplessly, ‘ but it does not concern —me.’ ‘Whom does ,t concern, may I ask ? ‘I am not so arixi mo to answer questions as you are ’ ‘ Does it concern me, Miss Newbold? I seem to be flattering, but there are not so many parties in this affair. I can hardly suppose it is Mr Harkins you ’ * I know I have brought this on myself/ cried Josephine in desperate annoyance, * but don’t you think it has gone far enough now ?’ * As soon as you have promised to give me an to reply to whatever doubt prompted your 'question it will have gone far enough—-not till then.’ . *1 have said tha' it does not concern me, and have asksd your pardon lor letting you know I tad the doubt, or for having it, if you like. Can I do more?* You have not said that your sus pibibns do not concern me.’ * Suspicions!’ * We will go back to the original word then—your question. Say that your q a >estioa did not concern me and I will not insist up answering it.’ Josephine was silent. •Ton have Called me to aoconn’ lor a course of action I am at perfect liberty to take and which no man has yet questioned. i*» quite just for you to refuse to h"«r my defence, such as n is P I don’t claim it is sufficient.’ ‘ I will boar it.’ * When please ?’ ‘ Wh< never you hke. Bull cannot attempt to influence your decision. I would not do it if you were my own brother.’ ‘ It would be much easy f r you to, it I were. Docs it seem t.<» you 100 intimate a thing for me to ask of you ? ‘ Yes, it does!’ she exclaimed eagerly —* precisely that!’ * I don’t regard it so, aud I promice you 1 will not take advantage of it as an approach to anything of the sort in future. For that matter, our acquaintance has no future any more than it - has a past. It shares the spirit of this place, where all live and fast in the present, and then separate and know each other no more. I should ./ like to believe tb it some instinct of helpfulness in you promoted those words which yon regret, because they are unconventional. Don’t regret 'hem. Don’t take back your words, but be tiua to them, and ba brave enough not to sbiik the sequel to them. The sequel to a question is its answer/ Josephine was far more startled by his earnestness than she had been chagrined by bis badinage. •Oh ! ’ she cried in desperation, ’why will you insist upon enforcing the sequel to such a foolish beginning? Why not let it rest ? What is it hut a trrfle —a few poor words F * It is not a trifle to me, coaling coming! rom you, if yon ? lease. It amounts to an accusation. It cannot be withdrawn to my satisfaction until it bas been answered ’ I will listen to your answer, bat more than that I insist you must not ask of me. 1 am not an expert on matters of the conscience—and I am being slowly consumed on this rock/ she sighed. * Forgive me!' be said, springing to his feet and hoidingout a band to help her to rise. ‘1 did not know I was assisting at an auto da fe. Have I made you hate me ?’ ‘ Yes [’"she declared. * Do not put your problem in my hands. I am as biased as the most disagreeable half-! hour I eyer spent in my life can make me!’ * I am sorry you should be indeb'ed to me for it/ ‘ Oh, I am not! I am indeb'ed to ‘ ro ttyiflf. But I shall bate you for it, just the same.’ ‘ ‘ J have do doubt of it. X ought to

be proud to suffer vicariously when Ij can save you from yourseb by doing < so. Ton must ba very severe with \ yourself when you are fairly roused.’ ( • I think I have never been fairly > roused. ’ [ ‘lf you will pardon my putting my- J self in the same category with your- \ self, I think we neither of us have.’ he said. *lt must be a horrible experience to be utterly and fundamentally hateful to one’s self.’ 4 1 think it is an experenco that comes to but few, and not to the greatest trangresaors perhaps. Here comes Hilltmryl He seems to have torn himself from the bosom of the Old Silurian at last.* As Bodewin put Josephine on her saddle again, he said to her,, Whatever it was you accused me of in your own thoughts, let it rest until I can talk with you again/ ‘ ‘ Still harping, ' ’ she replied, and harried after Mr Hillbury, who bad mounted and ridden on to join the Craigs. The lake, when they reached it, was after all, in size hardly more than a large pond. It was on the edge of the timber, a clear, still eye of water, darkly bordered by pine-trees, with one bright spot of reflected blue shining in the middle, like an immeasurably faroff sky in the deaths of the lake. They dismounted again and spread out their lunch i'l the dappled shade, it was not a hilarious picnic. Mrs Craig and Jotepbine were both tired. The latter was also dazed with her long discusa:on on the rocks in the blinding sunlight. Bodewin, she thought, must be of the salamander-species, since he was so sluggish in the shade and woke to to sush % burst of argnmentive energy in the glare of the sun. He ate little and talked leas, relapsing into the background of conv rsation, as his wont was when it b e came general. (To be continued.)