CHAPTER X.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 91, 28 February 1885, Page 4

CHAPTER X.

A LEAF FROM THE PAST. " You will not com pass your poor ends, not you. '' E. B. Browxing. Without an eerie wind was rising. Within, for hours, there had been no sound. The wax-lights on the mirrored cherry sideboard sputtered down in their silver sconces. The curacoa bottle was empty. And still J arne? Vernell pat at the head of the deserted table, twirling his gtacs. anJ gazing into space with half-stupid but exultant eyes. He was safe. For the first time he felt secure. Jonas had got all he wanted. He wouldn't break his word. Hia last words had been : "It's all right, Vernell. Vella's kiss will seal my lips forever." Memory's shallop once fairly launched, it drifted back — back. Back to the days when he and Will had been lads together. .Several years his junior was Will, and a wild, hand some, big-hearted, devil-may-care boy, who one fine morning ran away to sea. Soon afterward an orphan cousdn sought the shelter of the old homestead— a gentle, sweet-faced, low voiced girl, with a smile like sudden sunshine. Straightway he bfc.d fallen in love with her, but she was yet " too young for a dre-im or thought " of such things, so he said no word. Five years passed. Now it was his courage which failed him. One day as abruptly and unceremoniously an he had left, Will came home —a bright breezy, inspiriting presence. And with hta coming they all foi esaw just what would and did happen. When he spoke, it was too late. They were married, and went back to WiU'n adopted land, Australia. There the following year the children had been born. ' "What shall we call them?" Will had questioned. And Muriel, who, like most women, had in her composition a good deal of sentiment, and a shade of supernticion, bad answered : " There is an old East Indian legend I once read which avows that good fortune waits on twins who bear the names of Voyle and Vella. In c-iee of threatened evil to one, the love of the other is sure to avert disaster."

Will had shaken his head dissentingly, pondered, and acquiesced. • ' I had thought, of a iving them our names, j These are very fantastic." ' •' I hat is why I want them. I think ifc is< , shameful to brand a poor baby with an unlovely name when lovely ones are just as get-atabb." He had laughed at the coined word. "As you will, lictlo woman. They allitei*ate nicely with Vernell, anyhow." And that had settled it. Will had made money in Australia hand over fist. Two years later he came back to New N ork and erected a magnificent home. But, with their occupation of it, en unin« vited guest also took up his residence therein—fever. Muriel died. From the day of her death Will was a changed man. Ho lost strength and vitality. The doctors gave his disease a learned name. It served the purpose a« well as a-iy ot hor. Loneliness, or ht-a-t hunger, would have been more ac cuoite, if displaying less erudition. Five year* later both wero ended. Before his death he sent for his brother, and to his care confided the little ones, with a full and explicit statoraent of his affairs, financial and otherwise. He had been a poor man the day he had received the telegram, ''William Vernell is dying." A few months later in Chicago — where directly no questions are asked he built a palace and installed hissister Dorothy a little old maid, older even than he — therein. Ten years went by. In that time he had prospered beyond h ; s highest hopes. His speculations were one marvellous round of successes. He came to be known as "the lucky colonel." All he touched turned to gold. But one day— : ju!-t six months ago it was— Jonas Clatlm called. He had ju«*t re turned from Australia. He coolly locked the library door, sat down facing trie colonel, and deliberately sot himself to ask the latter some very diiect, pertinent, embarrassing questions. And the colonel, tuken un awares, and becoming, as the saying if, "rattled," as good as verified the wellgrounded suspicions of Mr Clafiin on the spot. *' I'll make restitution if you don't expose me publicly," he had protested, fervently. " I'll give it back to them—every cent ! I'll -" j "Hold up. I don't want your money, darn it ! I've got enough of my own. As to the boy's getting any of it, I'm tio u sufficiently phi anthropic to care a continental about that. All I ask for my •nlence is the girl. If you work this racket successfully for me I'm not a good hand at that sort of thing an self — she shall never rni-s the wealth she's beet) swindled out of, and I swear I'll hold my tongue in the bar-train." It has been a long, close, hard hand to hand comb.it that which followed. But he h;id won. It wa<; over now— d me with. He would quake no more at a girl's caprice, for fear it should incur destructive wrath. No mote. Vella was Mrs Jona* OLiflin now, and he — he felt as light, free, invigorated as a man released from corporeal thraldom Now he would be/in to enjoy lie; he v\as giving too much time to mere muneyg tring. Hid he not already a- 5 much as — without extraordinary recklessness— he could spend in the rest of h's days ? He would not only enjoy life, but he would en % py it briliamly. He would dazzle Chicago. He would build a private art gallery. He would purchase fast horses. No team on the boulevards should beat his— no, sir ! And he would —yes, by jingo !he would get married. The thought fairly took his breath away. But why fhouldn't he? Was he to live alone all hU life because of a memory a -hadow? No! he would marry, and he would marry Mrs Cham. Who «?lse would preside over hi* house with such dash and di-tinction? He admired mature beauty, wit, impressivene^s, lack of qaucherie and he was sure she had a sneaking penchant for him yet. She had h. lped him out b'avely, too, in this ri-ky business. In very gratitude he ought to marry her \ The wind without grew louder, keener, but he never heard, heeded it. Yes, he told himself again, he was a happy man, above want, above suspicion, i without fear. iJo yo wonder he sat there lost in reverie, fingeiing his gla^s and smiling ? Smile on, dream on ! Chough no remorse for the death-bed promise made your brother wring your soul — though no regret for the wrmg done an orphan child touch your har lened hfa-'t— though you justify all y.»ur deeds with the endless hate you have borne for eighteen years the brother you played and prayed with and the woman you loved — though Neme-is shows not his awful fa~e, and Hope tnlds out to you her brightest apples— beware ! for the beauty you grasp is ruin ! the sunshine you stretch your arms to, death— all, in Christ's supreme justice, retribution !