CHAPTER IV. Until.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 330, 2 January 1889, Page 4

CHAPTER IV. Until.

Winter, came, and the world of field and meadow lay shrouded in the broad snowmantle of the grim old king. But beneath, the big brave heart of Mother Earth beat; warm, and full, and strong. Christines came, and countless human hearts beat tb" warmer for his coming — moatly very young and innocent hearts these ; but there \ver» others, old and careworn, Borne ev«m bruised and broken, but tender and loving still, and these beat with a joy purer and nobler than even youth ahd innocence could know. This year, however, to old and young alike, Christmas Eve, for » few short hours, everything sparkled, and glittered, and glanced, and danced, in brilliant sunshine. And when the sunshine had given place to frost and darkness, there were were there myriad stars overhead which sparkled, and glanced — ay and danced, too ; while, throughout the length and breadth of the land, countless Christmas fires were gleaming, some in the palaces, some in the humblest of humble homes ; but on the hearth of prince and peasant alike the ruddy flames leaped and laughed aa only Christinas fires can. Our young folks had gone off in a body to put the last touch to their church decorations, leaving Mr Carruthers and Winifred to finish what was needed in the old hall at Caryton, where Falconers had been invited to spend Christmas Eve. Sud- , denly Mrs Carruthers u6tered an exclamation of dismay ;

' Theie now ! 1 had all but forgotten my promise to go and see Mary Simpson's baby this evening. You won't mind my running away For half an hour V * But can't I go for you ? I'm not' a bib tired, and you havejbeen on your feet; all day.' * For that matter, so have you, my dear, so I shan't even ask you to come with me.' 'Is the baby very ill Y 4 Nothing the matter with it but teething ; still, if it's any comfort to the mother, I'll go and look at it ;' and the kind-hearted little woman hurried off on her charitable errand, leaving Winifred, book in hand, cosily ensconced in the big oak settle which stood by the hall fire. Presently a small sido door, leading in from the garden, opened softly and admitted a tall, sunburnt man of about forty. He advanced, however, no farther than the door, whilo his eyes (and singularly handsome they were) were fixed with u look that was half pleasure, half pain, on the figure o£ Winifred Falconer, as she sat with the soft glow of the firel'ght falling on her sweet, palo face,' and flickering in littlo golden shimmers in and out the thick twist of her smooth hair. Sho had evidently been reading, or trying to r&ad. for her hands were clasped over an open book which now lay icily in her lap, while she gazed dreamily and somewhat sadly before her. 'How like— how liko !' muttered Maurice Lynwood, and with a sigh he was about to stop out again as unperceived an ho had entered, when Miss Falconer rose to her feet, gave a sharp, short ory, and then sat down again as sudden ry (> as she had risen, while a hot; flush came into the pale face, and' an angry look into ,the eye 1 } that but a moment ago shone so softly and sadly. ' A thousand pardons, Miss Falconer ! I seom destined to incur your displeasure, bub this time nt least you must acquit me of any desire to iuti tide myself upon you.' ' There can bo no question of intrusion, Mr Lynwood. Here I am, like yourself, only an invited guest.' ' Still, if you will allow me, I should like to explain.' 4 Have 1 desired an explanation ':' ' 'No,' he returned, bitterly ; ' but you force me to desire it — to insist upon it, it need be.' She rose, and turning upon him a look of haughtiest surpii&e, was preparing to quit the hall, when, with a glance ac haughty as her own, Mr Lynwood spoke again — this time with the utmost calmness : ' Miss Falconer, I beg you will grant me the great favour of five minutes' hearing. I will not detain you a moment beyond that, time, but will then relieve you, once and for all, of my unwelcome presence. Pei mit me to offer you a seat V In fcpite of its studied courfces}', there was about the speaker's whole bearing a certain imperiousness which seemed to enforce compliance. With an impatient gesture of assent Winifred resumed her seat, while Mr Lypwood took up his position on the other tide of the hearth. 1 You are no doubt aware Miss Falconer, that I am, although an invited, still an unexpected, guest hero to-night. I had «ud that I could not come, bufc at the last moment, for reasons of which I will not now speak, 1 decided that I would return, and telegraphed to that effect. That my telegram, owing to soino blunder, has not yet arrived, T learned iiorn MibS Oairuthcis, whom 1 met ju^t outside the house. She had been detained, she told me, and was on her way to join t,hc icsL of the party in the church ; she added that I should find Mrs Cariutheis hero, and begged mo to take her by surprise, "ju^t for tun.' Thcie hasn't been much fun in the pioceedmg, he concluded with wither a bitter laugh ; ' but, at least, I thank you for permitting me to account, ioi my in tin --ion.' 'And I tepeat, Mr Lynwood, that you arc in no way accountable to me for anything you may choose to d» or to leave undone.' Mr Lynwood looked at her wiUi a cniious imile. ' And yet,' he said, in a calm, deliberate sone, ' you are the sole cau.se of my being here at all !' Winifred tat like one petrified. ' That is impossible,' flic -aid a r last in a :old haul voice. 1 ("-I) f should have paid flu fe I wins ;»<_ro . ml \f-, umi see, lam heiv. And no«, saving sa <l so'much, may 1 »a\ mote '!' *say what you pl«as»,' she returned, scornfully. • Words from some lips mean so little ; a few more or less, what can it miatter ?' There was a bitter intensity in the speaker's voice which made her hearer's dark face redden as he listened, and it was with a visible effort that he checked the biting retort that rose to bis lips. After a moment's silence he said quietly : ' I don't know whether you detest) or despise me most — any more than I knovr why you should do either.' Across Miss Falconer's pale face flashed a. look of supromesfc scorn, but she spoke ne word, and her companion went on : ' There is, however, a sort of idea that even the deadliest foes on a night like this,' pointing to tho holly-decked walls. ' may lay aside their hatred. I have n» hatred to put away, but I ask, will you on this Christmas Eve take my hand, in token of at least a truce, if not of peace and goodwill? Will you take it?' and he holdout his hand with a frank, if grave smile. * No !' she cried passionately ; ' I will no* take your hand !' I For one moment Maurice Lynwood looked utterly confounded. Then, with white set. face and wrathful eyes, he made a step towards the girl, as sho rose pale and trembling from her seat. *Go !' she cried again ; fgo and spare me the rest of this miserable farce !' * Yours is the farce, I should say, Miss Falconer : £ and. if to insult a man gratuitously and cruelly— and as only a woman dare — if to do this is a farce, then you have played your role, well indeed. And, by Heaven, I think it is time for me to play my part also !' Winifred had sank back white and breathless ; all the passion had died out of her face, and only a piteous, half-be-wildered look remained. Maurice was shocked at her too evidently real distress and agitation, and it was in a very different tone that he continued : ' There must be some terrible misapprehension here, but I can at least prove that I spoke in all sincerity when ] said you were the sole cause of my being here tonight. Will you,' he asked very gently, ' will you listen to me ?' She bowed her head. 1 Thank you,' he said ; ' I will be as brief as possible. More than ten years ago now, while staying at a friend's house, I met a young girl whom I loved, 1 think, from the first moment that my eyes' rested on her face. I was poor, however, and, being too proud to ask for a wife before I could offer a home, I determined, for a while at least, to keep silence. But the parting came, and in an unguarded moment my' secret escaped me, and then I found that she was willing to trust me and to wait. I was on the eve of starting for China, whero the senior partner of our firm had promised to find roe speedy promotion ; but, until this became a certainty, it was agreed that our engagement should remain a secret, and that meantime we should not even write to one another. My future wife should fight no battle for me single-handed and alone, so, until I could claim her boldly and openly, lire were to have faith in one another.' i,. So far Winifred., had listened quietly,

ft most apathetically; ; now ehe «lowly lift , * face wßich told of love and pride battling fiercely for the mastery. Suddenly she stretched out both hands towards the speaker, as suddenly let them fall, and then -locking them resolutely together, she turned away. Maurice Lynwood saw , neither movement ; his eyes were fixed meditatively on the fire. When he spoke •again his voice was somewhat unsteady. ' That faith was not destined to be long t tried : before I had been three months in China, my darling was beyond all human love, and I — vp,U, I never dreamed that I could love agati? nnbil this summei I met you, and I felt as> though the dead had been given back to nib, and that to win you would be to win back all that I had lost. That such a feeling was the purest folly you have taught me to-night, but that it was* a 'Crimo I have yet to learn.' After that it was for a while very still in the half darkness of the old hall. Presently there camo the sound ot a woman crying softly. Mr Lynwood started as though he had been struck ; his face flushed a dusky red, and, stepping quickly across the hearth, he stood for a second silent and erect. Then he bent his head, and, speaking very gently, said : * If 1 pain you, I am very much ashamed, and I beg your pardon.' And then, he never quite knew how ib happened, Winifred was kneeling at his feet, imploring his forgivenesp. The next moment he held hey in his arms. * I can have nothing to forgive— that is for you,' ho said. * No, no !' she cried, freeing herself from his embrace. ' You don't know — you don't know.' 'I know that I love you,' he answered, and taking both her hands, drew hey down beside him on the oak settle. 4 But not how I have wronged — cruelly wronged you in my heart. Ah, how can I tell you— how can I V He looked at her wonderingly, but, as it seemed, without any idea of her meaning. 'Maurice,' she faltered, 'it was not — not your Winifred who died ; ib was my teusin. * Not my Winifred !' he repeated mechani•ally ; * and whab are you saying about a muiui ? I don't understand ; it is Tejyg, BuipiU, of couise, but would you say it «.a again V Then, bit by bit, she told him of the orphan cousin, who was of the same age, and bore the same name as herself, and who, while on a visit to them, had died, after a few days' illness, of diphtheria. The death of this orphan cousin, Winifred went on to say, had made Mr Falconer the owner of Oaklands, where they had been living ever since. 4 And now you understand that ib was the other Winilred who died, not — not ' ' Then why— l can't understand it even now. But in Heaven's name, why did not you undeceive me ? When I met you here, what could I suppose but that you were the cousin of whom 1 had heard my dear one often speak. lie had dropped her hand, and Im voice had crown hard and stern. ' "YV hy, I ask you again, did you not undeceive me V You at least knew the truth.' 4 I thought you knew it,' &he almost whispored. 4 Thought 1 knew it !' he repeated, increduously. ' How could I know it ? The death I saw announced told me. as I supposed, only too surely what I had lost.' 'But why did you never write to ask — « to hear?" ITo whom should I have written ? Your people knew nothing, and would probably have disapproved of our engagement. Was it for me to raise an angry thought in their minds about the daughter they had lost ? A thousand times, no ! Rather would I never hear her name again than listen to one reproachful word. And so I bore my trouble in silence, and as best I might.' * And I bore mine in silence : and whose burden, think you,' cried Winifred with a passionate gesture — ' whoso burden was the heaviest to bear ? You believed me dead; bub I -I believed you false ! And, when we met, I thought you had forgotten, or worse — that you feigned forgetfulness.' 4 I have forgotten nothing in all these years— nothing, nob a word, not a look. Bub you, Winifred, how soon you lost faith !' ' Noc soon ; no, no — not soon, Maurice. For many months — years even — I hoped and loved, but no sign or answering token came, and then hope died.' 4 But only hope, Winifred — not love.' ' And love, too,' she said. 4 Love, too ; or 550 I thought until ' 'Until?' 'Until to-night.'