Literature.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVI, Issue 230, 3 October 1904, Page 4

Literature.

THAT PURPLE TIE. Young Mr. ami Mrs. Courtenay ,were not on speaking terms. That is to say, when they aid address each other—which was as seldom as posl- - " accent'- was simply perfect, grammar absolutely irreproachable, and manner—well, " arctic regions '' would give one some mtnt idea of the state of affairs between tlie two. Prom the earliest stages of their acquaintance they had always been fond of " sparring " bui as Airs. Courtenay was beginning to admit dismally to herself, they had never l.ad a " spar " like this before. '• And all about such utter nonsen&e, too," the little woman murmured ruefully, as she recalled the last, and most ' frozen " speech of her lord and master. " But I don't care " forgetting at the present moment her dainty little nose and reddened eyelids ibore unmistakable testimony to her flagrant disregard of truth. •■' 1 was perfectly right " <she always was!). "He ought not to wear a bright purple tie with a com-

plexion like, his." Yes, that was the root of the matter—that purple tie. Oh, and how it had api>eared since then, on every possible occasion, save when the regulation white was necessary, until Mrs. Courtehay told herself that she would never wear a scrap of purple again, ulthough ?'.*.<■ knew perfectly well how much it «....iianced her fair dainty colouring. Courtenay had risen that morning witih, a liver,. or a head or something, and Mrs. Courtenay's remark at the breakfast table had been the last straw, so to Speak. A spirited argument ensued, which ended with Mrs. Courtenay's temper rising to the occasion, and a brilliant passage of arms was the result. Later in the day the little woman made several futile attempts to sooth Courtenay's evideatally wounded feelings; but either the liver, or the head, or the somethjing intervened, and at last she told herself that she would leave him to come round his! own way. This, was four whole days ago, and it would be difficult to say which of the two was most miserable. Mrs Courtenay had a troubled consciousness of several very sarcastic remarks on her parf.while Courtenay could not forget the shy little " olive branches,' 1

"wMch he had refused to take. Burns * was seldom more true when l , in his leck'oning up od " human bodies " he finishes his lines with— When nae real ills perplex them, They make- enow themselves to vex them."

But Mrs. Courtenay had a " real ill," as it happened, as she 3tood thinking things out—Somewhat uneasily it must be confessed—while waiting for the horses to be brought round. " You may tell Barnes to saddle Viven for me," sh* had said to James as he. stood awaiting his orders! for the" day.

" Pardon me," broke in Courtenay freezingly, and with an, unmistakably resolute expression on his clean-cut handsome face. ''/ 1 am riding Vixen toHday." Then turatag to James, •" Bring Daisy Bell round for Mrs Fane."

Now Vixen was a recent addition to the stables, bought with an idea ot .being absolutely Mrs. Courtenay's own private property, for the two were devoted to hunting, and always followed .thehounda B t every available opportunity. However, upon closer acquaintance.she proved oltogeuhen too much for her young mistress to manage ; in fact, was quite vicious and anything but safe. Courtenav had decided • therefore that she must he sold a t the very earnest opportunity, and in the -meantime they must not 'tempt'fate by making use of her. Mrs. Courtenay's order to James, gibeu in. distinct defiance to this ar-

rangement, proceeded in some indefinable 'manner best known to herself form an overdose of purple tie. There it was again at breakfast time, and more,briUiant than ever, it seemed to her. '-'He must have bought another," she thought, " for I'm sure it's three shades brighter this morning. Then, again, he '-' didn't care for any eggs—the bacon was abominably over done~4he coffee was cold "—in fact everything was wrong Ibiit presumably the purple tie. In an access of

righteous indignation, and with a burning desire to avenge herself, Mrs. Courtenay launched her little bombshell, only to be met with Courtenay's crushing rejoinder. She dare not question it, (or that look on his face, which she had only seen once or twice durjjlg.*, their brief married life, told her that he meant in this to have Ms own way. As she stood at the <<rfriudow, in her neat, trim riding habit, she looked the picture of lovely mutinous discontent, but the tears were not very far away. She could not help thinking of Courtenay's remark when he had decided that the mare must be sold.

"I wouldn't ride her myself, darling, much less allow you to do su. Do you think I will have any needless risks for you ? " "Vixen will be a handful this morning, Barnes," she heard her husband say in his cheery way. " That she will, sir," returned the man. " I don't think I would risk it if I was you. Let meg 0 and saddle Firefly ; there's plenty of time " " No, we'll leave it as it is," was Courtenay's answer. " She'll be all raght once we get away." Then, " tell your mistress the horses are round,"

As Mrs. Courtenay made her way down the wide staircase a feeling of sick terror came over her. What if Vixen were to prove too much for her

master. Fearless horsewoman though she herself was, thera was something l in the brute's appearance that mode her more than regret her hasty order to Jamas.

" It's all my fault," she thought miserably. " I knew he didn't want me to ride Vixen, and he'B only taken her himsell, so that I shall be safe." As Courtenay stooft by, ready to help her to mount—a labour of love which he always performed himself—

she noticed the offending purple tie was no longer visible, had been replaced by a blue one—the exact colour of his eyes, as she had once told him

with ait) admiring kiss. That did it. I Putting her pride on one side, she laid her hand cares ingly on his arm. '■ '•'- Don't ride Vixen this morning, Cotirtenay ; she doesn't look safe. There's plenty of time to have Firefly round," she said entreatingly. " Pshaw ; I sliall be all right. Don't you worry little woman," with one of his old admiring glances, as' she settled herself in the saddle. But' Mrs. Courtenay doubted it, as she noticed the difficulty he had to get Vixen well in hand. However, they were off at last, and once out in the open country Mrs.Courtenay's doubts and fears were blown to the winds. Then came the short chats with her different friends, and when the " Ta,-ly-ho " was eventually sounded, and they were really upon the scent, everything was merged into the delightful excitation of the hunt. On they rushed over hedges and ditches, through the pure spring air, until Mrs. Courtenay was only conscious of one feeling : What a glorious thingit was to be alive. At last came the most " trickish " bit in the whole run. As Daisy Dell rose grandly to hjfer young ■ mistress's " Now, then, my beauty," the little woman was conscious of a feeling of relief when the hedge was passed safely, and the sharp, jagged drop at the other side was cleared in the animal's safe plodding way. She was settling herseli' in her saddle with a determined resolution to be in at the death, when she heard a sharp crashing sound behind her, and, turning her head, saw wivh, a feeling of horror impossible to describe, that Vixen had failed her muster, just at the most critical moment.

The poor beast had caught her hind | legs in the hedge, and although she made a gallant attempt to right herself, it was all in va'in, and she rolled over and over, paying for her morning's perversity and bad temper by a broken back. And, Courtenay— With trembling limbs whicti could hardly support her, Mrs. Courtenay dismounted and crossed over to where

iie was lying, so still, so motionless, that she was almost afraid to lay her hand upon his heart, to see if life still remained with Mm. Yes, there was an answering beat, and with a sob of relief, she raisen his head upon her lap, crying as she loosened the fastenings from about his throat: "Uh, my darling, niy darling, I'll never forgive myself. It is- a>U my fault—«ll uiy fault." As though her voice reached him even in his uncoasciousness, he stirred uneasily, murmuring : "I'm all right, Gladys," drifting away even as he spoke into that mysterious land which is so near unto death.

But help was at hand. The thud of hoofs sounded in the distance, drawing gradually nearer and nearer, and in a lew minutes temder hands were busy rendering willing assistance where it was so sorely needed. With as little delay as possible a doctor pas summoned, and the still unconscious man was conveyed to a neighbouring farm-house, where lor days he lay and fought his grim battle with death. Concussion of the brain. Dr. Henderson pronounced it, but Court,e--nay'B splendid constitution and physique eventually won the day, and, at last, when his wife was worn almost to a shadow, by her assiduous attentions and remorseful upbraidings he opened his eyes with the full light of reason in them, and, seeing her there, put out his hands in a weak uncertain fashion. She held them in a warm, firm clasp for a moment or two, and as she l a id her fuee against his, he sank into a calm dreamless sleep, which told her that all danger was happily past.

After that his recovery was rapid, and one bright morning be was given permission to leave his room. It happened to be his birthday, and after a painfully slow journey downstairs, which reminded him he was not quite as strong as he thought, he settled himsslf, with nisi wile's assistance, as comfortably as possible, upon the breakfast-room sofa. He also found himself reminded of the fact that he was entering upon another year of his life by various letters and momeutoes placed upon the little table close 1 at hand. Languidly examining them in turn, he came at last to a long, narrow cardboard box, with no address whatever, and, upon opening it, found to his astonishment a dozen vivid purple ties. "Why—why, what's this," he began, and then a glance at his wife's crimsoning face told him who was the donor.

"Gladys, why have you given me these ?" he asked tenderly, as he held out his arms towards her. "Because—because I want you to wear them," she stammered shyly,as she nestled closely to him contentedly enough, for a most perfect peace l and understanding had reigned be-! tween them ever since lie had opened | his eyes to find her pale unxious lace watching for his return to conscious-1 ness.

"I shall novcr do that, my darling," he answered, kissing her as he spoke, "but I will keep them for always, they will serve to remind me of my beast of a temper." "And also of my love for you," broke in his wife, softly raising an April face, half-smiles—half-tears, but wholly happy. "Courtenay, we won't quarrel ever again, will wo ?" "No, sweetheart. Life is too short to spoil it by needless tiffs and quarrels'—thinking as he spoke of the illness which had so nearly parted them. "Yes, Courtenay," answered the little woman brightly. "We'll agree to differ, shall we?" And they did.