Repaid by Love.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVII, Issue 8180, 13 August 1906, Page 4

Repaid by Love.

Mu Villiers crossed the great open space af the Square and turned iato the street. A cutting wind met him and he buttoned hia great coat atill more closely about him. A eeople of poor, ill clad, hungry-looking children passed him, and he dived into his trainer's pocket for a stray sixpence. He anew it was there, for his cash balance had now dwindled far below the limits of arithmetical calculation. Finding it, therefore, with Tery little difficulty, he tendered it to the astonished urchins, and, mumbling something about "buns" and "cakes," hurried off as though the police were on his track.

"Poor little tools I "he muttered. "It's rough enough foi a man, but it's worse lor kids!"

He walked on a few paosi, and a smile—half sad, halt humorous—crossed his handsome, thoughtful face. 3e turned into a refreshment room, and taking a seat at one of the tables, ordered an exceedingly modest tea. He was roused from his reverie by the •pund of voices at the adjoining table. For the first time since he hod entered, he became aware of the presence of the girl whose eyes bad more than once been attracted to his face. She was in obvionsembarrassment now, though Villiers was as yet ignorant of its cause, and a waitress was Btanding at her side. The girl was fumbling nervously in her pocket, and a very slender purse lay on the table before her. There was a look of unbelief on the face of the waitress, which the girl was not slow to notice. Her embarrassment increased each instant, and a look of utter hopelessness crept into her face as her search revealed nothing. "I had a sovereign in my purse," she said feebly. " I can't think what has become of it. Oh, dear, I hope I haven't lost it, for I haven't enough change to pay you." The waitress preserved an uncompromising silence, and the girl grtw more and mora nervous.

" Oh, what shall I do I " she said, almost erying.O)

" Perhaps you might leave something instead, until you can get the money," suggested the waitress. "If a lady forgets her money, she sometimes leaves her watch or ring, and sends for it later on." The girl shook her head. " I have neither," she said, and the waiter sniffed significantly. "Poor little thing I" he said :o himself. "But what can Ido ? It wasn't so difficult with the kids, but a sovereign is different. And then there's Mrs. Jinks 1" Again ho looked at the poor, troubled face of the girl, and he ground his teeth. "Confound Mrs. Jinks I" he muttered to himself.

Secretly extracting his lust golden coin from its receptacle, he stooped sudden!;, noisily jerking the table as he did so. A moment later lie rose and extended his hnnd to the girl at the adjoining table. Between the finger and thumb was a sovereign. " Is this what joa lost ? " he asked steadily. "It was on the floor." A rich flush suffused the girl's face as she lo3e from her seat.

"Oh, thank yon I " she said gratefully. " It must hare dropped out of my purse." A few moments later and she was gone, and Max, agiin lightening his pocket by the sum of sixpence, went out into the street and tnmed down a side street in the direction of the Embankment.

" An expensive onting," he said comically as he mounted the narrow stairs to his attic.

Mrs. Jinks, hearing him enter, came out of her sitting-room to meet him. "Two letters for you, Bir," she said, and looked at him significantly. " I 'ope as 'ow it's good noos, sir, for your bill's arunnin' up and I'm only a poor widder sir, and money's shocking tight, and the butcher he do say "

She stopped. Mai Villiers had torn open one of the cnrelopes and the pink flush of a cheque caught her watchful eye. She hastened to ar-ologise. 14 I'm sure I means no offence, sir. ll

" I know, I know,'.' said Max hastily. Mrs. Jinks retreated with a satisfied sigh, and Max, left to himself, tore open the second envelope. One glance and the color leaps to his face and his eye brightened. "Ah," he said, "it's come at kstl Messrs. Caxton and Wall present their compliments to Mr. Villiers, and request the favour of an early interview in order to trrange preliminaries regarding the publication of the novel now in their hands. Both the partners will bo in tomorrow morning, if that will suit Mr. Villiers' convenienco."

A second book had jnst been published, ind the avidity with which it was already Ving read promised well for its success. The old-time poverty was almost forgotten. It was early autumn, and he had accepted the invitation of a wealthy book lover to ipend a few weeks at his estate in Kutland<hire. lie had to catch a local train at n ilc-py country junction, and he was directed to take his seat in the front part of the train. lie settled himself comfortably in a corner of the compartment, and waited for the train to start. Presently he heard the voice of the guard.

'/Front of the train, Miss. This way niease ! "

There were footsteps on the platform, and, a moment later, the guard flung open the door of his compartment, and a young lady, pretty and well dressed, entered. She started at sight of Mai Villiers, but took her seat with apparent unconcrn. " Straight through forMagden Park," said the guard as he slammed the door.

He was going to Magden Park. As soon as the train moved out of the station, ?'.:> picked up a book she had brought with her, and, opening it half-way. began to read. There was a light in Max Villiers' eyes as be recognise! it as his own recent production. The girl wis deep in her book, and Max Vitlier's thoughts were divided between fan newspaper and various speculations as to 1)13 fair companion's opinion of his own work.

A fortnight had slipped by, and most of the guesu in the big modem mansion ei Magden Park had taken their departure. Nearly two years had sped by since Max Villiers' first bnok had taken the world by itorm, and its author found himself famous. Max Villiers and his fair travelling companion of two jhort weeks ago were among the few that stiil remained, and more than one was heard to whisper a prediction concerning them regarding their fnture relationship. And there was, in truth, ample reason for such predictions. For the first time in his life, Max Villiers had yielded to an attraction so potent that it subjugated every other consideration. He wta in love, and he fully realized it. He had by this time learned who she was. It bad dropped out, piece by piece, in their frequent conversations of late, and Max felt a growing sympathy with the girl whose early life had so nearly resembled his own. She was an artist, but until the last two years success had eluded her. And then the torn o( the tide had come, and she, like himself, had taken it at the flood. Steadily but surely she mounted the ladder of fame and now stood not far from the topmost rung. One brilliant masterpiece—a conception of great originality and power—had effected the change, and now her progress was easy and her name well known as one of the greatest living lady artists. And then Max told her his own story, so like hers that it seemed almost repetition. And now ttiey, too, were about to bid farewell to the lovely Rutlandshire scenery. But before they went away, Max Villiers was determined to know his fate. They had wandered out into the great shady park, and were sitting in a little arbor hidden away

Dsne&th the laß old elms. There was a ourions note in the man's voice that made the girl look quickly up into his face. Then, with a soft pink blush on her cheeks, she turned away her head, for she had read hi« purpose. "Miss Tempest," he began. "I have something to say to you which may surprise yon, but which I cannot put off any longer. In three words—l love you." He paused. The girl's eyes were on the ground. But she was not angry, he could see that, bo he proceeded: " True, it is only a fortnight since I first met you in the train on your way hero but love is not slow to grow when once the **« d Is sown." He stopped and looked down at tho averted face of the girl at his side She took out her purse, and from an inner compartment, drew out a sovereign. She looked at it for a moment, and then handed it to him. "I think I owe you this," she said shyly. "Let me discharge the debt before we talk further." Max Villiers was bewildered. His faoa flushed, and he rose from his seat. But Blanch rose also, and stood facing him, the gold coin still in her hand. "I don't understand," Max faltered at last. "You—you owe me nothing. How could you 1 I have never lent you anything." "It was nearly two years ago," said the girl steadily. "You and I were in a refreshment room, and we were both poor. I had lost a sovereign, or I thought I had, and you pretended to piok it up. No one knows now grateful I felt to you, for that was my last sovereign. But when I got home I found my sovereign in the lining of my dress, and then I understood. I tried to' find you, in order to return it to you, for—for—l thought you might need it as much as I. But I couldn't. And it was only when I saw you in the train two short weeks ago that I recognized you. But you were prosperous then, and so I waited." Max Villiers looked at the proffered sove reign in evident embarrassment. There was a long pause, and then their eyes met. A great joy leapt into Villiers' heart, and he grew bolder than before. "What about the interest?" he asked, taking the little hand, sovereign and all, into hi* strong grasp. "It accumulates in two years, you know." " How much do you demand?" she asked, archly. " The biggest I can get," he said. " Simple or compound ? " inquired the girl. " A better than either," was the answer. "And what interest may that be?" she asked again. " Human interest," he said promptly. " I am a novelist, you know, and the demand is therefore appropriate." They both laughed and looked deep into each other's eyes. Then Max Villiers drew the girl into his embrace and took the first kiss of love from those ripe, sweet lips. For a moment or two they stood thus in silence —his arms about her waist, her head resting on his shoulder.