HIS FATHER'S SON.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 59, 1 June 1907, Page 4

HIS FATHER'S SON.

It was just at the head of the stall's at the. opera house that I met her. She had observed me mounting them, and same forward to greet me. So, when I reached the last stair, I came suddenly lull upon her, standing there with outstretched hand. "You?" she breathed. "Yes," I answered, and took her hands !in mine. For a moment we stood looking at each other in silence. Then she spoke and this time there was a light note in her voice. -They have been kinu to you these years," she said; "but you are older." "And you," I replied, "but, nevertheless, more beautiful."

It was true. Even now as she smiled and bowed mockingly X saw that her face Juid a tender graeiousness and her eves a steady, level gaze tliat they lacked before. .She was only a girl then, and now she was a woman. I liked the woman better.

"Conic to my box," she saidj "there are so many things to talk of."

"ft is impossible," V answered regretfully. "As it happens there is a big political battle coming on, and I am here to interview the Prime Minister. Afterwards I shall have to hurry away."

•She smiled at me with that quaint smile of hers. How well I remembered it! it always seemed to be a mixture of mocking and admiration. .••It is my trade," I replied j "the newspaper man is like a soldier." "But," she interrupted, "sometimes the. soldier has peace." "I know," I said; 'but for us there is no such thing. Our enemy must always be watched. It was for that reason, you remember, that I went to India."

"Yes," she sighed, "I remember." Her face had grown grave at the mention of India. It had summoned to her brain, no doubt, the memory of that tragic night there in which both she and I had been actors. Neither of us would forget that, i knew, and 1 felt sure ihat her heart had never been, never could be, again so light as it had been before. She was .Marion Vnughan in those days, a bright, high.spirited girl of twenty. With her uncle she was making a tour of the world, and they reached India when the hill tribes were beginning to be troublesome. Her uncle joined a company that was to go on an expedition against the marauders, leaving Marion in the care of Colonel Eustace' who was in charge of the garrison. It was not a safe thing to do. There was a hostile force almost on the outskirts of the town. Every night the .faulries exchanged shots with them. From the window of the Colonel's hut she could see their camp lives. At any moment they might make an assault, and yliilo this was not to be feared, as the garrison could defend itself, such an attaek creates sights that are not good for women to look upon. After the skirmishing party had left, the enemy, knowing the garrison to be weaker, became bolder in their attempts. The Colonel grew apprehensive, and sent for reinforcements. On their arrival he intended to drive the enemy back. Ordinarily, the plans for this attack would have occupied the minds of the garrison to the exclusion of everything else; but now it did not. They had a far more interesting thing to watch. Itwas the duel of Lieutenant Waviierjand Lieutenant Eustace (who was the Colonel's son) for the love of Marion Vaughhan.

'The duel was all the more interesting, I think, because Warner anil Eustace were the only young officers there. Indeed, except for Major Black and the Colonel, they were the only officers there.

But .Miss Yaughan was not a girl whose heart could be easily won. She was wilful, capricious, wayward. Whether she favored either one or the other, no one could tell. There were times when Warner seemed to have worn and then suddenly all her smiles were given to Eustace. We who watched were as much in tjje dark as the lovers. I Then came the tragic night.

it \ias a warm, sultry night—a night without a breath of wind and as black as death, for (here was no moon and (lie hot brilliant stars breathed' fire but no light. With my cigar 1 had wandered out towards the outposts. My newspaper had sent me up into the country to investigate some alleged frauds in certain (lovcrnmcnt concessions, but the unsettled conditions had prevented my doing so. and had forced me to remain in the town.

1 was fretting over my involuntary idleness as I moved about when suddenly I slopped, transfixed with horror. My wanderings bad led me towards the stream from which we obtained our water, and now J was walking directly in its bed with dry feet. It hud eoascd (o (low!

The knowledge of our peril clutched me with a terrible nausea, and 1 trembled like a man with fever. At length, with a great effort, I pulled myself together and began to think. It seemed certain that what had happened was that some loga carried down by (he spring Hoods had jambod together in the curve between our camp

and (lie enemy's—hut closer to I heir's—and had formed an effective dam. That the enemy had done it seemed impossible. Hud they contemplated such a plan they would have tried it before now. Tail in the morning they would find (he dam and strengthen it. and we would bo utterly without water. Our reinforcements could not come for at least five days: until then an attack would mean annihilation—and live days without water, even one, in that horrible burning I turned and ran for (he Ceneral's ; quarters, ran blindly in a mad panic. Several timse T tripped upon the uiulcrI growth and fell. One sharp rock cut my

: face. When at length'l readied tho barracks my clothes were muddy and I torn and my face covered with blood. The orderly on duty before the door) | stared at me. Without a word I thrust, him aside and strode into the Colonel's presence. I

He was seated at the table where he had dined. The dinner tilings had been cleaved away, but the cloth was still laid, and shone brightly beneath the pleasant lamp. The Colonel and Major lilacl; were at the the table drinking their after-dinner glass of wine. It would have been hard i to find two men more dissimilar. Colonel Eustace was tall and slender, with a grave milliner and a gentle, curtly air; Major Black was sbort and stocky, gruff, blunt and forceful. Both had grown

grey in service. They looked up quickly as I burst in upon lhen>, and in each case their attitude was characteristic. Major Black merely raised bis eyebrows in interrogation; Colonel Eustace" rose with his habitual courtesy. ' "Mr Lawrence," he begun; but I cut him short by launching into my story. I told it. together with my surmises, in the few words that they who have traffic with editors know bow to employ. Silently they heard me to (lie end. When I bud done, (hey turned towards each other. It was the first time they had moved. Both had seen a good deal of active service. The bravery of each was proverbial, and stories illustrating this were upon the tongue of every man who followed them. If I had ever doubted them, I could doubt them no longer, for in the calmness of their attitude there was a very great courage. Neither of them changed color or was shaken, yet the gravity of their gaze showed that they knew and understood their danger.

It was tlio Colonel who spoke first. "Well?" he asked simply and quietly. It was as though he was speaking of some trifling mutter. Major Black pushed the table from him with a quick gesture and rose. "We must break the thing now—tonight," he said; and he, too, spoke without emotion.

"Vis," agreed the Colonel, "to-night.'' , His thoughtful gaze wandered from the other to the wineglass he was slowly [twisting in his finger*. "But how*" "Dynamite," replied Major Black. He took a cigar from his pocket and cut off the end with infinite care. Then he added: "We must send someone up there to blow it up." Colonel Eustace nodded to him.

"That is the only way," he said. I "Whoever goes," Major Black continued, "must go alone. Two dr more men are certain to be discovered. The chances are that even one will be. But we must take that chance."

•'•You are light," the Colonel agreed. "One man must go alone—alone," he added slowly and almost under his breath, "to certain death, even though he save the rest of us." "Yes," put in the Major, "it i3_almos_t_ go." "An ollicer!" he exclaimed in a voice that had changed greatly. Even though it was low, there ran through it a thrill of terror.

""Yes," replied Black inexorably, "an ollicer. The risk is too great, the result tun momentous, to be entrusted to a private." A pause followed his words, while the two men stared into one another's eyes. There was a tierce battle going on between them though for what I did not iniderstaii I. The Major won. Slowly before his steady gaze the Colonel bowed his head, until at last his chin sank on his breast. Then he spoke, but in so low a voice tint I could scarcely hear.

"1 will call for volunteers from among the officers." hj« mumbled.

I ■ Black stepped forward and laid his j hand on the other's shoulder. There was an odd suggestion of tenderness in Ihe gesture— the sudden sympathy of one not given to sympathising. "There are only two officers who can go," he said, and his voice seemed le.-s harsh .hail usual. "Yon and I are 100 old. It lies between Warner and your son, and both would volunteer. K„, even then you would still have to choose."

At his winds Colonel Eustace raised his face quickly and looked at him, and (here was upon his faee such a look as I.hope 1 shall never see again—a hunted look that was full of pain and torture. The Colonel must choose one of the two" men to go upon a mission that meant almost certain death, and one of those men was his son—his only son. His honor directed that his choice fall upon his son. Then was no recourse from that, and he was all that the Colonel had in the world—the only one he had loved in life who remained to comfort his old age. It was pitiful to watch the man as he saw this and understood. The fine old face behind the white military moustache grew grey and wrinkled and shrivelled. The eyes lost their brightness and were dull and blank. The fine, firm mouth weakened and drooped al the edges. He tried desperately to moisten his lips with wine, but the hand that raised the glass shook until its contents were spoilt, upon the spotless cloth, dying il a brilliant carmine. 1 saw Major Black suddenly lorn away and walk to the window where he stood looking out. T knew the thought in his mind: He was afraid that Colonel Kustaee would forget his honor and choose l.ieufeuant Warner. For before our very eyes we had seen him, a strong man (urn into a senile wreck—a hero become a coward.

The sight was more than I could bear. I turned from Idm; but even as I did so I started back, and a cry escaped my lips. Behind where lie sat the curtains which separated a further room had been drawn aside, and I saw .Marion Vaughau and Lieutenant Warner. They bad heard every word tli.it had been spoken.

In the tenseness of the moment no one heard my cry or noticed my involuntary gesture. Tl en t saw (hat the girl's face was white and set, while with parted lips and staring eyes she waited to hear (he Colonel's choice. dust behind her stood Winner, bis eyes on her face, lie would surely find out now if she levied him or no. If (ho choice should fall upon the man she loved

"I will send- "he began in a queer voice that cracked and wavered, and then he paused. It was horrible, that pause. Oh, how 1 prayed that he would conquer the disgrace that tempted!

"I will send "he began again, this time in a fumer tone; but before lie '.'ould finish Marion gave a short little sigh and fell fainting to the door. Warner understood the swoon as [ did—she loved Harry Eustace. With one bound he stood in the centre of the room.

"Colonel," be cried in a vingiiv" voice. "f have heard everything, and 1 ask that you give mo the commission!" T saw the Colonel raise bis face in the dazed way of one who finds hope when he believes there is none; I saw the color come into his cheeks and the light into his eyes; I saw him stagger to his feet and go towards Warner with outstretched hands; and then I knelt by the unconscious girl. Presently Warner joined me. Colonel Kuslaee and Major Mack had gone to prepare for his undertaking. They had left, him just behind to say good-bye, •lust as he stooped over her she opened her eyes.

"Dick.'" she breathed happily. I "It's all right, Marion," he answered, "Tho Colonel has accepted me. Harry will be safe."

j The happiness fled from her face, and in its place came fear. a "You—you volunteered to save Harry for mo!" she said. "Oh, it is you I love! It was because I thought he had chosen you that I fainted." "Oh, Godl" he cried softly under his breath.

iSlie flung her arms about his neck, holding him close to her, while she cried wildly; "You must not go! Oh, Dick, you must not go!" "Hush!" he whispered quietly. "There is no other way—now." Then he strained her to his breast. And even while they remained thus Harry Eustace entered the room. He must have known of what Wnrncr was to do before he entered the room, and now a glance told liiin the rest. He stopped still and his face went white. Warner henrd Win enter, and raised his head. "Harry," he said, "I am going perhaps to my death. If Ido not como back will ynu take care of her?"

''Yes," answered the other, and stepped forward. Wilhtmt another word Warner laid her —she had fainted again and was passive—into his arms. For a moment he stood looking down into her white face. Then, stooping down, be kissed, not the lips now, but the forehead, and, whispering softly "Good-bye, sweetheart!"

turned and went quickly from the room. When Harry and I had restored her once more to consciousness, and we three had joined the others at the outposts, he had gone. In the black silence of the night we stood about and waited. Then suddenly there came a flash,>a roar, and the murmur of many waters, die had saved us! But for himself? The

flash of flame that shot jaggedly up towards the skies showed us to him as he ran for outposts and safety. Then came sharp, cutting cracks of rifles and the soft patter of bullets.

The explosion has set fire to some timber, and all at once it burst into a blaze

that made the night as bright as day. It showed us to him, a long way off, but coming fast, but it showed him to the enemy, too. The bullets came thicker and faster. At last we saw him stumble and fall forward upon his face. Then bo lay quite still. All about him we could see the dust fly as the bullelts struck the earth.

Marion reeled as she saw this, and would have fallen if I had not caught her. And as I held in my arms Harry leant over her.

"1 love you Marion," he said, "and you love him; so I will bring him back tp you." Careless of bullets that sang about his head, he went steadily on till lie reached the dead man's side and had take 1 him .injjjs arms. Then he turned and started towards us. the brilliant "fire, which left the backiground of the tropical foliage darker an* blacker before, carrying hui friend to safely at the cost of his own lift—it would surely cost him that! That awful rain of bullets poured thicker and thicker about his head, and several times we saw him sway and swagger, and knew that he had been hit. But lie came steadily on—came on until he laid his friend, not wounded, but only bruised and senseless from the fall, at the feet of the woman he loved, I Then he pitched forward across him— I dead! I

As he did so the Colonel gave a great cry and stumbled forward.

Major JJlacl; caught him in his arms. "You should not grieve, lml lie proud," I hoard him say; "ho was his fathers son.'' And it was of that night I was thinkin;; an F stood there in th-.it jostling throng. If all came hack again. Suddenly 1 dropped her hand, and as I did so I knew that that net brought her hack from the same memory. '■Your husbandr" [ asked. "He h coming towards us now," she said. t tinned and looked behind me. Captain Warner—he was lieutenant no longer—was working his way through (lie crowd to where we stood, and upon his arm leant Colonel Kustaee—he was old and feeble now, but a look of calmer contentment on his face.

Suddenly he raised his head, and his eyes met llrs Warner's, and then I knew. ]f he had lost much, he had surely found much too, for in the eyes of the woman who stood beside me there was such a wealth of tenderness as many men whose lives are lonely as my own is can never hope to see.—Walter Hackctt in The Rapid.