THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 17, 13 February 1909, Page 4

THE STORYTELLER.

joh:; seyburn's dream. ' Uli (By John Raukine.) t0 The Kasdale strike was iu its seventh A] The dispute had started over a trine, for John Seyburn was not a hard master. But there was a small proportion of foreigners in Kasdale Ironworks. These had tried hectoring methods, and John Scyburn was quite the last man on whom to try that. His back instatiily stiffened. He continued to meet dc- ' nunciation with defiance until his seven ° hundred employees struck work. " It was winter. The. poverty withra » the homes was as keen as the cold with- " out. Wives murmured. They knew ° that Buagry children looked up iuto >' their faces and went chill to bed in a ' tireless house at night. ' The stubbornness of John Scyburn j and tJie vehemence of the wifely tongue impaired the men's temper. Uue night 1 the windows of Kasdale Hall were shat- ' tered by heavy stc/nes. ] John" Seyburn's action was character- \ istic. He restored the. windows and strengthened the defences of his house, and sent word to his nephew, Ralph, in London to come down for a week-end with a host of his fashionable friends. When John Seyburn decided to entertain his nephew's friends he appealed to Lady Alston to come over and help him. Lady Alston was his nearest neighbor. From the day she came to ivessor TowefS,Vt girl bride, John Scyburn had admired her. Daughter, of oue of the noblest English families, she remahied a waou-hearted, unaffected girl, and with & true woman's intuition she had quickly penetrated externals, and looked right into the golden heart of her neighbor, the stern master of Kasdale. ■tragedy came early into her happy life. They brought her youthful hus-band-in to her from the hunting field - dead. And after the first keen sorrow had softened, what Lady Alston remembered best was the silent presence, the mute 'sympathy, of John Seyburn. She was parentless, and easily came to trust her elderly neighbor as a wise counsellor and safe confidant. And that trust had increased with the years. John Seyburn had his dreams. But they were not for himself. He knew he was the product of a hard school. He prided himself on a sense of humor that would save him from the folly of ever thinking of Lady Alston save as a charming young friend. But his nephew Ralph. He was handsome, cultured, and heir to all his uncle's wealth. Why should not Lady Alston look favorably on Halph, and so become part of John Seyburn's life and home? That was the ironmaster's dream, and eagerly he hoped for the day that would dawn on its reality. ■* It was nine o'clock; the Hall guests were at their merriest; Lady Alston seemed possessed by the fun spirit. John Seyburn noted with satisfaction the small but significant intimacies she pei mitted to Ralph. "A young woman is excitedly asking to see you, sir," whispered a maid. "Tell her to leave her message." "She refuses. It is so important." "Who is she?" "Alice Wharton." John Seyburn knew the name. Bea Wharton, the girl's father, was the leading striker, and a rough but clever man. "Whatever can she want? Tell her 1 have no time at present for business ,- matters. But stay!" A furious whim seized him. There was a lull in the hilarity of the company. It might entertain his friends and" embarrass this girl if he summoned her into the room and bade her say her say there.

He explained to the revellers. They gleefully hailed the suggestion, aud sat down silent and expectant. Oood sport might be had out of the village hoyden. Their anticipations changed the mo ment Alice Wharton entered. Conscious that she was the cynosure of every eye. she drew herself up proudly, defiantly. A beautiful woman, undoubtedly. The tall, lithe figure, the delicatelychiselled features, the intelligence and tenderness blending in the soft, dark eyes—this was not a miner's daughter, but a queen out of place. "What do you waut, miss:" asked John Seyburn.

"A word with you in private." "The privacy of my friends must serve you."

'I came to warn you that your life

is in peril. I passed through Kasdale Woods at darkening, and r overheard some men —foreigners —planning lo shoot you. As surely as yuti quit youi house after dark your life will pay forfeit. I have risked my own in coming to tell vou these things." "Why J" '•Common humauity. I would not have you shot down in the dark without a chance. But, more important, my

father \s a strike leader; his wrath is hot against you. He does not light in that fashion,"however. Still, should anything dreadful happen, suspicion would fall on him. I wish to save him. But give hcedi to my words. I know this >.- not a woman's affair, though the women are suffering most. Keep among youi grand friends, John Seyburn. You have need of all the protection they can give you. They are foolish to be feasting here when there are so many starving within a stone's throw."

"Your message does not entitle you to lecture me on my duty, or my friends uu their conduct," interrupted the master, irritably. ■■ * The amusement he had anticipated for his friends had not shown "Those who seefe my life in the darkness know better than to face me in the day, and your solicitude for my safety is gratifying but superfluous. You can go," Silently, gracefully, the girl withdrew. John Seyburn was annoyed to find that his guests sat motionless. They were evidently impressed by Alice Wharton's passionate speech. '•That is a new phase of the troubles one has in dealing with seven hundred violent, senseless men," he remarked. "It complicates matters when they iiu; port their womenfolk into the quarrel." 'The warning," said Lady Alston, pointedly. John Seyburn laughed. '•lt takes only a coward's courage to shoot, a man from behind in the dark. But I question if they have even that' amount." ~ '

A loud report echoed just outside. The guests arose in alarm. Even the master went white. The servants were out with lights ere the company descended. "What lias happened?" ••No one knows, sir. The men have gone to seek an explanation." They liad already found it. They were "coming bai-k bearing something carefully. -What in Heavens name is wrong(

asked John Seyburn. . "Wharton's girl lias been shot sir. We"'found her in a pool of blood halfwav down the avenue." fliey carried her in. bleeding and unconscious. The guest; stood horrorstricken. Was that the girl who, flushed with health and radiant v.itli beauty, addressed them a minute since ■•The cowards!" exclaimed John Seyburn. "She has got the bullet meant

for uie.'» , . Dr Bullen was among the Alice Wharton was already receiving his attention. She was laid in the best bedroom. , ~, •'Quick,'' continued the master. One of vou fetch her father, one of you fetch the police. You will wait till the danger passes?"" he added, in a whisper to Lady Alston. She nodded. "A bullet at the back. Lung endangered. Condition grave, but not witaout hope," That was the medical vcrto'- . , t , "There is one thing that mav jiiibarrass you, Seyburn," said Dr. Bull™. "She must on u<> account be moved. The i*sue is doubtful as it stands. Move her, and I will not be answerable for & further "five minutes.'' "All mv resources are at her disposal," said John Seyburn. "She shall lack nothing, and she shall not be moved." He forgot one factor in the case. Tien ■Wharton strode nngrilv in. "Where's my bairn?" he demanded. John Seyburn explained the previous facts. Dr. Bullon explained the immediate position. "Give, me my bairn." said the mtacr, "and curses on vou all. You owe her your life. John Seyburn. Tt shall never be said ehe owes vou hers. sfy cottage is a humble place, but it befits her hot lor than a tyrant's, hall. I shall nurse her. Who has « better riaht to?" Ladr Alston stood bv. Phi- ref'gnised that, left to themselves, thesr men would make another tragedy. She motioned Ben into the librarv. "Mr. Wharton." she said, "your rage is blinding yon. Don't be so hot-headed OT d cold-hearted. Leave -Alice and she will pull through. Lift Alice, and she , ■jri!l never teach your cottage alive. De-

fer your quarrel with John Seyburu. ! JUeaiititnu bridle your tongue ami bend I your knees before your Maker, and ask ' - 1 med aot tell you what to ask. II I oil will not, then your hatred of your naster id greater thau your love for \ our daughter. Shame on you, Ben tVliarlon, if you give men the chance .o say so." ! Ihu Wharton wavered, and Lady i Alston \voii. I 11. Xext forenoon a carriage drove up to tho village cross of Kasdale. Lady Alston »ii.].jud out alone and was instantly surrounded by every living being in the place. . "Men of Kasdah,'' a l io said, "1 have no right to iuttrierc in your affairs, but we arc all concerned in the black deed that disfigured last night. In the house of your foe Alice Wharton holds life by a gossamer thread. There is an evil heart, and a coward's baud among you. Penitence becomes you. I am taking no side, but last night I heard from John Scyburn and Ben Wharton both sides of this quarrel. At the end , If did what seemed most necessary—ll persuaded John Seyburu to go forty miles east and lien Wharton forty miles west, each agreeing to appoint ine arbi-1 trator. Will you help me? lam Alice I Wharton's nurse while her life hangs in tho balance. Will you consent to a ' truce? Will you return to your wort; j till this time of darkness passes? 1 ap- i peal to you, men of Kasdale. Do I ap- j peal in vain!" j She didn't. Sex counts. The Kasdale j strikers were human. A beautiful woman pleading with tearful earnestness was a line of attack for which they had provided no defence. Besides. Ben Wharton's lass Jay at death's door. iHer cowardly assailant was concealed somewhere in their midst. But among that alien spawn who could iiad him? , There was a hurried conversation. Then Lady Alston received her reward. The strikers would keep an honorable truce. They would resume work until Alice Wharton was restored." The cheer that followed Lady Alston's . retreating carriage was loud enough to [ reach Kasdale Hall. Alice Wharton stirred in her pain to ask what it mea:it. [ When Lady Alston told her it acted ' like an opiate. Alice smiled and slept. For weeks she hovered near the ' shadows. Morning and evening a message went forty miles cast and forty . miles west, and these messages made cheerless reading. But a skilful doctor I and a tender nurse worked unirearicdly. " and at last—oh! so slowly—Alice Wharton was lured back to the world of liv--1 ing things. I Pale and weak, but cheerful and grateful, she reclined jfl an invalid's ' chair. And of all who ministered to a her, Ralph Scyburn was most assiduous. '' The Oxford don and the miner's daughv ter spent the afternoon hours together, j strangely happy, What Ralph Scyburn ', learned would, probably have availed * him little in an examination paper. But he was the better for learning it.s One day in Kasdale Woods the leaves II o'erlooked Alice Wharton and Ralph ' Scyburn. "Why do you refuse?" he was saying. "Do not ask me," she answered. ' 1 go home to-morrow; let me go in peace ° I would have taken away from Kasdale Half happy memories only; now yo:: have created this. You have forgotten the difference in our positions. I am poor " > "Am I not? I owe my uncle every

thing." , "It is not a debt you will be asked to redeem in coin, yet it is your duty to repay it in obedience. Vou ought to marry whom your 'uncle approves, lie would not approve of me."

"I shall marry whom I love, or no one. I love you, Alice—you know .1 love you. You have entered into iny life; not lightly shall 1 let you go. If you cannot say you will marry me, can you say you love me'/ Say that and it will sufliee. Even if 1 must thrust happiness from me, give me, to gild the future years, the memory that the fairest and best woman in England confessed she loved mc."

"Love cannot lie," Alice Wharton confessed. He heard and was happy—but not appeased. Dong, long he pleaded. Love half admitted claimed full admission. At last Ralph Seyburn kissed the lips of his promised bride. They confided in Lady Alston. From the. altitude of her few years' seniority she blessed them.

'•But you had better prepare for trouble," she said. Alice's eyes Hashed proudly. •■I warned Ralph of that and he silenced mc. But there is no danger, for I shall'never marry while his uncle opposes." "His uncle!" exclaimed Lady Alston. "My dear girl, that isn't the opposition von have to fear. We shall wear down —I shall umlirtake to wear down—John Sej-burn's opposition. Hut what about your own father? I understand the sturdy, cold democrat, and 1 am sure lie will refuse his consent. He will think yuur marriage, disgraces him in the eyes of his fellows. He will feel it is the price of. perfidy to the workers' cause. Alice, if you wait till your father consents before marrying Ralph, you may as well take vestal vows. On the other hand, you can defeat the enemy bv spiking their guns—and in this fashion. Dr. Bulleii aud I will accompany you to the registrar's at Bclstowii and' see you quietly married. Having made the victory sure, you can prepare for battle."

Alice scorned the advice, yet longed to take it. Her lover should have sympathised with her in her dilemma. But he was on the side of Lady Alston, and infinitely more insistent.

Two days later John Seyburn and Ben Wharton were requested lo return to the Hall. They came, greatly surprised that neither Alice nor Ralph was visible. Lady Alston explained that Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Seybiira were spending their honeymoon with her at Kesson Towers. Then she waited the storm. Old Ben's was first in time and intensity. He strained an enormous vocabulary of invective. In its comprehensive sweep he included Lady Alston and all her works to all eternity. Then he went home by by-paths, ashamed to look his fellows in the face.

Left alone together, John Seyburn re. garded Lady Alston reproachfully, "Vou have spoiled my fairest daydream, a dream you shall never know,'' he said.

"I thought not of your dreams, but of their happiness. 1 have known such happiness. It would have been wrong to have robbed them of it.' And you will forgive them. For my sake you will forgive them," she said, confidently.

"They are fortunate in their advocate,'' lie laughed, hauling down his flag. '■Won't you throw in a wedding present!" she'said, emboldened by success. "What would you suggest!" "Grant the concessions asked for by the strikers. It would be a quaint gift, but you could not give the bride a more pleasing one." '■Von seem to have taken those matters into your own hands.'' he said, niiisiiistlv. "but probably they could not be in "better." he added, smilingly. 1/ady Alston hurried oil' to the village. The good news was received with cheers. "Yes." continued the fair speaker, "John Seyburn has yielded. But not because he" was wrong. He has granted the concessions as a wedding gift in Alice Wharton. .Men of Kasdale, will ~.:: !>■■ behind with your gift? Will you lei niv tell you what it might bei lien Wharton is at home, storming against his daughter's alliance with the house ~f Scvburn. He thinks it has disgraced him in your sight, (io and tell him he is wrong. Win from him forgiveness for Alice ami approval of her marriage. So will vou provide a copestone lo her

' 'Excited, elated, the crowd moved "It loward's Men's cottage, fly what arts I hey elVictoil their purpose Lady Alston knew ii»t. But effect their purpose they did. and that same night Mr. and Mrs. lialpll Sevlmrn returneil to Kasdale l!:ill. . , . Thcv set nut on their wedding-trip ncNt dav. and all Kasdale gathered round the Hall door to cheer them on their wav. Beside John Seyburn old lien Wliai'tou stood in bis Sunday be<t. waving to the happy couple. V hen they had vanished Ilea went home with his comrades, while John Seyburn went indoors for a few minutes' chat with Lady Alston crc she departed to Kesson Towers. "This is the happy ending,' she smiled, pardonably proud of her achievements. '•You have been making history for, weeks past,'' he said. "And there, isn't a thing 1 regret. JJo you?'' . '•Sceiii" it lias made you so happy, i don't. Yet I had a different dream, and mv happiness will always be tinged Willi regret that that dream had not its happy ending." "May I hear that dream?" "Since it concerns you, you shall. I dreamt that you and lialph might pass from friends to lovers, from lovers to husband and wife. You will doubtless feel insulted, but the truth is, T love you. A long time T have loved you. But I recognised that was the drcain of a foolish old man, and J thrust it aside. I swear I never entertained it but as a dream to laugh, at, though there was

bitterness iu my laugh. But uiy hope | was iu Ralph. 1 (taint that through . him 1 might one day welcome you to my homo anil claim you as one of my own." Lady Alston slipped her dainty hand into his arm. "1 am not sure that I heard you aright," she whispered. "Did you say I you loved me?" "Forget the madness. But I certainly said it." "Do you mean it?" "Mean it! Heaven knows how intensely I mean it." , "Then about your dream, the one you laughed at. 1 wouder if you would like lit to come true? Because—because—l j 'would." She looked up at him wistfully, and was the first to sec tears glistening in the eyes of the stern master of Kasdale. ' So John\Si',vburn's dream came true. And now he never wearies ackuowlodg- . ing that the dream was inlinitcly less ! fair than the reality.