YOUNG LOVE.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 210, 9 October 1909, Page 4

YOUNG LOVE.

Gerald Scott came into the refresh-ment-room looking rather pale. 1 "Ah. there you are, Ted," he said, ap- ' proacliing a man standing by the bar.' '"J thought I saw you conic in." | I "Half an hour ago. I'm no dancing; man. Besides, the subdued strains of the music, it sounds from here, gives me enjoyable sadness. I think of the ■ days when '' j ' A gesture and a sigh completed 'hi? 1 '•meaning. I ; "You mean you prefer whisky an'l soda to making yourself pleasant to r*males you. don't care a rag about," oh-

served Scott with brutal franknens, Iheii, as if flippant conversation offendI'd his mood. |i<> turned away. "I thought a stroll in the garden might appeal " His voice died dow>: us ho moved towards the door. Ted Fanilow swallowed the reniaindoi of his drink hastily and followed him Iu a moment or two they were prom«?n adiug in silence up and down the hiwi fronting the hotel. "Blue*?" (jueried Ted suddenly. "So so. Xot over-cheerful." "Fond enough of the Old Country to miss it. rii?" u Tndia and a Civil Service appomtmen don't compensate for everything." ''l'ln-ni!*' Farnlow ruminated. Occasionally a hanging Chinese lan tern lit his face and showed it clean shaven, wea ther-tanncd, and wearin; the good-humomtly cynical expressioi that middlo-aged bachelors affect wher .sentiment is in consideration. Once or twice he shot a glance at hi young and good-looking companion Fanilow was at the age when brigh eyes, earnestness, and misery are th chief reasons for liking young manhoov Tie had lost these thing* himself, and h regretted most the capacity for misen Xothing was of sufficient import to hh nowadays to create the luxury of sorrow Hut young Ocrald was in troubleand Fanilow knew it. It was to be se« in his pale face, his tight lips, the fitrai iu the eyes. And the mere fact tha Ihe was going abroad to-morrow for [year or two was not enough to accoun .for it. Moreover—for Farnlow had th depth of wisdom even though he affoc: |<d the shallows of cynicism—Farnlo knew Hint the suffering of youth is th most terrible on earth and only to 1 laughed at when it is pant. The silent promenade continued; an admiration stirred in the older man f( j'the reticence of the Other. TTe had e: .pected confidences ere this, particular , as'lie and fJerald were well acquaint; to the point of intimacy. I Week-ends at the seaside had be( the frequent recreation of these tw i The suggestion of Folkestone had be< Herald's thU time, nnd unless Farnlo .was a top-storv idiot—so lie told hii j self—the reason why was Daisy R< 'court. She and her fnmily were 40VI litre, a regular trow<J of

Farnlow wondered where Gerald ii; first met her; but he asked no que | tions. Such handlings were a« litt the outcome of reason aforethought i they were inexplicable by reason afte thought. The only cause" for uneasinei was that Gerald was one of Laose m lucky devils who Look things serious! —whose experiences made indelibJ scratch:* on iheir si.Ke of life. The silent prom-, u.ule went on. "Sorry I'm such lo.teii company," sai Herald. "Not at all. Your uiJeißv i* more el' quint than speech. Our hearu li:tv be n communing instead." (.'••raid managed a tolerable imitate ot' banter.' "Then you know my innermost s*. crcts?" "Every single one/' asserted FarnkM placidly. "And you agree with me that I'm tic biggest utter fool in Christendom?" "i\ol I. My boy, my experience i* it's when you least expeet it that you'f deemed a fool. Unanimity of opinion i as rare as"—he appeared to choose hi simile with care—"as coherent thinkinwhen a man's in love " Gerald glanced at him quickly. U I am in love," he buret out forcibly as if daring contradiction of somethinj incredible. "My dear boy," observed Farnloi' patiently, "you needn't inform thcwholi promenade." Ignoring the gentle reproof, Genii* went on like an undanuued tlood —bu i£uiclly: ''l'd ask her if I thought she cared But how can I? How could I ask he: to wait? My position's paltry—and mi prospects " "Superfluous details these, my friem ot pronounced juvenility." "But she's good—and strong. I tel you, Ted, that girl when she does can will he loyal. She's spring steel, I knor And she'd wait till the day of judgment Oh, I know. I'd like to leave her t( guard something—like a dog—just it see what she'd do. There'd be barec teeth and blood before she stirred " "Now, now!" Farnlow gripped liis arm. He could feel the young bod> heaving. 1, 1 know what it's like. They'ri rare, the sort that make you feel like that. If you go to India without tolling her it will be a crime. Don't tell it to me. Tell it to her. They always want to know. I'll find her iand send tier out." "Stop!" Gerald held him. "No—:lon't do that. I've made up my mind not to speak. Man, can't you see? I'm t fool—a fool unspeakable. There's lever been a word. She knows nothing about it. She's only a kid—a kid, I tell von. And so una I. But I've got a nan's love—a love that's bursting me. -)h, I'm going off my head! Let's "0 uid have a drink." ° Farnlow came to a halt, put a cigarette between his lips, struck a match, uul by the light of it had a, goW look it his friend. The pallor had gone, and t was now Hushed by the heat of feeling. The faintest smile flickered over ITarulow's face. Gerald saw the smile and turned away kvitli a Ravage exclamation. He thought Farnlow was laughing at his emotion; mit he did linn injustice. Farnlow smiled because he looked handsome and was unaware of it; and he wondered liow long Daisy would hold out. "I'm going in," muttered his friead. making for the lighted hall. Farnlow entered- the ballroom with liim. , "Look there!" said Gerald in a low voice. "Look how happy she is! D'yovi think I'm going to spoil that?" ''Yen bat!" returned Farnlow in the same key. "What's it matter what she looks like? It's what she feels! You'll never get a hint of that from her appearance— that is, in public. Get her by herself. You'll see the dif. Now's your chance! The dance is over. Miss it"—he scowled fiercely at him—"and von deserve everlasting torment." Gerald made his way round to where Daisy was seated, his face set as If torture awaited him. She had seen his approach, but her smile as slic looked iip was a perfect example of welcoming surprise. Without a word he offered his arm, nnd together they went outside, and. to a corner of the garden overhung by trees. "This isn't your dance, you kijow," she said, and there was 110 trace of coquetry in her voice. Pretence seemed out of place, for some unexplained reason. "I know," he said, "but the other follows, .will have other chances. I shan't.' 5 She knew he was going away, ami where; and she was silent. He looked at her. She was dark and ilim, and gracilc as a deer. Her eyes were brown and steady, the arms white and cool-looking. She was not afraid, lie knew that. And she also knew whai was coming. From the faint sadness somewhere in the face, she might, too, be feeling the loss of the freedom of -her youth. No woman surrenders love without surrendering also a something of her nature that is very dear to her. It is like saying farewell to a .strange secret pride. And because he saw this reluctance in her he loved her the more. Had she despised him she would Dfc have looked like this. It seemed as if she eared and yet was afraid. The hint of this made Gerald dumb. He merely looked at her—all eyes. And lifter a long interval of steady gazing into solitude she looked at him! 'T love you," he said suddenly, bat q'lite quietly, and he made no movement to touch her. 'Don't " "i do. I can't help it. I must say it. It's cowardly. I'm going iiwav. If* you care--it will be hard for you—and 1 shall be happy at the expense of you. 1 can't help it." He made a tearing motion wiih his hands. "If I didn't telj you I should die. You're beautiful - you're wonderful and sacred! So sacred I shall never be able to touch you. I feel that 1 want to «ay my prayers lo you " She stopped him. The sadness was more evident in the eyes, but the lips were smiling and a little tremulous. "Don't be silly," she said, llis two hands went out to her oi themselves. He was unable to speak, and the consciousness of it in his pale face made it look piteous. Into the face of the girl—she was little else - eanic an expression that made him bow his. head. It was virginal, maternal, understanding, sorrow lul—such an expression as the Madonna might have worn in looking at her Son For a brief moment she held his face against her breast, and her cool hand? iseemed to still the turbulence of hi soul into everlasting peace. Then «j\e released him and they sal without speaking in a silence that w.u timeless. Their hands were clasped. "Dear,-' hp said, "you won't min( waiting?" "No," she said. "And you'll never be afraid?" "No," she said, knowing that wha fear there was to be he would suffer. •'You're beautiful," he sail!, "beautifu and brave; but it will be a trial of yor courage." "I shall not mind thai." she sail "You will bn thinking of me, and tha will give me strength." 1 She sat very still, her hands pasniv( iier face extraordinarily steadfast in !t j calmness. ■ ''Oh, my dear," he said in sudde' (anguish. "You look like a sacrifice." I She smiled at him, and the emil i warmed her face and showed Iter to hii young, human, loving, and to be loved. I His arm went round her shoulder, an he kissed her lips—once. . "God make a man of me!" he said. | And thus their life began. —R. I Crotnbie.