THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 384, 9 May 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

THE TWO VOICES. The young mail's resplendent attire, with tlu* linishing touch in his buttonhole. seemed to indicate that he nns bound for some festivity. JJut instead of wearing a festive expression he looked horribly uncomfortable. And he was fiH-1 in- worse than he looked, and his eye was wild. "It's not fear," he told himself. "It's this beastly indecision. I was a fool. T ought to have posted it yesterday, or left it at home to-day." A beautifully-worded letter reposed in his breast-pocket. He was in two minds. Should he drop it in the letter-box <td come away, or should 'he leave it in his pocket and stop? He kept zig-zagging from one plan to the other till he hardly knew where he was. To be in two minds is very much like being driven out of one. He was looking at the bell with one eye and the box with the other, when •his whole attention became suddenly fixed on the 'brass notice: "Do not ring unless an answer is required." He had often seen it, hut it had never before pulled him tip with such a shock, never sent a cold and fluttering thrill down 'his spine. Unless an answer was required! Heavens! When his whole future depefuled on it. Most certainly, most emphatically, an answer Was required. So he rang the bell. '

Instantly he realised what he had done. He 'had thrown away the faultless result of a whole day's toil and fervour,, and risked his happiness on five minutes' bap-hazard, stammering. What an ass! Oh, fool!—idiot!

lie hastily snatched out the letter crammed it through the whole, and bolted.

He got exactly three steps down when he realised what he had done. He had staked his all on a sheet of paper and a lot of ink, on a flood of flowery rhetoric that was too 'perfect to be recognisable as his o-wni

He dashed back to the top step, and was in Troth minds again. If, in response to the ring, they opened the door, he would prevent that unnatural letter from taking effect. If, on the other hand, they merely came and took it away, he would sneak quietly off and depend on its eloquence. There were footsteps in the liall. Then a pause. He cleared 1 his throat vigorously, so as to be aible to speak if the door should open.

Consequently the door did open. He was confronted by a maid who was new to him. "Is Erm . Is Miss Robinson at home ?"

The girl gave him a cold scrutiny. "What name, please, sir?"

"Perkins." She relaxed into a benevolent smile. "Yes, sir, she's at home. Will you step this wav, .please?" And she started off.

Pausing .at the hall table to ipick up a salver with a letter on it, she glanced back and saw him with his hand in the letter-box. .She .became very suspicions. "What name did vou sav?" she ask-

I ed. I "Perkins! Oh, you've got it! Will | you let me have that letter, please? It's

mine." Slip picked it up and held it well away from him for safety. "Yes, but 1 wrote it, and now I want to see .her instead." I She frowned at him as though at a •well mobsman. "Well, then," she said, "come upstairs and you can .see her and ask for it." And he was made to follow her. I "Mr. Perkins, miss, and a note for you." There was a mysterious emphasis on the last word, and she withdrew with a general effect of going for the police. "What a ridiculous girl. -Percy!" said Ermyntrude, with a welcoming smile. "Yes, she wouldn't let me have my letter." He held out his hand for it. "Your letter!" She looked at the handwriting. "Oh, I see! But I don't understand. Do please sit down and explain." 1 He didn't sit down and he didn't exactly explain. But he tried to do the latter. "You see, I wrote you a line, and then I thought I'd see you instead, and when I came I was in a hurry, and she was a long time coming to the door, and I put it in, and while I was waiting she opened it, and w.hen 1 asked for it she stuck to it. So here I am, and may I i have it, please?" ' "Percy, you're lucidity itself. But if ; you're in a hurry don't let me keep ! you. Come back as soon as you can. and ! in the meantime I'll read, mark, learn, 1 and inwardly digest." He .shivered at the idea, j "No, I'll stay a few minutes now, and ■ if you'll let me have the letter back, ! I'll tell you what's in it." | "I can easily find out what's in it. i "Yes, but wouldn't you rather hear ; it straight from me?" ! "Percy, I believe you've written some ; fib in this letter, and now you're ashamed to let me see." I "Oh!" said Percy, shocked. "It's the < truth, the whole truth, and " I "Then when you get the truth back you're going to tell me the fib. I quite understand." "You don't understand a bit." "Well, explain. Tell me the truth, ' the whole truth, and all the rest of it, and I'll keep the letter to see if you cor- | roborate yourself." "Then," said Percy, nettled, "I will never corroborate myself. Keep it. and I shall withdraw what's in it." j "Oh, do! I love conjuring tricks/' , "Perhaps you would prefer to give : me back all my other letters," he said severely. 1 "Now you're cross and must be punished. So I shall open it." "And open it she did, while he stood stock .still in icy dignity, waiting for her to be overwhelmed ( by the contents.

But she didn't even look at the closely written sheet' as she drew it out. She merely brought it and pressed it into his pocket.

"There," she said, "didn't he like to be teased, then! There, then, there it is back again, and now yon may tell me anything you want to." "You've guessed whn't T want to tell YOU."

"Ive only guessed that you want to tell me something different from what is in the letter."

"Then you guessed wrong." "Well, 1 give it up. .Sit down here and tell me."

They sat on the sofa. Now for it. But words failed him. Ideas went hel-ter-skelter. Well, lie must make a start somewhere. How had he begun in black and white?

'Oh, yes," he said; "do you remember the day I met you first." "Yes, I think so. A warm, sunnv day, wasn't it?"

"All, it seems like yesterday!" "No, it rained cats and nogs yester day."

"You know what I mean. It seems as near as yesterday—l remember it so plainly. It was the Jones' river-party, you know. Don't you remember lunch on the bank?"

"Yes, and the frog that happed across and only just missed the tart."

"Ah, but it tvas the coming back that did it! I rowed stroke. You steered. And you —er —and I—er—l can remember you as plain as "

"Thank you." "I shall never forget. It was Al—er —top hole. It was—er —while the cool splash of the rythmic oars lent its own ■music to the solitude, and echo, slumbering in tlie autumn woods " "Why, you're reading it," she said. "It happened to catch my eye." He had the letter spread out on the sofa on the far side. "But I can tell you best. I shall never forget that -day. My head was full of your face, and the memory of the things you had said filled my—my brain. I can liear your voice still."

"I didn't speak," said Ermyn trude.

"I can hear your voice still," he repeated. "I can remember—er—l can recall the very—no wait a minute, there's a bit here somewhere. Here we are, 'The melodious accents of your merest commonplace " "Thank you."

"The melodious accents of' your—of what you said—stole on my consciusness like dawn upon a sleeping world, floated like sweet oil upon the troubled waters of my .brain. .". . . Oh, dash it all, don't laugh! You know what I'm coming to, don't you?" "To a rhyme, I expect. I've been waiting for it." "Ah, you are making fun of me! You do not see, I can't make you feel, how deeply I love you. I love you. There! I love you. There's nothing there to make fun of, I know. I love you. Will you be mine?" She looked down in silence. "Will you be my wife?" he enquired. "This is so sudden. We weren't near the end of the letter."

"Oh, you can still laugh at me! Then don't answer. Stop! Don't answer me, I beg. Wait. I see I have spoken too soon. You do not ( love me yet. But you will. And by-and-ljy 1 will come and ask a 'j;i in."

iShe opened lier lips to =ipenk. "Oh, don't! he cried. "Don't answer unless a ring is required." And it turned out that the ring was required.