THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 39, 26 May 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

ALICK RICHARDSON'S SUCCESS "You think," Kilie asked slowly, looking up at liini with her soft dark eye*, "that money is every hung V" | "I think that without it life is worth ; nothing," he returned; "want of money | nips you everywhere—wherever you ■ turn. i mean to get it—to lose no : chance. The man who wants a tiling enough gets it in the end." "And when -lie has got it," she said, "i wonder if it is always wortn the cost. You are not afraid of losing other things, by the way?'' "The other -things will come when I have made my fortune; till then 1 put them aside." "J't may talke years. Will you care for them then?" "Wliy not? Wealth is power; I mean j to have a motor, a yacht, all the I things hy which one enjoys life." "The point is," she said dreamily, gaping out .beyond him over the river shining in the sun, "to he quite sure what those things are. If," her voice was lowered a little, ''you cared for anyone very much you woulld .put her first." He looked at her; it was a charming face, sweet, sympaluetic, framed in wavy dark hair that matched the clear frank eyes. Something stirred within him. a voice whispered that he was throwing away the things worth having, hut he silenced it. "1 should not'let myself care," he said at last; ''success must come lirst." They had always been friends. He had always found her ready to listen to his plans', his thoughts—it had been tacitly taken ior granted that their companionship would lead to something closer, but of late a certain subtle difference had crept into his manner; he had decided that it would injure his prospects to marry until he was making at lease a thousand a year. The dav after this talk the smash came; EliieV lather died of heart-failure in .his cfty office—the result of other failures, which left his daughter penniless. It was Gilbert Sterne, a "tall, quiet young man, Mr. Gordin's cleric, who came°to break the news to her. He had worshipped her silently for years, but she had scarcely noticed him at all. iXow she found him very -useful, considerate and thoughtful, sparing her as much worry as possible in the winding-up of affairs. There was about a hundred pounds left, which, she determined to use in cultivating her Voice, which was clear and true as a bird's, for she would have to earn her living. Alick Richardson wrote a letter of condolence, hut die did not call. "I am well out of that,' he said to himself, "ibut it's a pity; she was a nice little girl." And he returned to bis business. But Gilbert Sterne came many times. "Miss Gordon —Elsie!" he said as she thanked him and bade him "Good-bye"— ' and his lips trembled as he spoke—"l ■have wanted, to tell you something for years, but I knew you never gave me a ■thought! I love you so; Oh, I cannot say how I love you, dear. And I have been offered a gjood post—if you could put up with me—at least you would not have to work." "It is very, very good of you," she said, "and 'I am ever so grateful. But you are right; f never thought of such a thing, and it is quite imposaiule. He sighed. "1 am sorry—-I should have spoken long ago, but I was afraid —there was someone else." "No; that is not so—there is no omj else." She was very white; hut as her clear eyes looked into iiis he thought he had never seen any one so brave, "'iiut 1 could never marry a man I do not' love." ••Then you will forget my asking you —and still let me help you if I can ?" "Certainly I will; but I am going to Paris to study under Marchessi." Before she went Effie tore Richardson's letter into shreds. "If I had never seen him I might have liked Gilbert," .she said to herself, "but I have still my voice and my art —and they shall make my lite." Effie worked very hard, and -when her money was exhausted she made a little more* by accompanying and coaching other pupils, so as to study longer herself, j In the season two years later Gilbert ■ Sterne saw her name advertised as singing at a concert, and took a ticket at j once. | She was altered, he thought, as she j came on, but the sweet face of his dreams was lovelier than ever, with the i beauty of the soul that has worked and suffered and loved. Her sensitive lips quivered a little, her first notes wavered; but then she found courage, and, her dark eyes gazing out far beyond the audience, her fresh young voice rang out with a charming quality—intensely sympathetic—that distinguished it from many others as strong and as well trained. She had a success; but there are •many good singers, and she had to struggle for her bread, giving lessons, ■"fling to and fro in all weathers, it was not an easy life. Gilbert Sterne met her sometimes. and his heart ached to see how tired she looked. He longer to take her in his arms and maice her rest there, but j was afraid that if he said so it would put an end to their friendship, which 1 was dearer to him than life. So she thought his love for her had faded, and was just a little vexeu. One day he took her on the river. The summer breeze kissed and left a lovely color on her cheeks. The air was full of fragrance, the banks gay with willow herb, as they lunched under the overhanging trees. Effie laughed and chatted gaily—it was such a delightful chance from the heated atmosphere of the concert-room ana its petty jealousies. Presently a smart electric launch, crowded -with fashionable people, splashed past them, and amongst the latter was its owner, Alick Richardson. Gilbert saw Effie's color deepen a little. "He has been wonderfully successful," he said, "and must be one of the

richest men on the Stock Exchange. He made a great coup last week." "I am glad," she said gently, dabbing her lingers in the water. Two evenings later they met. She ■was singing at a fashionable reception, when she met his eyes gazing at her. They looked weary and strained, and his face was thin and worn, she thought. Her voice was superb that night, cu-ar and full, like a soul soaring, floating, rejoicing in a region far above the sordid, struggling world. As she ceased a deep breath oi appreciation, a moment's silence preceded a burst of rapturous applause. When it subsided she found him at her side. 'T congratulate you," he .said. "I have heard you several times, and have been wondering whether 1 might call?" and his critical glance noted her exquisite white and .silver gown and the fragrant rose nestling in her dark hair. •'•Why not?" sne asked, simply. "It is always pleasant to see an old friend." He came often to see her, and singing engagements poured in on her. Her battle was won. But Alick's seemed still going on. He had not yet had "enough." The pursuit of gold would not let him rest. Overworked, harassed, it was only in Elbe's presence, soothed by 'the atniospiicre of repose, the little songs she sang to him in her few moments of leisure, that he enjoyed a little peace. Gilbert Sterne's visits grew less frequent. One morning, however, lie brought her unexpected news. A gold-mine in which her father had largely invested, and which had never paid a dividend, had suddenly begun to do so. The shares, which had been valueless, were now worth a large sum. "You will have a comfortable income for life," Sterne said. But he did not seem pleased. "Of course, I am very glad," Effie said. "I shall not sing for money any more." But her voice was heard on behalf of charities. She was ready to help in any good cause. Offers of marriage came to her, but to them all she turned a deaf ear. Sterne did not come any more, and the invitations she sent him were refused. One day she drove down to his office, and discovered that he was ill. She drove on to his rooms, which were small and barely furnished, but contained many portraits of herself. He took her for a "vision, as she came in in her white dress, as he lay tossing on his bed, ana laid her cool hand on his brow. , "Effie! Effie!" he cried. All'this time I have been saving, in order to win you some day. And then you got that money—and I cannot ask you." "Why not?" she said, and as she stooped over him her sweet lips met his. "I want you to so much!" "I shall get well now," he murmured, as she flitted about putting things straight. "I think it was despair of winning you that made me ill." Alick Richardson was waiting for uer when she got home. "Where in the world have you been?" he cried. "I thought you would never come." Her eyes were shining, her lips radiant. "Effie, darling," he went on {passionately, "when will you be my wife?" "Never!" she said. "I am going to many someone else. Gilbert Sterne—" ''Sterne! Your father's clerk! Impossible. I have always wanted you, aim was only waiting till 1 had pulled oil' a big thing. I can give you everything you want " "You waited too long," she said, smiling; ''and I have gone the big thing I want." "But I love you—l have always loved you " "But you loved other things better." she said, "and you have got them. Be content. It was a different success I desired, and I have got that, too—the love that put ine above gold."