THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 73, 5 July 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

DYING FOR LOVE "Do you believe that anyone ever diet! of love?" enquired, sceptically. 'Alison McQueen. "Undoubtedly," replied- her kinsman, Sandilands; and to back his opinion, he added, "there is a case mentioned in Boswull's Life of Johnson/' Then, as an afterthought—"lt is true it was the easel of a woman." "That makes no difference," rejoined Alison, departing from her first position, "for, if a woman, I don't see why not a man." The tragically sentimental subject of their conversation had .been suggested by the news which Sandilands, looking in for a cup of tea at his uncle's house, had brought with him from Castle.ton market—news' which had spread a mild sensation through the neighborhood, and which declared that ever since the recent marriage of a well-known local belle young Benjamin Brydone pined and declined.

The young couple had met at the ! agricultural society's ball in the ous summer. The lady had danced with Benjamin, had apparently encouraged ' his attentions, and then had promptly married someone else. And since then, it was said, Ben had first lost interest . in sport, atul then begun to neglect business, and now, if report spoke truly, he spent the day reclining in an easy chair ; by the 'window, with tliS fateful withered flowers before hinij and his eyes ever and anon travelling away into the distance, in the direction of the fair false one's residence. The, few persons who had seen him lately declared he was grown emaciated and pale. Poor Benjamin! So young, so gentle, so well-looking, and since, in this queer world, material considerations are so inextricably involved 'with inner ones— I might add.' so eligible a match. And he was dying —and for' love! The world may be a queer one, but" there is much goodness in it after all, and I doubt not ithere were several maidens in the Castleton district'who would have been quite filling to attempt the beneficent task of saving the man's life; t The .news she had just heard continued to occupy Alison, even after her 1 Cousin Sandilands had , left her to .ride 'home. The case, though apparently not unprecedented, was at least so unusual •that her mind naturally reverted ,to it. Besides, she ' was sliglitly acquainted' .with Benjamin, and, so far as her knowledge of him went, was inclined to think well of him. Add to this' that the Castleton district did not furnish a great deal of distraction for the' mind, and her .pre-occupation will not appear remarkable., For the rest, Alison was perhaps the last person in the world to allow her mere, abstract thoughts to steal her a-way from 'the business, in hand. For Alison was beyond everything a practical person, and prided herself thereon. In all, that pertains to the feminine department . oj a , farmland even in much that strictly lies outs'de that limit—she was past-'mistress and a stirring spirit. Dairy and hen-house 1 were her special spheres of action. Her j cheese, her cream, her butter were hors concours, and she. had made 'some tidy I savings from tjje sale of the eggs, • which were her perquisite. But'she had! as I have indicated, a soul considerably above dairy-stuff, and her opinions upon stock or on the quality of grain were listened to, nay, quoted with respect, even bv the sterner sex, Slie was. perhaps, at times, a 'bit of a .Tartar to the maids. But to her uncle' she was a treasure, and to his friends he would often | remark, in his jocular way, that Alison I was his right-hand man. , She had, in j fine, the of a first-class I farmer's wife, .and it hfid often been, remarked that, should she decide to marry into that class, he would be a fwtunate man who got her. Hitherto, however, i the Castleton farmers had held back. Did they feel perchance that Alison, with ! her stalwart figure and' occasionally j ringing tones of-voice, might be something of what- is called "a ■handful"'? ■ Did their, collective taste in womanhood incline to a more clinging style? I can- j not tell—how ' should. I? But this Ijknow, that, at the age of. seven-and-1 twenty that slighly full-blown rose of j the garden of girls still blossomed on j : the parent, or more properly, avuncu- i lar, tree. Mfn voted Alison a "good j , sort," and enjoyed her cheery com- 1 ' pany. But as yet no one W them had. ) sought to persuade, .her to give him a ■ permanent right to that company. 'Meanwhile it was ra,ther important that''Alison should "settle";, "for her uncle, Jonas 'McQueen, was growing old, and though at his death lie might leave her Certain savings, the 1 bulk of his.mo-, ney wopld pass elsewhere. I After this, when Alison happened to 1 meet her cousin Sandilands, she 'would . enquire ofv.him for Mr., Benjamin Bry- : done—was he stronger, was there any : change in his condition? | »To which humane enquiries, Sandilands would reply sometimes dolefully, sometimes carelessly, whilst himself overflowing, with life, health, ana spirits, "Poor Ben is done for!" or "It's , all U P with poor old Ben!" At last, one day, when Alison had re- • peated her enquiries several times, a comical look - came over Sandilands' homely countenance, -and- looking full into his cousin's face, he said: "I say, Alison, it appears to me that you take rather a special interest in poor old Ben's health." Alison McQueen was not one of those girls whom a trifle disconcerts. Slie returned her cousin's gaze without flinching, and replied, speaking slowly: "Supposing I do, what then?" I It was now iSandilands' turn to lie I taken aback, and he answered, rather j lamely: j "Oh, nothing! Only that you 'will be ' ' wasting your time." . Alison's nature was by no means secretive—what she did she habiting did openly. So she now said: "I am not so sure of that!"

' » ' In matters emotional, as distinct from practical, her cousin's masculine conipre-1 ■hension was slow in following up the hint. So it took him fully a minut* to grasp her grip; then a grin brok« slowly on his somewhat bucolic countenance, and grew -gradually broader. "By Cosh!" he cried, making there wilh a gesture as of supreme enjoyment of some sudden joke. "Well, Alison, yo> are a deep one!" But Alison yielded little to the demands of the occasion. "Promise not to betray me," was what she said; and the suggestion of an arch, and taking smile came rather from her. eyes than from her lips. Presently she added: "Of course, Cousin Sandilands, I shall need your-help." And. then the cousins conferred for a while in slightly lowered tones. A week Qr two later Sandilands again on Alison and said: "Benjamin Brydone is parting with his hunters—says his hunting davs are over!. Is there not one of them thu would snjt you?" (For Miss McQueen kept a hunter, the season generally contrived to get at least one day a weeK witu the foxhounds). "-Scarcely," was her reply, "I never fancied'that grey mars of his. .hid 1

don't believe I could hold the big bay." •. . . , "The big ,bay war.ls some riding,'' answered Sandilands. "he is not a made -hunter, and certJn'y not a lady's horse." . ■ •; i; ■ By /this .time, Lwever, Alison's thoughts had themselves to a special aspect of the situation. "Still, there is no reasdn ■ why T should not look at the horses," she sdid, adding present), in more determined tone, "and look at them I will." Whether she chose hei* opportunH/ deliberately or not has not yet been definitely ascertained, but certain it is that at the -hour when Miss McQueen called to view the- hunters, which were for sale by private contract, there w\»3 no one on the premises but the mastei himself and a small servant-girl. "Whowill! say?" asked the latter of Alison on the door-step. .."Say that;a person has called to see the hunters," replied Alison ..very definitely and distinctly., \, The small hand-maiden absented herself, and then returned and said: • "Ye maun call again.' "Tell your master that it \vill not be convenient to call .again," she, replied with all her dignity. And presently the sound was fieard of someone iit slippers shuffling downstairs. If Benjamin Brv> done w«s indeed "dying for lota," then all I, can say is that the ruling .passion remained strong in death, and. that the • prospect- of a transaction in 'horseflesh sufficed to raise him from his deathbed. -

But when Ben beheld 'the "person" witji 'wltom he was to deal, an expression of disgust, overspread his pale and interesting features, : For, ever since he. had been jilted, or sligfoied, Ben uAo posed as a tfoman-hatejv He prepared and Miss McQueen'had been' long, thojiodi not intimately, acquainted, .arid thou<rh she had had a longish walk,, he was determined not',; to invite her to conje indoors: and'rest. i i , But lifissl McQueen's attitud'e cut this ground from ibenea'th his feet. "I am m haste, Mr. Brydone," she said, "and should like to see the liorses at once*"" There being po groom on the premises, Ben,, went/himself.' to the stable, and led out the grey. ■ As he did so, Allison; noticed, not without genuine concern, the languor of his gait, and that he was indeed: almost wasted to a shadow of his 4 iormer self. The grey mare was not an object of beauty. Tall, raw-boned* and'' hoi low-backed, and a trifle cow-hocked, sire had no thought whatever of purchasing her. Nevertheless, in the ; true horse-ddaler's spirit, her points were minutely discussed, and Alison enquired how much the owner wanted for her; Such purely business inter-; course as- this served to 'break the ice between them; and -they were soon talking easily. In the sequel it was agreed between them that, though, the grey mare was a useful mount, whose performance in the -hunting-field had bym creditable, she 'w>as not precisely Alison's "form."' , ' , ■ ' ,

Once fairly embarked upon the most interesting of all topics, it did not "require much persuasion on Alison's part to get Ben to lead put the big bay, his favorite,, though lie was careful to say that he, did so solely for exhibition purposes, and without view to a sale. For Chronometer was not a lady's horse, row. That- might 'be; but Alison had al friend, a gentleman, whom she thought] Chronometer would .precisely suit. She would like to try his paces, in order the better to be able to report on him. 'To j this Ben objected that the bay had never hitherto been ridden by a My; but, his objections being over-ruled, he fetched an old side-saddle from the har-ness-room, ancl assisted Alison to mojint. Chronometer was fresh from want of exercise,, but 'Alison soothed him with her voice, adjusted her walking-skirt, and. desiring Ben to, leave go of the animal's head, set, off at an easy trot round the field where the trial was taking place. ; Her seat in the saddle ■would have gained the approval of a connoisseur. And, sure enough, as Ben gazed after her, there was that in his eyes which might well have passed for admiration. The incidents of the morning had roused him from his lethargy, and he felt better than he had done for many a day. A fail in the ground hid Alison from view. When she reappeared, Chronometer was advancing at a thrusting trot. "Marks his time rather too precisely for a 'woman's taste," cried the rider, as she drew rein for a moment in passing Brydone. "I shall like his second pacesetter." And she turned the horse and disappeared from view at a hard canter. Next time she re-appeared, Chronometer was advancing at a headlong gallop. "Steady, steady, old boy!" shouted Brydone. But the horse disregarded

V. ■ J him, and it was soon apparent to hirfi | that the rider had lost control. And no soon had be. realised this than ailother thought occurred to him, which sufficed to fill him with alarm, lor ne, ; knew- that, at the top of the incline be-' hind him, and full in Chronometer's present course, lay the brink of a disused quarry. Did the girl know this? It was not likely. He should have warned her, but it was too late. "Bear to the right!" he cried, but she paid no attention. Then, upon a sudden resolution, at the moment when the horse flew past him, he caught at the rein, and at the, expense of a severely wrenched muscle, drew the animal round into the field, where it presently slowed down. , As .Chronometer stopped, Miss McQueen slid from the saddle, her eyes partly closed. She was. fainting. In a moment Ben's arm was round her. Her head sank upon his shoulder, and so for a brief space they stood. Had an artist, or even a novelist, been present. he could scarcely have failed to be struck by the aesthetic propriety of the group. For both Alison and Ben were remarkably well grown and good-look-ing, and they made an admirable couple. But the picture 'was soon dislimned. Miss McQnfien, recovering from the feelings which had momentarily overcome her, aiul Ben regaining a ;ert?.in shamefaced sense that his conduct had been untrue to the .nose which he had so long maintained. So they parted very stiffly. But if their intercourse had been bHef, it was productive of long results. Whether due to the exertioii'he had made or to some subtler phvchic cause, certain it is that henceforward, from .that hour, Benjamin Brydone's health improved. That V.ei'y afternoon (a most unfavorable symptom) he visited {the barber's shop; and the next (lay, in courtesy bound, ;he called to fe-iissjurc himself" on the subject of Miss' pic-

Queen's health. She was home, received him graciously, and- took' that |Opportunity of conducting him through her cow-house, dairy and poultry-yard. Meantime, as if by the agency of (the proverbial little bird, Ben's exploit had become known. Country gossip miVht be trusted to take nothing from it/, so that it soon came to be told that he had stopped the runaway horse on the brink of a precipice at great risk to- his awn' life. Thus, wfiefi' Ben reappeared at Castleton market, after nerving Himself to the effort; he found -himself a sort of hero, and heard hTs rtaftie coupled freely, though not offensively, with tliat of Alison McQueen. 'Vanity and' Weak- , ness were component parts 1 of the yohth'sj character, and ' tha' eXpWierice. ( was by no mea'fis tiripleiMdji'g' t'O' him. , Besides, he was able to- feel' tfrat -public . interest in his recent disappointilVerlt •had now been supplanted by an interest •f a more agreeable' kind. And, to dtrt? , whose foible it was to judge, himself ac- ' cording as he believed that 'others jndg- ' ed him, this w«s of permanent. import- f ance. ' f • i j It was not long "after this that' it j began to be lfnown in the neighborhood | that Miss McQueen was laid up. The, ; report of itself sufficed 1 to. cause uui'- , prise, for no one had ever known Miss McQueen to be ill. And 'when to this > came to be added the facts that Miss ; McQueen did not recover,- that thou?!) ,; her complaint remained indefinite, [she still declined to leave thfe sofa—then sur- " prise was materially increased. For it seemed hardly possible to .believe these things of her—of 'Miss McQueen, the robust, the vigorous, the very antithesis of a valetudinarian! Yet the facts were as I have stated.. Whether strain,, sprain or shock to the nerves had been the prime cause of her illness, certain it was that Alison did not regain strength as by all laws of probability she should have done.

Things had come to this pass when Benjamin one day—met- San'dilantxS'-iri Castleton. Ben was by this time almost restored to his happy earlier condition. A slight sedateness, a trace of melancholy, were all that remained from the period when he had been popularly supposed to be in the aet of succumbing to Cupid's wound. As by the laws of goodfellowship /.bound, Ben hailed his neighbor farmer, and proposed that they should enter the weigh-house inn together. 1 To Ben's surprise, Sandilands met his advances somewhat stiffly. But (he at last persuaded him to have a glass of something or other. And, naturally, as they sat together over their liquor, he enquired for the health of his companion's kinswoman. The face of Sandilands at once became overcast. "Is she not better?" "No; nor likely to be? "Dear me! lam sorry to hear tkat." An awkward silence ensued. Then Sandilands spoke again— with •ame bitterness. "Sorry to hear it, are ye? Ah! it is well you are that, anyway.*' ' Young Brydone was completely mystified. "My dear Sandilands," he protested "I declare I don't ilnderstand you." "I suppose not" (satirically). , ''Pray, tell ime what you mean." "Why ,if you will have it, I mean that you are at the bottom of the illness. And I say it is- a shame, for a finer or straighter girl never wore shoe-leataer.'-"But, my dearest Sandilands, I .declare on my honor that I never in my l life said one word.of love to her!"

| "That may be—but what on earth did . you want to go and save her life for—eh? But I own I can't speak calmly on the subject—l feel it too much for that. Such a • treasure of a farmer's wife as she'd na'made! Poor girl! But, tliere I do not blame 'ee, Ben, for I know we can't command our inclinations. Only sou must please to excuse me now mv boy." ! . J And Sandilands took down his liquor and passed out. But Ben sat long after his friend was | gone—sat on alone and in silence, which was only broken by' his occasional emphatic utterance: "By Jove!" The story he had just heard was astounding. But it was not incredible For did he not from bitter past experience, that such a thing as "dyin* for love" was but too possible? ° •Still there were difficulties, of course. He scarcely knew what to think. whilst thus musing, his eye fell 0 n a mirror. As there was no one in the room besides himself, there could be no objection to his indulging himself in a peed. So he crossed over to before the glass, and there continued his reflections W hat the result of these reflections mav have been I cannot say; but I know that, by the time Ben left the Yivio-y House, the last trace of melancholy had vanished from his mien. <Nor was the cause of this difficult to guess. It was !es his heart than his self-!n VP W aich had suffered in the first instance.'' and that self-love had now received •. Master which completely restored its -rtundness. Whatever his faults may have been, and he was by no means frepi' fr om ' them, young Ben was not so hardhearted u scoundrel as to allow a v cmn" lady to languish for love of hirrl Sn° before many months were ove?| his mrtrriasre with Alison was ari accomplished fact. And as each of the parties is in a manner thg complement of thy

other, their wedded life is a conspicuous success, Mrs. Brydone supplying the energy and decision, and Ben the sentiment and imagination of the parsership. Chronometer, the big hay, still occupies the stall in their stables; but Ben will not hear, upon any account, of Alison's riding him to hounds. Yet, strange to 9ay, since the eventful day I have described, the big bay has not been known to ibolt. And perhans the full facts in the history are only "known to Alison, though thev may perhaps be guessed by Sandilands.