THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 144, 27 September 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

ROGER ELLISON'S WIFE. The was .coming down in a steady drizzle tljat showed promise of developing later into a heavy downpour. There wrls a cJiilliness in the air that fully accounted for the cheerful lire blazing away merrily in a big bronzed grate of the long room—a spacious apartment, with French windows opening on to a wide expanse of garden, thick with bushes and shrubbery. One of those windows, devoid of blinds, was slightly ajar; a shaft of light from the fire—the only light in the room —gleamed out through it to the shadows of dusk gathering darkly across the garden. Out in the roadway beyond the garden a man stopped short at sight of the gleaming firelight from the window —a man gaunt and haggard, scantily clothed and miserable looking. With furtive glances to right and left, lie ,(Slipped in through the gate and 9tole round, in the shelter of the bushes, towards the open window. He got near to it and looked in; no one was within th.e Toom. '

He opened the window wider, "lused in momentary irresolution, and then boldly entered the room, stole swiftly across to the fireplase, and went down on his knees on the big crimson rug, his benumbed hands outstretched to the blaze.

With infinite satisfaction he rose from the rug and stood with his back to the fire, glancing all round the room with keen curiosity. On all sides he saw luxurious furnishings cabinets with rare china, ebony tables with costly bric-a-brac. One object caught his enquiring gaze—caught and held it—a, large cabinet photograph in a silver frame, on which the firelight gleamed—the photograph of a beautiful woman, the face full of expression.

He started violently, took a few steps forward, and gazed at it with a curious expression in his sunken eyes. His hand peached out as if to catch hold of it, drew back again, and fell to his side. A, name broke from his parted lips in husky whisper: "Doris!" A little color came in his white face; toe moistened his dry lips with his tongue, stole forward to where the photo stood, and picked it up. There was a tremor in his 'hand as he raised the photo up, stared at it curiously for a moment, then pressed his lips to the pictured face.

. A sound,, somewhere within the house, startled him; he put down the photo hurriedly, and darted across to the window. A patter of feet in the hall outside, and he was out through the window instantly; just as the room door was thrown open and a dainty little maiden ran in, peered all round enquiringly, and cried, in a sweet childish treble:

"Mums! mums! where are you, mums!"

As if in answer t$ her call, there came through the open doorway the original of the photo, a tender smile on her parted lips, a flush on her cheeks. With 'her came a tall, well-set-up man, greymoustached, keen-eyed, soldierly. "Well, Miss Challoner?" said the latter with mock formality. The child ran up to him, with hands outstretched—he caught her up and swung her on his shoulder. ■ <

'l'm not Miss Challoner to you," she said, running her fingers through his close-eropped, curly hair. "I'm that to outside folks, of course, but Molly to special people like you," "Now, Major," laughed Mrs. Challoner, as she seated herself on a low couch near the fire "there's, an unsolicited testimonial for you." "Whidh I greatly appreciate," returned the Major.

He came up the long room, and Molly, from her high perch, turned solemn eyes on her mother. Some idea was tain™ shape in her .mind, but she spoke not a word until the Major, lowering"her to her feet, sat in a big, roomy arm-chair facing Mrs. Ohajloner and perched the child oh his knee. Then' she looked into his face gravely, turned to look with equal gravity at , her mother, and calmly remahked:

"Mums, wouldn't it be nice if this was daddy?" -

Mrs. Challoner started in confusion, her face crimsoning from chin to brow: the Major also started, an eager look m iJS_eyes as they turned to scan her hurriedly aVerted her Outside in the garden the man watched every movement within the room, listened to every word. Again Molly spoke, the clear treble nnging out through the shadows. Id like you % daddy," she said, put- ! one ann rou nd .the Major's neck, i inere was a strained silence for a, moment; then the Major rose with her squared his shoulders as if g o in» into action, carried her in his arms to the ?<U and put her down there: I Now, Molly," he said, quietly "run | away for a little, while. I've sometfi ! very special to say to mother." : Obediently she'went out—he closed the & , £J I r l w ,ek «• v i f l \ rase from the couch, looked at him, looked away from him and sat down again, her fingers restlessand unlacing themselves in her With head erect he walked up the loom and stood with his back to the man 'ln , °kin,g dQWn at her - The J an 'n the garden glared in at him „ took in bi. fcce, w. tightly ~ was a tense silence in the room• rTu broke into speech. Mrs. Challoner—Doris " ho i,„ ST Iy - , <!Moll ' r ' S chiW ' ish lips We thou S hts and hopes of rte tt-tAw-s neres the one woman i« j.u Tm'in T" io] ?^ hat soul for' I m an old soldier and have fawif»» dangers, but—l've put off ny ting off, telling yofmy Lll, f PUt " I'd sooner face a of^unfE

dare tell you—but it's out now at last. I'm older than you a good bit—l've roughed through life a good deal, but—here goes—will you have me? I love you truly and fondly; if you could care for me even the tiniest little bit, I'd strive all the rest of my life to make you ■happy." Out in the garden the watcher devoured her face with hungry eyes and crept a little closer to the open window. Mrs. Challoner looked into the glowing coals as if she saw pictures there. "I thank you, Major," she said at last, visibly agitated, ''for your words. Any woman would be honored by the love of such a brave, true gentleman as-1 know you to be. You ask me a question; but, before I answer it, let me tell you something." Mrs. Challoner looked lip at him with a smile, but he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. "The story I am going to tell you is my own." "But," he exclaimed, "I don't want—"

"Stop, please—she raised her hand to silence his protest—"you must hear me; it won't take long in the tellitjg. Ten years ago I met my first husband. I was only a girl then; he was a man of the world. 1 thought him all that was good; he' proved to be all that was—otherwise. Our married life was not a happy one, and only the birth of Molly prevented mo leaving him." She paused a moment and stared into the glowing fire, her brows wrinkled with unpleasant thoughts. The man in the garden watching her set his teeth hard, and listened int n ;ly, "I won't enl«'"e on his misdoings—he was capable of anything; but just this I've to tell you: when Molly was only twelve months old he was arrested for forgery—arrested, tried, and found guilty. He was sentenced to five years' penal serivtude. I have never seen him since. He served three years of his time, then escaped along with another convict. Six weeks afterwards the two men were recaptured. In the course of a fierce struggle to get away again one of them was shot. That - one was my husband." The man in the garden crouched down in the bushes and smiled a weird smile. The rain beat down faster—he heeded it not.

"He died in the prison hospital shortly afterwards. I read of it in the newspapers at the time." Outside in the pelting rain the man in the garden glared at the two people facing each other in the glow of the fire blazing away merrily. "Out of my life he Trent for ever," continued Mrs. Challoner. "I was free; I waa glad. I had little Molly, and was ready to face the world with a light heart. They say it 'never rains 'but it pours.' Two days after the news of my freedom a lawyer's letter informed me of the death of an almost forgotten uncle who, out in Nevada, had amassed considerable wealth,'and it was all willed to me. Since then I have devoted myself to the bringing np of Molly; she is a dear girlie, as you know yourself, having known iher for a considerable time—in fact, ever since we settled here. She has no recollection of her father; how could she? I have led her to believe he died just after she was born; she must never learn'otherwise."

She paused. The Major Waited patiently, his hand clasping hers. "There is just another thing I want to make a clean breast of—it is only right you should know. You know now I am the widow of a convicted felon; my Molly, his offspring. But, in addition, you must be told that the name I am known by is mot rightly mine.. George Challoner waa my uncle; when I found myself'his heiress, I adopted his name to hide from the world that I had once been Roger Ellison's wife. You start!" Tne Major had made an involuntary gesture of surprise. "You knew him?"

"No," said Major Grant, gently; "but —pardon me saying it—that name was—well, rather a notorious one some years ago."

"I know that only too well" she said, with bitter emphasis; "hence my desire to meet the world as Mrs. Clialloner."

The 'Major released-<h.er hand and rose to his full height. . "Doris, I love you/' lie said. "It matters not to me whose widow you are—all that matters is that you are—ju»t you. Do you think you could learn to care for me?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't—learn," she said with a queer little smile, "because 1 have learned to do so already." In a moment his arms were round her, her head pillowed on his shoulder. . "

Outside, the man in the garden glared at them, an expression of absolute hatred | convulsing his features. He shook his ' clenched fiats in silent fury and strode towards the window, intent on entering. His hand was on it, when the room door opened inwards and Moily entered—to stop with a gasp at sight, of her mother in the Major's arms. "Oh, she cried, breathlessly. The man in the garden stopped irresolutely, his face twitching. Her mother raised a brushing countenance to meet her surprised gaze. "Come, darling, you are going to have your wish—the Major is going to become your daddy in future. Are you glad?" Molly uttered a shout of glee and sprang at him; he caught her to him with one arm, the other round her mother's waist. She flung her arms round his neck and showered kisses on his upturned face, with gleeful ejaculations of "Daddy!' ■ Daddy!" The man in the garden shrank 'back as if he had received a blow. He turned as if to slink away, then retraced his steps and gave a long final look in through the window, the firelight shining full on his face.

At that moment Mollv, turning suddenly, saw him. She uttered an excited shout. "Mums—mums—a horrid man! Look look!" pointing to 'the window. Her other, startled, looked, but saw no The Major threw open the window to its fullest extent, and leaned out. There was no one there.-

I . Down the dark road staggered, rather | than walked, the "horrid man" whose white face had startled Molly. He plunged blindly forward. Then suddenly, round a bend of the way, came a motor, driven at fair speed. The ehauffeur, unable to stop in time, with a great effort swerved to one side. At that precise moment the man in the road made an ellort to get out of the way, and staggered right in frorit of the car. There was a sudden impact, a hoarse cry, and a startled shout from the chauffeur, who rammed down his brakes with frantic haste. The chauffeur leaped from the car, followed by his companion—a tell, upright figure in a big motor coat. Tenderly they brought the stricken man and examined him by the light of the lamps. A glance .showed his condition was hopeless. As they bent over him his eyes opened; a spark of recognition Mummed them as they rested on the owner of the car. |

'"Major Grant," he whispered, with an effort.

The Major—for he it was—started, aad looked keenly at the wasted features; they were quite unknown to him. . Send—his away," whispered the dying man, his eyes on the chauffeur. , At a sign from his -master the latter moved away out of earshot. "I don't know you, though you seem to know me."

"Never-isaw you—-till—while ftgo," said the other man. * "Tell me your name." "Eager—Ellison." The Major started back as if shot. "Yes," said the other man, with a wry smile, 'his voice gaining temporary strength, "I saw you—from garden—you and Doris—and the child—little MollyGod Mesa her—my child." "But Roger Ellison was shot and died in the prison hospital," interrupted the Major. "Wasn't —other man shot—died—mistake m newspaper. I finished—sentence. Got out, end of it—couldn't find her—gave up looking. Didn't know loner'a money—changed name—all the better for her, too, I—didn't. Drifted downward—same as ever—always a bad lot.' He paused for breath. "Here now —merest chance—just drifting under. Saw light out window was inside saw kiddie—l'd have shown myself but —you there, too. Waited— watched— all.' He closed his eyes and lay back exhausted. •You're a—good sort, Major. Molly—settled things—far as—l'm concerned. I couldn't walk in and—and blight her young life like—that; whv, the sight of -my face at window—frightened her. Tiornd man'—she— called me; called her -father. Think of it. I never loved-Dom-muoh-until I couldn't-find her. When I saw her—while ago—felt I—wanted her badly. But—you're a—good sort—l'm _ sure—she—she loves—you—saw that in—ier eyes—when she looked' 7~*at you—there in the firelight. I'm going— this time—out of her life—for ever —what she—she wanted—long ago—l don't blame her for that., You—love her—she—lovea you. Be good—to her—won t you?" He held oufl ni feeble hand; th» Major clasped it withou! tfesitation. "I will," (Be Said, simply'. "That's good! Never let her—know you met—me—here now. Promise." "I promise," said the Major, solemnly,

"An« T»e good—to Molly—God bleat her!—rnv little Molly—God bless—" i 7? ,ce Off into an inarticu-* late whisper, a shiver shook the wasted frame. A feeble pressure on the Major* hand—the fingers relaxed, the eyes closed. Another convulsive shudder, and Roger Ellison, ex-convict, had passed the last of life a milestones. "Accidental death," waa the verdict of the coroner a Jury, yho exonerated the Major s chauffeur from all Mm»h». The remains of -the unknown man wen in- • terred in the little village graveyard at the Major a expense, and later a nameless headsto ne crowned the little plot m God's acre." A pretty little wedding took place some months later in the gaily-decorated nV-ff+ 3 the ha PPy couple passed out after the ceremony the Major's glance involuntarily turned towards the' nameless grave. The identity of its occupant was a . secret, to be locked for ever in his breast. Mrs. Grant, serenely happy all the after years, never knew how that happiness had nearly been denied to her, on • that fateful night when Molly 1 * impulsive words—and actions—turned'away the man in the garden."