Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8464, 14 June 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

By EFFIE 'ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of "Spinas- Love Story," "A Splendid Heart," "Itraoe parbttra," "The Temptation of Mary Bar," "Ihe Interloper," etc., etc.

CHAPTER 1. "Wtl'v V>\D YOU COME) AND SPOIL MY LIFE?" It was a miserable, wet morning. The rail) leii i:i a fine, misty fashion, blown now and then into sharp, drenching huiricanea, as the cold December wind beat round a corner with a little extra force. One of the biggest of the Atlantic steamers v/;;s just about to start on her voyage from New York to Southampton. The passenger's were arriving on board, shivering and chilled in the bleak, wet wind. The huge structure of She ship, with its spotless white upper and lower decks, its three great funnels, and its innumerable portholes, reared itself like some mammoth animal above the wet planks of the landing-stage and wharf. It seemed incredible at such, a moment to imagine that this vast building of wood and iron, with all its tremendous .machinery and its little world of human beings, would most probably in a few short hours be tossed and rolled about by the Atlantic waves aa easily as though it were a match or a straw. The scene was dismal enough and the lookout far from encouraging. "Dirty" weather might reasonably be expecied, if the force of the cold wind and the leaden hue of the sky and the distant sea were any indication of such things. None can gainsay the beauty and picturesque charm of the wonderful harbour of New York, with its widesweeping perspective, its busy concourse of sea and river craft, and in its centre, silent, superb, majestic, the giant figure of Liberty, with its torch held high aloft. The beauty, however,' does not'extend to the inner reaches. The numerous docks' and' landing-stages of the many different steamship companies that stud the water-gates of New York Citjr are unlovely enough under any circumstances, and assuredly on such a morning as the one described the dirty and dismal atmosphere that hung over the whole scene seemed to have spread even to the wide harbour beyond, and to have effectually shut apart its beauty, at least for a time. Upon a deserted part of the promenade deck, well away from the throng of passengers and their friend* that crowded the gangway and the lower deck, stood a girl. Ker arms were planted on the stout iron rail that ran round the deck, her hands supporting her chin. She had on a thick brown ulster and a rough tweed cap, a blue gauze veil was twisted over her face, and kept the cap secure on her head, its thick folds effectually shutting out a glimpse even of the face it shiouded.

The rain had fallen on her persistently, blown against her at tim?s so fiercely as almost to soak through the thick texture of her ulster; but the girl seemed indifferent to the rain or to the blustering wind. She was apparently intent on watching the swarms of men on the wharf below, hoisting the-'baggage on the lower deck, preparatory to its being shot into the hold. December, as it was, the Columbia was carrying a tair complement of passengers, and there was almost the usual quantity of freight and heavy baggage. ( From where she stood Sigrid Carleton had a good view of the gangway and of all who came and passed up it. The sound of the many voices floated to her ears in a fitful fashion, for the wind, when it came shrieking along, completely oveWhelmed the various noises of the inevitable confusion and swept' its way with a sort of triumphant majesty. It was a gray scene, cheerless, desolate. The bouquets of roses and other costly flowers which an occasional woman carried on board as a fragrant farewell gift from some friend made the only patch of life or colour in the sombre picture; but Sigrid at least was very grateful for this colour. She gave a little sigh. "It must be sweet to be remembered," she said to herself wistfully. She had a sudden longing for a cluster of those roses, for even one small blossom; not so much at this moment for the sake of. the flower itself, though flower-love was almost a religion with her, but for the meaning that such a gift would bring to her, for the beautiful thought and remembrance that would lie hidden in it 3 sweet-scented heart. "I wonder," she said to herself, slowly, dreamily, "I wonder what it must feel like to realize that there are hearts beating and fearing, perhaps, every hour while one is away. It must be strange; it—it must be very beautiful." The bustle and confusion were naarly over now, the last batch of the mails was on board. A beli was ringing out sharply, striking its heavy note determinedly through the wind. The last adieus were being said, tears were flowing in some eyes. As Sigrid watched the people left behind group themselves on the wharf below, a mist of tears rose in her own eyes. The scene grew blurred and indistinct before her. She turned away suddenly from the rail and drew out and sat down on one of the innumerable deck-chairs that were ranged around. It was a sheltered corner; she leaned back in her chair with a sigh; the noise of the voices, the sough of the wind, th'j clatter of the machinery, tho, throbbing and vibrating of the engines as they started their week's hard work, all melted into a hazy dream. She had travelled ao much. It was strange for her to wake now and see the same things about her for more than a fortnight, 0", at

the outside, three weeks together. |lt came to her suddenly at this moment that this incessant movement, this perpetual life of voyage and journey, was growing almost unbearable to her. Oh, to be back once again in the soft, sweet calm of the convent school —to live once again those days of peace, of gentle influence, of wholesome ambition and excitement in her work of light-heavted gaiety; to have once more that sensation of close sympathy, even kinship, with others! Oh, for the power of migrating, like the swallow, from the wintry desolation of the present to the sunshine and the flowers of that happy, happy schoolgirl life! A little choking sob broke from her lips; she suddenly lifted the veil from her face and arose. Her yearning had brought a sense of suffocation upon her; she could not breathe easily. The deck was no longer deserted now; odds and ends of people had made their way up to it and were busy letting their handkerchiefs float in the wind, a white signal of final farewell to those who were left behind. Sigrid conquered her agitation as she found she was no longer alone, two passengers ( having just taken seats close to heif chair. As the big steamer got well into the deeper waters, the business of settling themselves comfortably superseded their farewells with most of the passengers, and they began to be more cheerful. Out in the wide harbour, cold and gray as it was, the wind seemed certainly less boisterous, while the rain had ceased altogether. Thus a more hopeful spirit was soon spreading from one to another. As the deck became occupied, Sigrid Carle ton came in for her usual share of attention. She seemed, and ] was indeed, utterly indifferent to the many and the steady glances turned in her direction; She was accustomed to being stared at; she had become thoroughly well acquainted with the sensation during these past three years of travel. She knew in a vagae way that she was beautiful, something a little different and apart from most girls she had met, but Jjthe knowledge did not affect her very much. If there was one feeling more pronounced with her than another, it was one ot weariness, a .weariness of a tired young heart, of a desolate, overstrained young spirit. The loveliness of her delicate, oavl face, with its exquisite mouth and its wonderful clear skin, brought her no joy, no radiance of contentment. She looked occasionally at her reflection in a mirror with her great eyes, so tired, yet so indescribably beautiful, and she turned away from the vision unmoved. Yet to her quick, sensitive nature the sight of her own sad eyes should have brought a rush of sympathy could she have realised, as others did, the story written in their depths. The history of her shadowed young heart lay in those rare, sweet eyes.They were eyes sufficient to have given beauty, charm, eloquence, to the plainest face; added to such youth and unusual .loveliness as Sigrid possessed, they had a power which was indescribable, though she herself was quite ignorant of this power. And as she was ignorant of this, so also was she indifferent to the effect she made on others. She drifted away gradually from that moment of sudden yearning, of unconquerable heartache, and fell back into her usual mood—a sort of quiet acquiescence to fate. Young as she was, she seemed to have outgrown the res tive passion, the impatience, the intolerance of youth. She looked listlessly at the busy water life, at the hundreds of. boats scattered about the harbour, whose occupants sent fluttering handkerchiefs to the wind and gave faint cheers of encouraging farewell to the big outward-bound steamer, as it moved along in stately yet swift fashion. By degrees several chairs filled close to Sigrid, and a few passengers had already commenced their ramblings to and fro on the deck. Of these last, two people stood out A as being more interesting than the rest. Sigrid Carleton's eyes were caught first by the gleam of a knot of ruddy bright hair, seen beneath a close felt hat. Then she became conscious that the owner of this beautiful hair and of the neat hat, and exceedingly neat gown and coatj of blue serge, was a very prepossessing young creature. She gave her whole attention to the girl, admiring her well-rounded figure and her charming appearance with the whole-hearted sincerity which perhaps only one really beautiful woman can another. (To be Continued.),