UNKNOWN.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2453, 31 March 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

UNKNOWN.

Day was drawing to a close above the western horizon. Tho sunset's gold and purple clouds were heaped in gorgeous and fantastic forms. Long shadows lay upon the higher ground, and a purple mist filled the valley. From his low couch near the window of a crowded hospital, a wounded soldier looked out upon the scene, knowing well that he should never see the sun rise again. His doom was sealed. One of the most terrible of the battles of the Crimea had be?n fought, and that long, low place was crowded with the wounded and the dying—the dead also. The news of tho battle would bring sorrow to many an English home. Tho face upon the pillow was bronzed a.id manly, yet almost regularly beautiful. Tho bright, black hair, clustering about the temples, curled exquisitely. It was one a woman might love well, who lay there. So thought the comrade who bent over him, as the dying soldier's eyes turned upon him. " I have a favour to ask of you, Reginald," ho said. " When lam dead, place this packet upon my heart, and let no other eye see it. Open it.,' The officer whom he called Beginald obeyed. Within lay a rose, faded and withered long ago, and along tress of goldeu hair, coiled up and tied with a blue ribbon. " Whoso hair, Edward ?" asked the young man. The answer was a strange one. " I do not know ." The young officer thought his friend's mind was wandering ; but the othor looked up with a smile. " I do not know her name ; but that ii the hair ot' the woman I love—the only woman, Reginald, I saw her first when I was a child. I had gone into a little cave under a cliff I know well, to seek shelter from the rain, and looking up, saw wh I'. at ii»st I thought wasafairy -ayoungchild as I knew in a moment, a girl so light an 1 fair that she seemed almost unearthly. She was beautifully dressed, and her liair foil about her .shoulders. " 'This is my cave,' she said; ' hut you may stay here, little hoy.' " ' May I ?' I said, laughiug. "And how does it come to be your cavo ?' '' ' Because I took it for mine,' she sai d 'Ihide here sometimes, anduurso searches for me everywhere, but never finds inn. I shall never let her find me. I like to know there is one placo I can do just as I like in. " ' Who are you?' I a-ked. " ' I aha'll't toll you,' slie said.

" We stayed and talked for a long while ; and, when the shower was over, she flitted away, and I did not know where she had gone. "I told my mother of her, but she knew no such child ; and after that I used to find her in the cave very often. "I brought toys there, and dainties, and we grew very much like brother and sister. "I used to ii.sk her name: but she refused to give it. " ' You would begin to be respectful,' she said, ' if you knew it. I hate people to be respectful to me. I like to be just a little girl. That's why I run away from nurse.' " That was all she would ever say, until at last our pleasant meetings came to an end. One day I found her looking very sad, and with traces of tears on her face. "'lam going away, little boyshe said ; ' and I shall never see you again. I um going to give you this rose to remember mo by, and a curl of my hair, and you must never forget me.' " I took the rose and the curl, folded in the very paper you hold there. " But you must comc back again,' I said. "'I cannot,' she answered; 'but I shall love you always. Nice boy, kiss me.' Our little lips met. ' Now shut your eyes until I say Booh!' she cried. "I obeyed her, but the cry did not come, and after an interval I opened them. She was no longer there. "I was more romantic than most boys are, aud I kept the curl and the rose ; but she never returned again. " Years passed amy. I had the good fortune to be invited to a ball given by a very great per-oriagc. It was a masked ball, and I had been watching a beautiful aud petite masquer for some time, when she turned aud approached me. " ' Good evening,' she said. ' Pray, do .you remember a nave in a cliff side, and a naughty littlo girl who hid there ? ' '• ' Remember!' I cried. 'Oil, then it is you ? I know your hair. It is—pardon me ; I do not know how to address you, madam.' " ' Names are nothing,' said she, with a low laugh. ' Take me to the conservatory. and we will have a little talk.' "I offered hrr my arm. Amongst the flowers she removed her mask. She was as beautiful as ever, and then aud there an enduring passion for her fell upon my sou). She said things to me that proved that she had watched my career. "I had already been in battle. She was pleased to speak of something I had done in terms of praise. " We sat together for an hour; then she arose aud remarked, in a grave voice, 11 We must return to the ballroom.' "We did so. I was madly in love with her. I detected in her a tenderness for me. But just as she used to vanish from the cave, she disappeared from my sido I saw her no more. " Alas ! she left ine in a sad plight— ignorant of the name of the woman I loved. '' A year passed, and I had not seen her. We were ordered away, but before we went came a night upon which a great singer sung in opera. "It was one whose fame was worldwide. " I sat enraptured. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. One of the ushers handed me a card. On it was written— 'if you wish to see me again, follow the usher.' "I knew who had written it, and obeyed. " Exquisite in her evening dress, she addressed me in the sweetest tones, spoke of our approaching departure, and bade me know that she would think of me. " 1 was about to ask a question, but she stopped me. "'My name? Ah, no!' she said. ' That you cannot know. It would do no good.' Madam, I must know,' I said, 'fori adore you. I can no longer conceal it from you. You are my life—my very soul! ' " She answered, softly, "I know it, Edward.'" •' ' What! You know it,' I gasped. " 'My own heart revealed to me the emotions of yours,' she said. I came here to-night not to hear that girl sing, but to see you —1.0 speak to you. That is aIL that I eau do. Fare forbids that we shall ever draw nearer to each other. I risk much for this.' " ' Then you are married r' I asked. "' It does not matter,' she sighed. ' I will tell you nothing. Wo may meet again, or we may never meet ; but, remember, I shall never forget you for a moment. I shall know all you do—all that occurs to von. 1 have the means; but you can know nothing of me." '"I will,'l said, 'I will win you or perish in the attempt! Whatever you may "'You could not,' she said. , You could not. it would be hopeless —hapless. Oh, I wish it were not so !' " All through the opera we sat together. At its close, she cloaked and veiled herself, and 1 led her to her carraige. " ' Good-bye !she said. "And I pressed a kiss to her soft hand. " Then she was gone. I shall see her no more. Ido not even guess who she may be ; but she will know that 1 wear the rose she gave nie, aud the ringlet of her hair down to the grave.'' The soldier ceased. His eyelids dropped; his hands dropped at his sides. He was gone. Thcv bore his body home to England. On the day of his funeral an incident occurred, which those who saw it always remembered. A lady, wrapped in the deepest mourning, and unknown to all entered the room. She knelt beside the dead soldier, and kissed his brow and his hands, laid one white rose within them, and ".vent her way. No one saw her face ; but lieginald knew that it was the woman whose golden hair he had placed oil his friend's bosom—the woman he had loved without knowing her name