A TARDY ATONEMENT.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXX, Issue 18, 1 May 1902, Page 23

A TARDY ATONEMENT.

IN the early paradise of Rostrevor ' It was the time of the roses ' ; and Claughxnore caught the splendor of July's sunshine ~ on its heights, starting steep and bare from the rich woods. From shore to shore the lough, stretched in lines of dazzling light ; and a white sail flashing like silver, glided away to where the mountains seemed to meet. In the village__was a small shop with limp curtains drooping over an array of cheap blouses, sailor hats, faded ribbons and flowers, •send mysterious wire shapes explained by the inscription above the door : ' Ellen Pace, Milliner and Dressmaker.* In this emporium of fashion came a pretty girl in a costume sugges Itive of foam, with eyes that were homes of love and laughter, and lips that were sweet and pure. A jingling bell summoned from the back regions a thin, pale, whitehaired woman, her brows in an habitual knot, her xnoiuth one straight hard line. But her expression changed, softened, and brightened at sight of her visitor, and a streak of color crept into her faded cheek. 'ils it really you, Miss O ' Conor ? I heard last night that you had come, but I didn't expect to see yo,u so soon. It is more than good of yoiu indeed.' ' I wanted to be sure that 3'ou were really better ; and seeing, is believing, you know.' ' I am quite strong again, thanks to yourself, Miss ! ' replied _ Ellen Pace, her face still flushing and quivering strangely. She looked up and down, and swept imaginary dust off the counter, and twitched at her cap in a nervous excitable way. ' And it is thanks to you that I got through the winter at all and was able to keep a roof over my head. I suppose you cannot help being kind to the poor and sad and lonely. It is enough for you to know thatthey are so to set you off making things better for them.' Tho few words summed up Aideen O'Conor's character with sufficient accuracy. Her acquaintance with Miss Pace dated from one day last summer when she had been attracted by the poverty-stricken appearance of the shop ; and, going in on an imaginary errand, had found the proprietress fainting — from the heat, she had said ; but Aideen ascertained that it was rather from privation. The neighbors, not without cause, considered Miss Pace rather eccentric. They opined that she had saved a good bit of money and had starved herself to make it more; others declaimed that she had not so much as woiuld cover a crutch ; but no one really knew anything aboxit her, and she held herself strictly aloof from all social intercourse. The empty qupboard, the threadbare garments, the bony face and figure appealed to the tenderest spot in the girli's tender heart. She was like the sunshine — not to be resisted. Miss Pace drew down the blinds of a brusque reserve, but Aideen penetrated to the depths of the long-frozen heart. Her prompt and practical kindness helped the forlorn old maid over a very stony b(it of life's road. ' I'm going away to Canada, Miss O'Conor,' said Ellen Pace. 'Would yo,u believe it ? — I have a brother there who has made money, and he wants me to go out and end my days with him. We have lost sight of each other for years ; but he advertised for me in a Dublin paper, and so we were brought together again. But if it hadn't been for yon I should never have lived to see this piece of good luck.' Aideen congratulated her, glad that she was to be permanently pro-

vided for ; and then departed for the hoiuse where she usually spent the summer with Aunt Barbara, in whose .care she had been since infancy. Her mother had died then ; and her father, Dr. O'Connor, had gone to India, where he had found an early grave. A quick, light step sounded "behired her, and a voice, with a slightly injured accent, exclaimed. : ' At last !, I've searched the whole district for you.' Aideen turned to behold a "blueeyed, black-haired young man, with a high-spirited Keltic face. ' Not quite the whole district, I think,' said she ; ' and, if accuracy is a first condition of truth — ' ' Oh, don't talk down to me like Aunt Barbara, dear ! And never mind accuracy or anything*, so long, as we are together. I have been simply aching to see you ; I have been afraid that I have been dreaming and shall one day waken to a grim reality that knows no Aideen.' - ' Aunt Barbara may prove sufficiently rousing when you ask her consent. What will she say ? ' ' Why, naturally she will say: "My niece is lucky to be adored by such an admirable youth as Terence Blake." ' ' I'm afraid she will not be Giuite so complimentary. She is always warning me agiainst matrimony, and declares that an engagement is a period of temporary insanity, dTiringf which a man is unnecessarily polite to the woman he will be unnecessarily rude to all the rest of his life.' ' Epigrammatic but unsound ; true to the miaiden-aunt tradition, otherwise erroneous. Perhaps at some time or another Aunt Barbara has had a disappointment, and thenceforth the grapes have ceased to ripen.' So chatting, they strolled along the broad, siunny road, like mirrors reflecting each other's brightness, as lovers should be. At a certain green gate they took leave of each other ; and Terence went on to his mother's residence, a white house amid a wilderness of sxich roses asi Rostrevor brings forth in profusion. Mrs. Blake was a wealthy widow, Terry was her only child, and he was naturally the centre of her hopes and ambitions. She was just alighting frona her victoria as ho arrived ; and she took possession of a basket chair on the lawn, under the shade of an immense Japanese umbrella. ' Well, mother mine, did you enjoy your drive ? ' ' Very much. Don't put away your cigar, I like it. What did you do ? ' ' Indulged in indefinite — or I should say definite — roaming. The O''Conor's are here, mother. They came from BelMst yesterday.' ' Indeed ? ' Mrs. Blake's tone wasj like ice-cream — sweet but cold ; and under her mildly resolute gaze Terry grew red, twirled his ' weed ' confusedly, then jerked it from him. ISmoking, a cigjar is like marriage,' he said ;' 'if it is begun badly, it goes on baldly, and notjhkvg will ever put it right.' ' And marriage is not like smoking a cigar ; once you have begun it, you must go on with it_, and can't throw it down just because it has proved a failure. ' What set you off on the subject, though ? We were speaking of the O'Conors : did the one suggest the other ? ' . She waited with ostentatious patience for his reply, and at length it came. ' You have found me out, mother. I love Aideen with all my heart.' Mrs. Blake was not surprised. The information simply confirmed a haunting suspicion ;i and she told

herself that she ought to have foreseen this result and prevented it in time. It was too late to interfere, SK'f w 6Slded ' <W°sition is the life of love and may rouse even v a passing fancy to vigorous stability! whilst amiable acquiescence may nip both in the bud. Tell a man that ht c« nt dd + ° better for andho S n S | tS about lowing you that he can S.o reasoned Mrs. Blake, as closT^tnT 11 ' hl ? confession to a 'Now only your blessing; and, your consent are wanting to complete my nappmess, mother.' ' 1 shall not withhold either mv dear boy At the same time I can't help wishing that we knew a little more of Aideen's antecedents. She appears to know next to nothing of her parents ;, and once or twice when I have broached the subject to Miss Barbara, she has turned a deaf ear. I suppose you don't ' know where Dr. O'Conor was practising before he went to India nor why he went there ? ' w ' I really never thought of asking any questions, but I am positive there is nothing to be concealed.' Well,, I will call on Miss Barbara to-morrow and ascertain when she and Aideen can dine with us,' saiid Mrs. Blake ;, and Terry kissed her hand. Early the following day she fulfilled her promise, and found Miss O'Conor at home and alone, which was just what she wanted. After some polite fencing,, Mrs. Blake came to the real object of her visit. She did not like Barfbara O'Conor, hut sho respected her and had confidence in her honor and integrity. ' My son made me a very interesting confession yesterday,' said Mrs. Blake, pleasiantly. 'He has fallen in love with your pretty niece, and he will soon, I suppose, be asking, yoiir consent to an engagement. I hope you approve ? ' ' I .have no personal objection to Mr. Blake,' said Miss Barbara. She looked bewildered, even stunned. 'I I—lI — I never expected that Aideen woiuld care to marry. I never wisihed that she should.' '> That is a little hard on her, isn'ti it ? ! ' 'i On the surface it may seem so. She is very poor, Mrs. Blake. My annuity dies with me, and I have saved little or nothing} to leave her.' ' I should not wish my son to marry for money, even if he needed to do so. On one thing only I insist : his wife must bear an unblemished name.' Lower drooped Miss Barbara's head, and the color receded from her lips. ' You leave mo no alternative, Mrs. Blake. I am bound in honor ■Co tell you what I have hitherto concealed from Aideen herself. Her father died under suspicion of having committed murder ; the suspicion has never been removed.' A shocked exclamation from Mrs. Blake sent a flood of crlnison to Miss Barbara's "brow. ' Yes, horrible indeed ! He was my only brother, and he married a pretty, silly, vain creature, whose folly and extravagance made him wretched. His domestic troubles were no secret, and people were always predicting a sensatipnal termination of some kind. Joist 18 years ago this month the end came. Mrs. O'Conor was suffering from a" slight cold, for which her husband had prescribed. One night he went into her room anid gave her the medicine himself before going to a patient some miles away. Before his return she was found by her maid dying, poisoned. You can imagine the sensation such a tragedy caused. My unfortunate brother had to stand his trial, but little or no evidence against him could be produced and he was acqtiitted. Nevertheless, few believed him innocent, so he was a ruined man. He made a brave effort to live down the stigma, but in

vain ; his practice dwindled away. Ho went to Inxlia to begin afresh there, but in a few months he died Aideon was leit to my care, and has been with me ever since, not knowing her patents' skin You will excuse me from enlaigmg on it In the lapse of so inaiix )cais it has died out of public n membi anu 1 , but it is not impossible Uiat it may he revi\ed , ami now it is only just that von .md \our son should be ma.de aware ot it ' 'I'ardon mv sa,\ mg that you ought to have told Aideen the tiuth long ago. You would thus ha\e sa\ed her and others a great deal of pain, Miss () Conor ' 'I admit ni\ own moral cowardice,' answered Baib.ua ' I deceived myself into thinking that my silence was to sa\<j Aideen [tain, whereas 1 lealise that it has been to spare m,\self the agony ol casting;, a slur upon my beloved brother s memory May lie rest m eternal peace ' And that he truly does 1, for one, do not doubt ' I am \ery sorry>' said Mrs 1 . Blake (her cvelids were smarting). ' Of course this ends everything between Terence and Aideen. If you still Wish the truth to be hidden frojn her, no douibt we can lind some plausible excuse foi not sanctioning the engagement ' Miss o' Conor merely bent her head as a matter of fact, she was past speakuig , and Mrs. Blake retired, her heart aching for the pain fc'he must inilict upon Terry. Jlow would he, whose life hitherto had bee. i like a white sail on a sunny river, endure this downfall of his tender hopes '> And poor little Aideen, so unconscious of the blot on her name, of the sullermg m store for her whether the secret wero kept or not — who would not pity her > As Mrs Blake had expected, Terry was awaiting lwr letum m the highest possible spirits ' My poor boy, I am so soiiy for you ! ' she whispered tears gathering as she surveyed him. in Ins youth and happiness ' Mother dear, what has happened "' Is Aideon ill 9 ' No, but as surely separated f i oni you as if she were dea,d And then, without fuithei pieface she bnellv lepeated the sLoi v told her by Mis-, () Conor 'Thank heavi n Aideen does not know and need not know ' ' weie his In st words Mrs- Blake said, less ent hust uallv "No, if we can imd some other reason sulhcient for v our dissociating yourself from In r ' But why must 1 do that ' Sheis not lesponsible foi her fathers guilt, if guilty he weie 'My dear Terry , pray do not allow yourself to bo c.iiriert away by foolish sentiment Your couise is clear. I pity the gnl deeply and sincerely, l>nt she Is not the only 'one who must be considered Flow can you marry the daughter of a suspected man '> ' I can't consider anything but the guileless gnl who has nevei cliei ished an unkind or seldsh thought, who lo\es me, believes me, liusts me Why should 1 betray hu trust ' Can't 1. can t aon give Imm father the benefit, of the doubt > ' Thn question is not whethei the man was really guilty or not "We need not discuss the niattei for v our course is clear I will be undid with \ou, and tell von that von maist "choose between her and me If you marry her. 1 will not ie<eive her, nor will 1 recei\e ot legard you as my son If \»u persist ni this, you forfeit e\ ci v claim on me, and I shall leave all ni\ money to my sister's childien ' And with burning cheeks she left. Ihe room A foitnight passed without Aideon seeing her lovei , though token of his existence had come stating that lie hod been summoned unexpectedly I'o Belfast on business, which lie would explain when they met Aunt

Barbara had developed a strange despondency and melancholy ,' and, to crown all, the girl had met Mrs. Blako driving to Killowen, and, instead of receiving Uie usual gracious smile and bow, had been startled with a passing glance* of uninterested non-recognition What did it all mean '' It was a day of driving wind and rain ,t, t the waves breaking with a long, vicious swish on the shore, and shiods ol mist Uoatmg over the mountains Miss O'Conor sat knitting, wnilst Aideen i uu.il the following note, which had just been received with a large sqiiiare parcel .—. — Miss Aideen O'Conor Dear Madam, — Accept, please, tins present, which I made for you myself When it reaches you 1 shall be gone Good-hye Gratefully yours, Ellen Pace I' S —The lining will be useful. ' 1 suppose- she is a little mad,' said Aunt Barbara, when the present was displayed, and proved to bo a hat of many colors, lined with pink satin a.itti rampant with wings and (lowers. Further criticism was preventod by the clashing of the g'ardon gate which sent a shower of calceolaria blossoms over the wet grass Aunt Barbaia caught her breath as she Jooked tliroiigh the window ' It, is Terry Blake, Aideen What is there to blush for *> ' ' 0 Auntie ' I — he — ' stammered the pooi girl ' f know,' said Miss Barbara, sadly Instead of indulging m cynicism, she drew the girl to her side, bidding hoi lemember that, whatever happened, .she had still her Aunt Barbara „ and that the sharpest sorrows lose their sting in time With these mystei ious words she quietly withdrew, and Terry entered, still the fond and radiant lover. After a hi lef interlude, Aideen went straight 1 to the point ' Ten v is thoio any reason Why your mother should cut me 9 ITavo I oflended her in any way 9 ' lie gievv deeply, darkly, beautifully red ' She has i of used to consent to our engagement, lo\e 1 am of an age to indge and decide for m\self with whom I shall spend my life In tune she may lelent I am sure you will esteem me none the less because I ,un suddenly thrown on mv own 1 eSoill COS 1 O 'I ci iv , what do von mean 0 'That I shall soon Imd wot k to do, and be all the better a man for it 1 have been negotiating the sale of m\ yacht mid hoises and other luxuiues , they will fetch a good price — -enough foi us to begin housekeeping on. if you aie willing to take im 1 in an altered circumstances Are v on ° ' To that theie could lip but one ie~ ply, and Auieen wept, moved by his poi feet unsellishness, his pi ompt sacrifice of his own pleasures tu> prov ide for her though sho was far from realising the depth of his lo\e and the height of his chivalry They whispered to each other comfjoi t ajid encoui agement , until a sound outsido broi light them back to common existence t ind 'loriy's eyes fell on 1 lie nnllmeiv monstrosity 'What on earth is that he Cl led ' A hat with a history,' said she. handing him the note, winch he read '.Look heie, Aideen, there is more m that hat than meets the eve That postsuipt me, ins something Yout attention is pointedly directed to the lining 1 scent a' romance The old Kulv was a miser, and she has bequeathed all her weallyh to you Into that lining she has stitched her will or, perhaps, a. few thousand-pound bank-notes or shares m a eoni[>anv paving 70 per cent 1 Hasn't it come at a good t i me ° ' ' Thov manage these 1 lungs better m action,' said Aideen ; but the next

moment she exclaimed : ' O Terry, there really is something, under the lining ! I can feel a paper. What can it bo ? ' A few strokes of the scissors revealed a couple of sheets of paper closely written and addres&ed to Miss Aideen O'Connor. r "■ The will, of course ! ' laughed Terry. 'To how many millions are ;so«i heiress? Or is it ppssible that sho has left her business to you ? ' But Aidoen's eyes were hxed on the papers on which were traced tho. words tearing away the veil from the tragedy of her father's life. Miss Aideen,— My name is not Ellen Pace but Agnes Watson I was formerly ni your dear mother's service, and am unhappily responvn,M O1 'ff h?h ?i r death - Others w"lw "l tell you tho full story, and how .circumstantial evidence seemed to condemn your father. I solemnly declare his innocence. It was I who during, his absence that fatal night accidentally gave your mother the wrong medicine. I discovered the error too late and was afraid to confess the truth 1 feared that such gross carelessness, if known, would ruin all my prospects in life, and in my cowardice allowed another to bear the shame and blame. Nothing prospered with me after 1 lived in constant dread of the truth becoming known. I changed my name, but ever and ever the strutgigjo grew harder. 1 was at the last extremity of want and despair when you found me. Before I heard your name I recognised you by your likeness to your father. Now you will undei stand some of my questions. I have always been a. coward and I am so yet So, while conscience and your angelic goodness to me force mo to make this confession, I hi'do it wheie it may not be found until I am beyond your iust reproaches. I scarcely dare) hope that you will pardon me. But I earnestly implore you to say, ' May God forjgjive her !' Agnes Watson The leltei fell from Aideen's trembling hands, and she turned to her lover m an agony of entreaty And from him she heard all the sad story, understood the mea,nmg of his mother's anger, of Aunt Barbara's warnings and ondea\ors to preach the instability oi human affection , and, cleai or, brighter, better than all, saw the nobleness of the man she loved ■() TetTN Terry ' ' she sobbed, ' I can think' of nothing but how lam to outdo you in lofve and kmdnoss !' * ' It appears that Aideen does not wish that wretched woman to bo sonight after, said Mrs Blake as sho sat with Aunt Barbara m her garden Above them shook a single stai through depths of melting twilight the lough was ruddy as wi|ne with sunsets last splendor , the softi swish of waves added to rather than distm bed the stillness ''1 hat is so. She has forgiven Agnes W>tson It is- not Aideen's nature to do anvthmg else ' 1 Even I can forgivo her,' said Mrs Blake, ' when I remember that but for her tardy atonement I migiht have been estranged fronir— my chilAnd in the glance she cast at Aideen and Terry strolling to arid fio 'through dev.y darkness dear as day ' of the tall flowering bushes, there was nothing but kindness and love — ' Aye Maria.'