III.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXII, Issue 52, 29 December 1904, Page 24

111.

Winnie's mother had been dead many years before I first came amongst them ; her failier was engrossed in business all day, and we seldom saw him except in the early morning and late iat night. She ha.d now fViishfld srho ol, and wit/h Co.n and Kyrle away, I was left as her only oon-vianiton, and I may Say confidant. But we were not as han,nv and contont as in our younger tiavs. A glot)in had fallen over Winnie, unrt the only bright rays which penetrated it wore the letters wiiirh were received regularly ffom Oon and occasionally from Kyrle. Coin's letters came regularly ©very Monday, and

these she re-read and ponderdd on during our evenijng so.iolirui by the la,ke.

T'hiu s tjhe first twelvemonths of Con's absence had passed a\or, when, om a Monday morning, Wirarie hastetnejd t,o meet the postman — on such occasions no Philistime hands were allowed to toueri the letters — but returned with a troubled look and downcast eyes instead of the us^al Joyful (?ush. No words were required to inform me that Con's letter had not arri/ved. I, howevor n Locxketd forward hopefully for tihe following mtorni'ng. But wihetn the morrow came and passed intjonist'ory, and wais followed by many similar days, a/wl yet no news trom ( l on, then 1 als^o began to look serioius. This wias in spring, bait the newly-leaded woods or the bright Aipril stun brought no joyqus thrill to Winnie, tor darker maisings had her miitf ; and when the verKlure ol sipring passed by and was succeeded by the rich, golden summer, faintly lingering hope ga T . c way to desipaLr. She now shunned life and sought the Solitude, apti towards the autumn, as the ripe corn was beiing cut down and the matured hay gathered to the farmyards ahe became noticeably paler and sajclder. We still had icfur evani'ng walks, But instead of to tihe lake enr steps were now turned towards tihe cMurchyard, the s\a'd afciod'e where death reigns sujpreme. One evening as we returincU horne — Winnie had prayed loaig and fervently on her mother's grave and cried profusely — her fatllier, noticing (her altered aijlpeara'nce, ordered her tx> beU, a\n.d wnote for tihe doctor, whose attendance in tihc)se part** wias blut rarely rec/iiired. I amxiously looked tor Wiinnie at Kite brtia'Kfa.st (able on t»lie- fallowing inlorning, but, alas, tlhere was a vacant chair, and I was sioxely grieved to see the troubled look which her father bore. The gao'd man was not over observant, but tihe absence of WiMnie, I»he one bright ray in his clouded and biusy life, toayi a most disquieting effect, and woke up sl)imben|ng memories of other day^s. I watched all •day as tide f^.p slowly Spanned tihe heavejis,' hoping aqaitast ho.pe that as avening came an I would hoar her gentle srimnidns, hut, alas, I was a'g ( afn doomed to disan))pmtme|nt. All night I spent in a sad vigil anxiously awiantimg the morrow ; hut thel morrow came 'and 'passed away, and yet no sight of the comely form, no touch of the gentle hand, nor soitr.ll of the voice wihose every whisker I understood a:n/d obeyed.

Thiih tflie hours passed by an-i slowly faded into days alternately saddened by the visit of the sombre doctor and briejhteiicH by those of tihe hope-inspiring priest. Seven times tjhe sun had set and risen again sitnee I ha|d seen Wviwiie, when one day I was brought to her bedroom. I brtoadted i)n with joy ; Winnie was there, but, alas, how changed ' The bjoom lhad left her </heck ( amd the lustre of the eye 'had gone ; she was transformed fuom a doll to a statue, but still beautiful. On seeing me s,be patted my 'head, and thc/n ttirned away slabbing, air^l I was taken away ?.nd left to my owti sad tdio.iigjhts.

Optsvde the leaves were fa^t falling from tihe trees, the sky was dark with cloudis, and a solemn stillness appeared to have fallen on everything. During the day several friends and neighbors called, and ih the ervetnihg Kyrle arri/ved Something had prompted me that he was coming, a;id 1 met him at the village. He greeted me as triendly as ever, but then he fell ihto a reverie and 1 I'ollowed him at a res-pectfiul di .stance.

That night lights were In the hosise later than usaial, and it must ha\e bec^n \cnx, past midnight when I suddenly awoke from a troubled dream. I heard a great noise in the •ho/use, tihey ware praying and crying, ajnd I realised that the worst had ha/ppefned. I then raised a weinl cry ■which I was unable to control until Kyrle rjushed out and his appearance scared ajn'd silenced ,me. His head was bont down, and his eyes stared cold and tearless ; he hurried alc<ng not seeming to 'know or care wihither, and I followed him silently. At length we

came to the c.hurchyard, and going in he threw hiknself on hLs mother's grave ; then the tears came, tho heartre niiiag taars of a stfong man, artd for an hour he siobbeid a^d cried like a child.

We returned home as the grey dawn appeared on tihe hori'/o,n, the once bright and hasnpy home but now sad beyond words— said der than I could yet realise. The day of the funeral arrived, and I learned that she was to be taikon to her mother's grave. At length the coffin was taken out and carried to the churchyard, enclosing tho source of all the pleasures amd joys of my life. It ■was placed in the already open grave, aoid the cold earth filled in with ils dull, dismal sound, each thud seWdfovg a cold shiver to my heart. Then, alas ! I knew I was to see her no more, and I canuiot attempt .fro describe my feelingp as I thought of the happy days we had sprint together ; of her meiry laughter and pleasant voice ; how she stroked my iiead and caressed me, and them of the sadness that canre over her, and how sihe became more and more attached to me m the 'days when s<he 'never lauglhed.