THE RETURN

New Zealand Tablet, 2 October 1913, Page 9

THE RETURN

The lilacs bloomed in the dooryard when Stanley Davis went in to .say good-bye to Mary Lewes. It had rained that morning, and the soft spring air, now warm and sunny, seemed bathed in the clean, sweet perfume of the flowers. One specially fine bush leaned over the porch rail as in welcome, and when Mary answered the door spray of lilac, tucked in her bright hair to please the baby, nodded down to the little head cradled in the ' divine hollow' of her neck. Stanley, who thought Mary like a flower herself, felt his heart leap at sight of her blue eyes, her pink cheeks, her rosy lips, and the frame of wavy gold that -Bet off her white throat and forehead. And for smiles such as that which crowned her beauty kingdoms have been lost and won. > Mary, charmed by the beckoning sunshine, would have sat on the porch, but Stanley mutely waved her - into the dim, cool parlor. 'Put down the youngster, Mary,' he said when they were seated, ' and talk to me a little. I've something to say, and I can't stop long. Grew's sent for me, and I'm going West to-night.' The pink cheeks paled a little, but the-red lips smiled on bravely. ' I can't put the baby down,' the girl answered softly. 'He's teething and fretful. The only way I can keep him quiet is to hold him. But I can talk just as well with him in my arms, Stanley, and I want to hear all about your trip.' 'lt isn't going to be a trip, Mary.' The boy's voice was low and a trifle unsteady. 'Grew says that the chance he offers will be permanent if I want to work hard, and I— have to stay out there for some years at least. That's why I want to talk to you,Mary. You know how I love-you. Marry me and go with me, or,, anyway, tell me when I can come back to get you as my wife.' The blue eyes reflected Paradise briefly, but the little head was shaken in denial. 'I can't, Stanley,' and her tone in turn trembled. 'How can I leave home now? Sheila's only five and Billy eleven, and then there's the baby. You know how thev and father need me. What would they do if I went awav iust now?' .. ■■■- ' Some one else could take care of them,' the lad demurred, even while his heart recognised the truth of her plea. Why should our happiness be sacrificed for your brothers and sisters? Why ' There isn't any one else,' Mary interrupted. ' You know how few relatives we have, scarcely - a woman among them. You know how helpless a man is with little children, especially when he's got to work all day and can't even be home every evening. And mother gave the baby to me when she was dying. I do love you, Stanley— you'll know how much but it -wouldn't mean happiness to run away from my clear duty to marry you. And—and I love you too much to ask you to wait until I am free.' ' Oh, look here, Mary,' the speaker's eager youth strong in every word, 'that's talking nonsense. If you love me, of course, you'll let me go away engaged to you. We may not be able to marry now, but later your father,' with hopeful recollection of certain whispered rumors, ' will marry again, pretty sure, and then the children won't be in your charge any more. Let me—' - '. 'That's looking rather far ahead, Stanley,' her smile a little sad. 'And even if father did marry again, it by no means follows that my responsibilities _,.-* would be ended. Some womenthe smile growing •mT sadder— might not care to take charge of the children, and, anyway, I'd have to love and trust any one pretty much before I'd be willing to turn over Sheila and Billy and the baby to her, even if she wished it. No, Stanley,' as "he showed signs of argumentative rebel- • lion, ' we mustn't think of getting married or engaged at present. We'llwe'll just be good friends.' The boy talked on, but the quiet firmness that underlay Mary's tenderness of nature won in the end, , ; as both knew that it must. At last they rose, still talking, and walked to the front door. The lilac-scented

breeze was wafted in like a wave of purest affection, and Stanley's eyes grew longingly dim as it stirred the little ringlets about Mary's ears and temples. Just inside the door he detained her to utter a last beseeching word. 'Well, Mary, if you won't give me your. promise, I'm going to give you mine, anyway. You may not consider yourself engaged to me, but I shall be engaged to you always. I'm your promised husband, sweetheart, no matter where I am nor how long we have to wait.' ; Again the wide eyes reflected Paradise over the firm lips that for duty's sake refused it. 'No, dear'— and Mary's voice was hardly more than a whisper, ' I can't have it so. It wouldn't be fair to you. I can't think of marriage until the children no longer need me,' with a brave if tremulous smile, and you may have met any number of more charming ladies before . that time. No, Stanley, just because I love you so I'm going to insist that you're free.' ''->'«& A moment of tense silence, the warm air playing sweetly about them; then the boy leaned to, the girl with a look that could not be denied. . Kiss me just once, Mary,' he whispered and she pressed a fervent caress on the lips that met hers. The n baby's head interfered somewhat, but the lad's arms § enclosed the girlish figure, baby and all, in an embrace 1 that almost crushed it. Then Mary drew herself away ? quietly, hushed the stirring, fretful infant and slipped her cold little right hand, roughened by - household cares, into his own. 'Good-bye, Stanley,' she murmured. 'Good-bye, good luck, and God bless you. Write me as often as '■ you like.' " . • 'You'll be faithful, Mary? . You'll wait for me until you're ready to marry me?'. he swiftly responded. ' You won't marry any other fellow because he can come and live here with the children and your father? You won't stop loving me because I'm not here?' _• He was halfway down the steps now, and the girl's smile followed him like a benediction. ' I shan't forget, and I shall be always faithful, Stanley,' she assured him. 'lt's for your own sake that I leave you free.' ' But you don't leave me free,' was his impulsive protestation.. 'l'm not free, Mary, and you know it. My heart's all yours, and always shall be. Haven't I told you that I'm engaged to you, whether you're engaged to me or not? I'm your promised husband, even if you're not my promised wife.' . : Her smile was still more like a benediction, but she made no reply other than to wave her hand as he passed down the walk between the wonderful lilacs. Tears stood in her eyes as she watched him, but the smile never wavered. When the lavender glories guarding the gate had swept into place behind him she ■ turned, suddenly sobbing, and went within. "-.,,. . !,- The boy turned, too, on the instant, and dashed noiselessly back for a final glimpse of his vanishing sweetheart. The door stood open, and he carried away a final memory of her slender figure mounting the shadowy staircase, swaying a little with the weight' of the baby. Some slight sound caused her to look back as she reached the top, and over her shoulder she gave him a last smile, half glad, half wistful, wholly sweet and tender. Then she disappeared, still smiling, into the darkness of the upper hall. So he often recalled her in the days that followed, but never, somehow, could he complete the picture with the desired vision of her swift return. The Western chance proved good, and so absorbing that Davis, working almost day and night, speedily was transformed from a light-hearted boy to a prematurely serious seeker after the success that is reckoned in dollars. He toiled at first to justify Grew's kindness by ' making good,' then in the hope of acquiring enough money to send for Mary, children, shiftless father and all to share the home he dreamed of building; then because the passion for work claimed him, body and soul. - ...He never forgot Mary, but the thought of her, at first unceasing, ever present, gradually asserted itself /■;-: only on Sundays or the rare evenings off that he

"was too tired to spend otherwise than in dreaming. His weekly letters became fortnightly, monthly, occasional, sporadic, lost tone : and color, though never fervor nor warm reiteration of his love and allegiance. The girl, busier, more home devoted than ever, yet, woman-like, easily able to serve two masters, noticed the, change and smiled sadly,. sorrowful prescience having warned - her of ; this all ! but certain danger,. Woman like; again/ however, she loved, -but" did not judge him: even when the severing silence fell. - v _ ~ For Davis, his starved nature suddenly rebelling against the deadly grind and monotony, unrewarded save by growing reputation as a gold gatherer, one night accepted the kindly invitation of an associate's wife and in her house met a glowing flame of a woman who ! almost literally consumed him with the fierce passion that both mistook for something higher. Within a month he found himself her husband—and the victim of a'mistake pitiful and far-reaching in its consequences. And so the years slipped by until they numbered seventeen—twenty since he had dared the Western chance. -.,;.■,.„. In all that time, though his increasing reputation as an eccentric furnished much food for gossip among his old neighbors, he had no direct word from the old village. An orphan boy, shy and sensitive, his only youthful comrade had been Mary, and after the marital spasm she seemed to belong to a former existence. Married, he could not write to her, and even when, not long after their meteoric contract and separation, the fervid flame that had been his wife burned itself out and left him an honest widower, he still shrank from acquainting the girl's pure soul with his pitiful story. •"" Then, one day business chance took him to a small Western town and marooned him there over night in one of the ill-managed 'hotels' he so specially hated. But the pouring rain on the . low roof brought him sound slumber, and he awoke next morning with a strange thrill. • -■■?■ The weather had changed, and the patch of blue sky visible through the open window was clear and sunny. A fleecy, rose-tinted cloud drifted across its azure. In the distance robins called and a passing breeze brought in its train an odor of blossoming lilac, moist and entrancing. And suddenly the far sky had given place to the shadowy staircase on which he had last seen Mary— she was coming down ! She was in simple white, just as he had last seen her, and in her arms she cradled a small white bundle. Her glance held all the sweetness of womanhood in it, but the wide eyes above were mistful, and what was this they bore behind her? v : . The vision faded, and almost before the white cloud had dispersed the man was out of bed dressing, ordering a hack to take him to the station. He had no idea what the vision meant, but a long-hushed something was stirring within him, and he felt that he had received a psychic summons. Out of the past long ; silent voices called him, and in obedience he was hastening 'home.' -'/;. \-- , -. " The, train drew into the shabby, well-remembered station, and he swung off and made his way into Main street, which showed but. few changes. Nobody recognised him, of course, but he saw one or two faces familiar, despite Time's relentless markings, and he heard a couple of drug store loafers speak of 'the Lewes : funeral.' After that he dared not voice the intended question. He could only push on straight to Mary's old ;; dwelling. His heart leaped to find it apparently just " as when he went away. >-The lilacs, old but still thrifty, were abloom in the dooryard. It had rained that morning, and the soft air seemed bathed in their glorious perfume. The same huge bush still leaned over the porch rail as in welcome, and when, trembling a little, he rang the - bell, Mary herself answered the door a moment later. At sight of her Davis felt a thrill that told him how thorough was this strange resurrection of his longatrophied soul. He could have worshipped her _ as she stood there, amazed but smiling, with her simple white gown, falling softly about her, and a little downy head cuddled into the ' divine hollow ' of her slender throat. ' Mary! he cried, and found his voice no more than a whisper. ' I thought '

' No,' she told him, seeing that he could not finish; ' that was Sheila. *We buried her yesterday:'' " 'v \ i This time it was he who would have lingered in the sunshine, but she led the way, just as of old, to the cool, dim parlor, uncannily haunted by lingering scent of yesterday's flowers. Again, as of old, she same into the low rocker and deftly mothered the stirring baby. While she crooned it back to ; sleep David studied her eagerly. She was paler than he remembered , and - the red lips curved to unwonted pathos, but otherwise the years that had left him grey and lined seemed to have made slight impression upon her. ;:::r; : : ;:: \" ■; 'j, She looked up presently, calm and sweet as ever, and he began to ask questions. Your father, Mary V ; '-'-■. ' Oh, father is well,', smiling brightly. 'Heis an old man nowyou remember, he was always the kind of man to grow old —but he has good health and is happy. He married again the year after you went West.' --'•' • ; -■■'- 'The children?' -'- ,: -'-v 1 ' The children!' The smile was infinitely sad now, and the wide eyes darkened. " 'They haven't been children for some time, Stanley, though they seemed a long while growing -up. My father's wife didn't care to have them in the same house with her, so father went to her home and we stayed on > here together. Billy's practising law in New York now; married and doing fine. The first break came when he went to college. The baby died in its second sunmmer. And Sheila,' her voice breaking, was married early last year. He husband died suddenly two weeks ago, and the shock killed her. This is her baby. History repeats itself, Stanley ' —a tear fell on the baby's head suddenly —' Sheila, dying, gave her baby to me.' A long moment of silence, then on the man's part a burst of passionate self-reproach. ' " -• And to think that we might have had twenty years together! I could have made a home for you and the children almost from the beginning. But. I was money mad at first,' and then I got entangled. And when freedom came I paid the price in having my soul die by inches. I thought of nothing but business success' for years, until the day before yesterday. And now- ' '._'■• • :*• Her eyes, deep and still with'the wisdom of long and loving patience, bade him continue, but instead of finishing the broken sentence he leaned forward to grasp her unoccupied hand. ' Mary,' and the starvation of a cheated lifetime gave tensity to face and tone, ' God knows I've little enough to offer you nothing but uncertain health and the money for which I've bartered everything worth whilebut I've always loved you! And you're too sweet and good to judge harshly. Forgive me all my sins, dear, and be my wife now, even though I don't deserve it. .'..-.- _,.,.- ; -.-- .'■■:--. : ; . -. .■' ~_* -. ;;"

She was silent so long, her eyes closed, her mouth quivering, that his soul shivered with fear of what might have happened during his twenty years of absence. She wore no wedding ring, but this might mean nothing. Perhaps she was no longer free to love him ; perhaps some more decent fellow had won her these many moons back.

‘ Mary !’ he cried again, and at sound of his breaking voice the aura of remote and impersonal sweetness that held him aloof was flushed to wonder by the message of her lifted eyelids. Without conscious movement he found himself on his knees by her chair, his eager arms enfolding both herself and the sleeping baby, her head on his shoulder. • /

His joyous exclamation of ‘ Mary !’ snapped the last shred of ice film between them. Her long, curling eyelashes modestly veiled a bliss too ineffable for common daylight. - ;r /'/■. I —l suppose they’ll say I have no. spirit,’ she whispered , ‘ Butl’ve always loved you, Stanley ; always remembered you, even when you seemed to - have forgotten me utterly.- And, if you’ll let me bring Sheila’s baby, I’ll marry you whenever you like, my dear.’