Short Story.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 699, 27 October 1909, Page 7

Short Story.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL

ARRANGEMENT.]

THAT TELEGRAM.

By Cecile V. Sayer.

"Good gra—cious, why, it's Vera!'" Clara and Rosamond Ceverley looked the astonishment they felt, as the door of the little sitting-room where they were having tea with their widowed mother opened unceremoniously and a pretty and daintily dressed girl burs into their midst. "What a surprise!'' and "oh. Vera. what an unexpected pleasure! Have you come to stay, dear?" chorussed Vera Cariine's sisters in a breath. And then they simultaneously stopped short in their questioning and stared at their elder sister wonderingly. for her greyblue eyes had suddenly welled with tears.

Mrs. Ceverley, the mother of 'he girls, silently rose from her chair and drew her daughter towards her affectionately. "What is it. Vera, dearest?" she asked tenderly. "I hope nothing is wrong?" , "Something is very much wrong. mother," was the reply, uttered with quivering lips. "I—l have come home again, if—if you will take me back? He—he. Her—Herbert has deceived me. He does not care for me any—any longer. He —he " She got no further just then, for her voice strangled off into sobs, and she flung her arms around her parent's neck and gave way to a very storm of weeping. Her mother let her have her cry out, and then she gently led her towards the table. '"Tell us all about it. my child," she said. "We are still in the dark, you know. Have vou and Herbert qua«relled already? Why"—smiting sadly —"I thought you were an ideal married couple."

"Oh, we women are blind fools," said Vera passionately, "and until we eat of the tree of knowledge we believe in man's love. Only—onlv did I think that he—he, Herbert, was different. I'll never, never believe in anv man again now—l vow I won't. But don't ask me any more questions tonight, mother, dear. Just let me forget that I ever left home for—for the doubtful happiness of —of married life, and, for a few hours, I am going to try and fancy myself Vera Ceverley again. and not—not Herbert Carlir.e's wife. Suffice it to say that I have found the day feet of my idoL Rosamond and Clare Ceverley gazed at their sister in silent amazement. Had she taken leave of her senses, they wondered; and what on earth haa their brother-in-law done to have driven her from him in such bitterness :

x hey were sensible girls, however, arid. seeing how distressed Vera was, they wistiy forebore, at her express f.esire, to ply her with any more questions—that evening, at least. She would tell them what had happened in due course, they supposed, and until she did, they must restrain their curiosity as best they might. Vera had only been married a little over six months, and her letters home during that period had been full of h(/fc happy she and Herbert were, and what a devoted, and indulgent husband he was and now —here she was, as sadly disillusioned as many other women were. Surely marriage must be altogether a grave mistake, for Herbert Carline. when he had wooed their pretty sister, had been an ardent •over, and, moreover, he was an excellent match from a financial point of view.

The Ceverleys were genteel but poor, and that the handsome, well-to-do and brilliant young barrister had married Vera for love alone was obvious, as she hadn't a penny-piece to boast of.

Throughout that evening Vera tried oard not to remember the reason that had brought her home, and to be her 0 •»• j bri * ht self once more ! bu < she failed dismally, so was not sorry when the time came to go to bed. About two o'clock in the morning however, she was startled out of a restless sleep by a loud and peremptory knocking at the front door. 'Who on earth can that be?" remarked Rosamond, who was sleeping with Vera, and who, like her-, had been awakened by the knocking. "Why"— striking a light and looking at her watch—"it's past two o'clock. Perhaps someone is ill in the village—or "

She broke off short and looked at Vera, who had started up in bed, her pretty face changing alternately from crimson to white, for she guessed intuitively who the late visitor was; oniy she wondered that he should take the trouble to seek her so soon, after his perfidy and what she had said to him ED the letter she had left behind her for him to find.

1 lt Z~» L sound s like Herbert's knock, she said weakly, answering t s . lster s interrogative glance; "bint —I do not wish to see him to-night Rosamond. Will you tell him so if—if it's really he?" Rosamond was dressing as quickly as she could, but before going downstairs to answer the door she took the precaution to open the bedroom win dow. which overlooked the trim little front garden, and to call out. "Who is merer

Vera listening with a fast-beating heart, knew well enough who would reply to her sister's querv. and she was not wrong in her surmise, for she heard her husband's familiar ton-< say:

"Come down and let me in Rosamond. I've come after my foolish little wife, for, of course, she's here. I m horriblv sorry to disturb vou at this ungodly hour, but you'll understand I know.

Glancing amusedly at Vera's flushed face as she passed the bed to go to the door Rosamond hurried downstairs, for her common sense told her that after all this prank of her sister's was likely to turn out to be nothing more serious >han a passing quarrel with her husband, or some sort of misunderstanding that had probably arisen between them, and let her brother-in-law :n.

Some f ew minutes elapsed, and then Vera, who had slipped out of bed and xjonned a pretty dressing-gown heard * r husbands quick footsteps ascend- • rtg the stairs.

An instant later he entered the room a.one, Rosamond having discreetly remained downstairs, and closed the door after him.

Vera drew herself up haughtily and tried to assume a dignified air: but somehow she seemed to feel a little foolish, for she could not fail to notice the amused expression upon Herbert's handsome face and the twinkle of merriment in his blue eves as thev sought her's. He certainh- did no't look guilty of any deceit towards her. acri "ip vf* 1* him once more seem-

Ed to make all her recent resolves to leave him for ever fall flat.

"You silly, silly little girl!" he said fondly, as he suddenly snatched her fragile form to his breast, regardless of her futile struggles to release herself from his embrace. "Oh. Vera'" — placing one hand beneath her chin and raising her face to his —"how could you have been so foolish as to doubt me, my darling?—to doubt me or the genuineness of my love for you ? Granted fhat your mistake was pardonable—that is, a little pardonable, on account of the wording of the telegram that I asked my friend Dare to send you; but. for all that, my wife, you should have believed in me. And now I will explain.

"Of course I found the telegram beside that cruel and cutting little note vou wrote me'' shaking her playfully—•'and I saw at a glance what had caused the trouble.

"When I left home this morning, I quite forgot to mention to you that 1 had promised to go with Dare this evening to see a new play—produced to-night for the first time. It is called '"The Girl from Ray's." I suppose vou hadn't seen it announced in the papers or you"d have understood, and that fat-head Dare worded the message thus: 'Don't expect Herbert home tonight; he's going to see the girl from Ray's.' Whether the omission of any capital letters was his fault or the telegraph clerk's. I can't say; and now I've got my wife back I don't care —although she doesn't deserve to be forgiven for doubting me. But"— passionately kissing her —"she's going to promise now that she'll never be so foolish again, isn't she? Promise., Vera, my darling." And Vera, with a little hysterical sob, hid her shame-flushed face against her husband's breast and clung to him as she gave the required promise.

A MUTUAL LESSON. By Mary A. P. Stansbury The heavy barge laden with passengers and luggage lumbered up to the door of the rambling seaside hotel. Its tri-daily arrival from the railway station four miles away was one of the small excitements of the place. Sometimes guests already established would welcome friends of previous seasons., and among the strange comers there were sufficiently pleasant social possibilities to warrant the ripple of interest wont to stir the groups upon the piazza. A young girl in a white cap and apron stepped to the window of a second-storey room which she had been engaged in putting to rights, just as a clear, musical voice floated up from below: "O mother, it is all exactly like the picture—the bay. the rocks, the open sea. and the dear, quaint old house. I know we shall love it." Something like a gasp escaped the lips of the girl at the window. She leaned forward with one keen, startled look, and then shrank back out of view as if trembling with fright, while her feather duster fell unnoticed to the floor. "Helen Vane!" came in a breathless whisper from her lips. "Who could ever have expected to see her here?" There was a noise of footsteps ascending the stairs, the froufrou of silken skirts and the obsequious tones ot the steward. 'There are the rooms reserved for you. Mrs. Vane—No. 26 with the dressing room beyond, and No 28 for the young lady. You will notice the favourable location opening on the balcony, with the sunny morning exposure and the magnificent water view. I trust you will both be pleased. Pray rm & T for anything you may require." Nos 26 and 28!" said the little maid to herself. "On my corridor! I shall have to do up their rooms everyday myself!" She dropped into a chair and leaned her flushed cheeks upon her hands for a few silent moments. Then suddenly lifting her head with a new look upon her face, she said: " T t is honest work. The only shame •s to be ashamed of it!" The chambermaid's bell tinkled in the passage, the indicator pointing to i\o 28. Without an instant's hesitation the young girl crossed the hall and knocked at the closed door. The new occupant opened it, but her halfspoken request died on her lips. She '' started for a moment and then threw her arms around the maid's neck. 'Anita Grey! How glad I am! I dreamed you were staying . " Bu £ *' m not staying—exactly—that is—she pointed to her cap—"l am working here!" The one pair of brown eyes met the other bravely. Helen's lovely face I «Tew suddenly grave. "Come in, mta, she said, and, when the door' was shut, "now tell me all about it." There isn't very much to tell, Helen only father has had losses. It would be impossible for him to send me back to school next year. My Aunt Harriet at Deewood wrote that she would help me if I would help myself. That is what I am trying to do—to help myself." Helen's arms were around her again. You dear, brave child!" "No I haven't been brave at all. I thought I should meet nobody whom 1 knew. When I saw you getting out of the coach. I was afraid—" ;;Of me?" "Of you, because of what you might think, of myself because I was ashamed.' "And now—are you still afraid?" *ot of you. Helen!" Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. "Just what is your work, Nita?" I make the beds and do all the rooms on this corridor." '•And after that, is your time your own V "Yes but I can never finish until later I seldom get out before even"All this beauty and no chance to enjov it! But we shall change all "What do you mean, Helen?" T m S? ms to hel P vou w "h your work Then you can finish in half the time. "You." "IP mimicked Helen. "Don't you believe me competent?" Her eyes were dancing. "You can't mean it, Helen! What would your mother—what would everybody say V "I think I can guess what mamma would saw" with a little smile, tender and proud, "and a? for 'everybody,' I'm afraid I don't care." "But it is utterly impossible. I could never allow it." "Maids have not the authority to choose their colleagues." Then with a sudden sobering—"Listen, Nita! Mv one regret at coming here was that I expected to see only strangers. Now I find mv dear schoolmate. Is it anv wonder that I want something of her to myself. But. if vou would rather it were give and take, vou shall help me in return. You know how difficult mathematics has always been for me. I I'm ashamed to confess it, but I am

conditioned in geometry. And you — clever child—know your Euclid from cover to cover. Don't you see? Beds and brooms and dusters of mornings, and of afternoons rambles along shores and geometry books in cozy rockniches with the spray breaking at one's feet! The two equal each oth-

It was a nine days' wonder to the guests of the Prospect Point hotel, to have tkeir pillows plumped and their blankets and counterpanes smoothed by the fair hands of the young heiress of the Vane thousands. But no working or ill-natured comment could long endure the atmosphere which radiated from the happy faces of the two jjirls who went their rounds together. By mid-afternoon they were away, wandering along the smooth beach, watching the charge of the breaking surf, exploring the glistening sands at lowtide. sitting on moss-grown banks in the cathedial woods, climbing winding paths along slopes fragrant with juniper, bayberry and wild roses., camping with books, cushions and umbrellas in sequestred nooks of the grev rocks where the tides boomed below them and the curling green of the sea stretched away—to Spain ! The beautiful month came to an end as all such beautiful things must do. The Vanes were to leave on the morrow and Helen and Anita were enjoying their last evening together. A full moon rode high in the skv and in the broad track of light a little boat lay rocking from which the sound of singing floated inshore with magical sweetness.

"Helen,' said Anita, "I can never lhank you. You have made out of what semed a very hard thing to bear, one. of the loveliest experiences of all my life."

"Dear Nita," was the answer, "I have had good times always, but this has been of all others my very happiest month. lam going back to pass my examinations, but I have learned more than geometry—the sweetness cf the plav that follows work If I have done anything for you. you have returned it twice over. I feel so well, so strong, so glad to be alive! This has been a little journev by the path of make-belive into the land where dreams come true!"