STRAIGHT AS A DIE BY Mrs EDWARD KENNARD.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 102, 1 May 1889, Page 6

STRAIGHT AS A DIE BY Mrs EDWARD KENNARD.

CHAPTER XL,

CHAPTEE XLI.

Author of "A Real Good Thing;" '•Killed in the Open ;" " Tho Girl in tho Brown Habit;" etc.

BRAVE WOIiDS, BIIAYKT.Y SPOKEN".

Then on a sudden the barriers of self-con-trol fell down, and all the ilood-gafces of Dulcio's sorrow broke loose. 'Bob,' she fobbed, 'I have foughb so hard, bub to wo purpose. I feel as. if I could not do this thing and give you u.p ; and yst,' forcing back tho tears, ' i muafc. There is no help for it. You see, mamma and the girls are not like mo, and, though it may sound conceited to say so, they ate not capable of enduring things : therefore, mine are the fitting shoulders to bear the burden. And now, Bob, dearest,' taking his big hand in hersandstroking ib lovingly, • 1 want to ask .something of yon.' • What ia it. Duicie?' ho said, speaking in a thick, broken voice. ' I want to ask you to help me, Bob, to be pood and patient and gentle. I want; you, now that 1 have fought this hard, hard buttle, nob to make my lifelong load of misery, and my regrets for dear lost love and happiness, still harder to bear through tho remembrance of any such harsh words as you spoke a little while ago. 1 should like to think of you always as being land and good—as ttie Bob who took my part and protected mo, as the Bob whom 1 trusted and respected, and as the Bob who will ever remain sacred to my memory. Darling, say just once that you forgive me for what has taken place, for, oh J Bob!' beginning to cry softly to herself, ' you must know how dearly I love you, and how

terrible ifc is to me giving you up. _ X our words still ring in my ears : they will haunt me by day and by night. 0, ray love !my love!' flinging her arms around his neck, with a smothered cry of anguish, ' say you don't really consider me a " flirt, a coquette and a jilt,'"' for it kills me to think that you should"doubt the honesty of my affection.' The wind whistled and howled overhead as it tossed the groats naked branches of the tall pines to and fro, whilst they laboured creakingly.HkeagaUantship before the storm,and the dark heavily-laden clouds pressed down on their black crowns with an oppressive sullennes. And the rain, as if bemoaning the cruel fate of these innocent lovers, swept along in fierce gusty showers, driven furiously forward by the cold blast. Was it heavenly moisture alone that tilled Bob's eye? to overflowing, making the great drops roll down his honest _ face, or were they tears wrung from the innermost holiest chords of a sorrowful and

generous heart ? 'God bless you, Dulcie,'said Bob, huskily, * I aa\ not fit'to compare with you, and lam a boast for ever having spoken such words. But the very knowledge of your goodness renders it impossible for me to consent to our parting. Neither of us can be happy divided from the other. No,' he cried, with sudden vehemence, 'I cannot let you go. I cannot, and I will not, say good-bye for ever. Dulcie, my own dear little girl, you have but to say the word, and we will sail for America together next ■week. Nobody need know anything about our plans. We can get married quite quietly somewhere in London, without any fus3 or bother, and I swear to devote my v/hole life to the promotion of your happiness. So long as I have a strong right hand wherewith to work, even if I havo to

dig the ground to gain our daily bread, you shall want for nothing. You don't care for Mr Denver, and you do care for me. It is wicked to marry him under such circumstances. How can

you promise to love, honour, and obey him ? Come with me,' stretching out his arms, yearningly, 'oh ! come with me instead, and, leaving the old life, let us start for a new couatry and begin afresh. Dulcie, my sweet one, only say yes, and you shall never have cause to repent your decision; for, as there is a God above, I solemnly promise to make you a true arid loving husband.1 She v/as shaken fco the very foundation of her' being. Ifc is indeed hard to resist temptation when every feeling, thought, and longing whispers submission, and no ■wonder if she hesitated. Once already

_ during her short lito she had gone through ijie bitterness; of death, and now, for the second time, she was called upon to face it again. The struggle was brief bufc decisive. ' No,'she said, speaking very gently, 'it may not be. Ah, Bob ! all my little stock of courage is sadly needed ; don't make mo turn coward afc the eleventh hour.' • Dulcie, Dulcie, have you counted the

cost ?' 'Yes,' she sighed wearily, 'I have realised my misery fco the full, and can even picture my future life as Donnis Denver's wife—a life of selfish luxury, of narrow aims and moral degradation, shutout from all higher possibilities of noble aspirations, until at last I shall sink to the level of the man I have married. Oh, Bob ! what prospect more hopelessly dark and dreary can this world contain for a woman ?' As he looked at her quivering face and poor pale lips, a sudden agony of parting seized him, a physical protest against this cruel sacrifice that demanded all the joy 01 two young human lives, stripping them of everything that made life worth the V ' Dulcie !' he cried, fiercely, ' yon are ray wife in the sight of Cod, and I refuse to abandon my claim. No otuer man shall ever call you his.' ~ . , . She recognised that all his keenest pasBions were' aroused, fanned into glowing vitality by those few last words sue had SP°B Cob' she said, tenderly, 'remember -what I asked of you as a favour and for noth our sakes don't make things harder to bear than they aro already. You were coin" to teach me to be brave, and to do thatinust bo brave yourself.' •It™ all very fine talking when I'm losing you for ever; when I may never sot eyes on your sweet face again, and all that will be Eft m7in the future will be the memory of the past,-and the thought of your meetings and partings. 1 feel as if I were going mad, w nh ! my dear ono ! you have been everything to rae-my hope, my goal, my SU. a£b nSit, try and think that our separation is but temporary, that our love Spast until we meet in Heaven, and that linon this earth we never can be wholly SUSS. Our *hoa« htß Md T prayeT fill always be for each other, and Sen Saps, some day - you know vm'saiAeow day was to be our mottolell then, perhaps, some day, if wo are Song and patient, things may right themSeThev wSrave word,, bravely spoken olrhouHi the low, tremulous voice and faltering accents belied them sadly. She hersel stood bo. sorely in need of comfort fhS it was hard work trying to console Mother But she had-young as she was fnower and an influence over him which £ ffi impossible to resist and which afc l° aSt to fool back "P™ in all the long, embrace bo Iook: r d^ facQ Jong years to> life , g mirpor sha, U b?h?n° savfthe thought of happy byan d no-m^. leffc to com{orb m0 iv the p-one aaj », "

And then, with a choking sob, she pillowed her tired head on his shoulder, and their lips mot in one long pas3ionate and despairing kiss:

' Daop as first lore, cn-J wild with all regret,' whilst his strong arms stole round her waisb, (illinjj her with an exquisite sense of security. The wild wind raged over the bare common, boating in vehement blasts against fcheir poor tear-stained passion-stricken faces, so for a few short seconds they stood thus together—closa together—for the last time probably in their lives. A long and sitcred silence ensued.

Presently she faltered, gassing at him meanwhile with anxious eyes :

' Bob—you talked just now of—ot going to the bad. You—you won'b dp that, will you ? You'll be a good boy for my sake, and nob d-drinkj or gamble, or commit mean actions of which you will feel ashamed afterwards. You must keep a claar conscience, and whenever yovi feel led away— to —to do anything wrong, I want you to say to yourself, " Duicie would nob like this or' that, so 1 won'b do ib. :> Will you— promise—me—-this—dear old boy ?'

' I'll try, Duicie. It's no use promising outright, and perhaps nob being able to keep my word, for 1 feel desperate, and hardly know what I am about.' ' Every night,' she continued, seriously, ' I shall think of you. Bob, before going to bed, and pray God on my knees to keep yon from all harm. Prayers arc of some [.ood,

surely?' ' I don't know, Duicie. I hope so, for I am sadly in need of them at the present

moment.'

1 And, Bob,' with a shy tremor in her voice, ' you—j-ou'll let me have Nipper ? You won't think me boo bad for that, for I shall want something, oh ! so dreadfully,1 beginning to weep afresh, ' bo love in your place, and to remind me of you. I'll take great care of him.' ' Yes ' (hoarsely) ; ' you shall have Nipper. I'll send him over to morrow.' ' Bob,' she said, with a timid, loving glance, 'would you—would you care to have one of my curls ? You used to say you liked them, and thought them a pretty colour, so I cut one off this morning.'

' Do I care ? Oh ! Duicie, how can yon ask such a question ?' ' Perhaps you'll look at ib now and again, i Bob, when—when you have nothing better to do, and think—of the dear old days, and how happy we u—u —used to be,' breaking down. ' Child,' ho cried, passionately, showering kis3 after kiss upon tho sweet upturned face, ' you will drive me mad if you talk like this. It is more shan flesh and blood can withstand. Give mo that lock of your pretty brown hair, and take this ring instead,' slipping the little pearl hoop over her finger. It was to have been your engagement ring ; now keep it in remembrance of all that has passed between us, and of how dear we have been to one another.'

And once more, pressing her convulsively to his breast, he gazed at her with haggard eyes. Both felt that the crucial moment had arrived. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her brow, even her little pink ears, and then, in his anguish, he pushed her from him, almost roughly. ' Go,' he said, imperiously. ' Go, before the dsvil takes possession of me again. I can bear ib now, in another minute it may be too late.'

She looked up into his face, and saw that it was all working with powerful emotion, whilst his good and evil angels struggled hard for supremacy.

If they wore to part, now or never was the time.

She pushed the thick hair from his brow, and stroked it gently back with a gesture of womanly love and. tenderness. Her eyes were full of tears, and her speech eaine thick and inarticulate.

' Good-bye, my own darli;ig,' she murmured. ' Good-bye, and may God bless yon and keep you through all eternity !' Then, without another word shs turned swiftly away, and went out into the darkness and the gloom, blindly stumbling over the prickly furze-bushes and bhe tall, dripping bracken. But when she reached the road she could nob refrain from turning and taking one last farewell look, and as she looked a great overwhelming bitterness came over her spirit.

' Bob ! dear Bob,' she called, desparingly, stretching out both her arms toward him ! • come to me ! Let me look into your eyes just ojicq again, before we parb for ever.' But the fierce wind carried the echoes of her voice aloft, and dissipated them in their very birth, so that he never heard her prayer, whilst she, afraid of the intensity of her own emotions, groped her sad way onwards.

Onwards along the muddy road, through the pitiless rain, battling feebly against the ranging wind, which made the leaves on the tree rustle and roar like ocean waves. Overhead, the black clouds raced and tore, anon parting for an insbant and displaying a lighter hue, then settling down again into renewed obscurity. A few minutes sufficed to web her to the skin.

But she scarcely felt the boisterous elements, or realised her own personal diaeomforfc; for the mental misery she v/as suffering rendered all bodily sensations trivial in comparison. Before long she came to the bridge, which she had passed once already that day, and then she stood perfectly still, gazing down at the dark gurgling waters swirling rapidly past the iron columns.

Arid, as she looked, they conveyed such a sense of quietness and peacefulness that the. thought catne into her mind how easy it would be to jump down from where cho stood and find rest.

She could fancy to herself a sudden feeling of cold—a gasp—a pant —a swift and momentary and involuntary struggling with physical instincts, followed.by a blissful unconsciousness which would speedily put an end to her present anguish, Would ib bo wicked to act thus ? Should she be condemned as a lost soul by those whom she left behind ? Surely, when people were so wretched, and longed with such fierce hunger for death, there was gome excuse for them !

Happy folk, who were incapable of realising such eensations, might probably judge her uncharitably, but not those who had°felt what sho felt, endured what she had endured. Nobody cared for her but Bob, or would miss her when she was gone. She waa not herself to-night. Her brain felt on fire, full of strange throbbings and murmurings. Was she going to fall ill ? Ah ! if only she could die like that, die a natural death. Then nobody could cast stones at her memory. N Shuddering violently, she glanced again at the gliding stream, and tramped hurriedly on. A faintnesa and lassitude were creeping over her frame. On, on, on she struggled, until at length to her infinite relief, she recognised the garcleu-gate of Milnacot Lodge, and, fcotteriug up the path, paused wearily before the front door, and, like one in a dream, entered the hall. All of a sudden, a loud singing filled her ears, dark spots danced before her eyes, and black film seemed to descend upon her mental faculties.

Staggering towards a chair, sho tried to grasp'afc it for support, but beforo she could do i?o her legs sank from under her, the whole room swam round and round like a whirlpool, and she sank down senseless on the floor. ■ .

MUST WE MEET? After all, Dulcie's wish that she might dio was within an ace of being fulfilled.

For many days after her memorable part, ing with Bob Mornington she lay danger, ously ill.

The mental anxiety and excitement she had undergone, culminated in an acute attack of brain fever, and for four-a'ud-twenty Lours after her return home she was in a state of high delirium. A professional nurse had been called in. bub sha could nob succeed in soothing the patient, and Marian's vcpice alone seemed to possess any calming or restraining iniluence. Consequently Marian tended her sister, and, during many hours in the sick room, gathered much of Dulcie's mental condition.

But at length a favourable crisis took, placs, and a day came whon the fever subsided. Though alarmingly weak, Duloie could recognise the faces of those around. Then she fell into a long sweet sleep, from which she awoke calm and refreshed, with a new lease of life.

A fortnight elapsed and at the end oi that time she was pronounced.convalescent, arid cheerfully told by the family doctor ' that she had nothing; to do bub take care of herself, and make haste and get well.'

Get well indeed !

How could she ever do that ? Lotions and cunning compounds might; succeed in curing bodily aches, but where was the medicine able to cure those of the heart ? She longed to ask for news of Bob, and yet dared not do so ; but one day, when they were alone together, Marian told her he had started for America, and that before leaving he had implored her to write him a line just now and again. ' Marian,' she said, ' send him my love, be sure and send him my lovo, and ask him nob to forget his promise.' Ib was a cold, cheerless day towards the end of October. Tho wind howled outside, the ruin beat against the window-panes, trickling down them in little dreary riyulofcs; Duicie was sitting iv a large armchair, dreamily watching the flames leaping up the chimney. She looked very delicate, and there we're great purple rings round her eyes which made them shine with double brilliancy, whilst the pretty soft curls had been shorn from the white temple?, on which transparent blue veins now stood out in startling: contrast. And yet—under circumstances trying- to most women—her loveliness was, if possible, augmented. It bad grown more ethereal and spiritual-looking. Even her mother, as she sat opposite to her, could not help noticing how beautiful sho had become. Mrs Shepperton fidgeted uneasily and wished Duicie would speak,for this perpetual silence was horribly oppressive to a healthy person, though Duicie did not seem to find it so, but appeared quite content to sit there perfectly still, idling away the time with that curious sort of faraway look iv her eyes. Ib was so unendurable that at length Mrs Sheppertcn hardened her heart and ventured on a remark that sho had been longing for several days to make. * Duicie,' she said, speaking in tones of well-assumed indifference, ' I saw Mr Denver this morning.' Aha ! she had roused this immovable statue at last!

The girl gave a start, arid a faint flush rose to her pale cheek, bub she made no immediate reply. ' He wished mo to ask when you could soe him, child ?'

' Never !' cried Dulcie, with an animation hitherto undisplayed since her illness. ' Surely he cannot imagine Shat his society is likely to afford me any pleasure?' 1 Sooner or later you will be forced to see Mr Denver,' said Mrs Shepperton, coldly. 'Let it be later then,' with a little hard laugh. 'I for one am not in a hurry.' ' But you can't expect him to take the game view of things, Dulcie. Met', arc differently constituted from women, mid consider that once they are engaged to a girl they have a right to be with her.'

'Mamma,' she said, putting her hand to her heart as if trying to elill ifcs beating, ' you mn?t nob hurry me too much. Kcmeniber haw ill I have been. Beside?,' with an almost imperceptible sneer, ' Air Denver is scarcely the sorb oi: man who would care to beheld his fiancee dressed in an old flannel dressing-gown. Even as a matter of policy, I should have thought ib would have been wiser to wait until I am a little more deccnfc-lcoking than at present. He might repent of his bargain, you know.' She'knew her mother thoroughly, and could not possibly have better worded an appeal for delay ; but Mrs Shepperton had only that forenoon had a somewhat stormy interviow with Mr Denver.

' Yon are looking; very well, Dulcie,' she observed, after a slight pauae, ' and we can easily smarten ycu up.' ' What! smarten me up for Mr Denver, just like a fat ox being led to a cattle-sliow ? So, thank you.'

' Now, Dulcie, do be reasonable. He has asked to see ycu repeatedly. 1 have exhausted every excuse I could think of.'

' Can't you invent a few fresh ones, mamma?'

'Mr Denver Is beginning to get impatient,' she observed severely, 'and, if you tax his forbearance too highly, be may, as you say, repent of his bargain, and then,' with a sinister smiie, ' where should we all be? Why, he is paying our bills at the present moment, you ungrateful girl, whilst half the delicacies you enjoy are provided by him.' Duleie bent her head with a sense of increasing; humiliation.

' I only wish I had known ifc. I would not have touched one of them,' she said.

(After all his kindness, you sui*ely can not refuse to pee Mr Denver.'

' Very well, mamma,' ehe said, resignedly, ' I suppose I shall have to get over the interview, and it's only a question of time.'

1 That's all!' acquiesced Mrs Shepperton, charmed at having gained her point. 'So there's no good in making a fuSvS about) nothing. You are weak and ailing now ; but by-and-by you will get ' stronger, and then we will go up to town for a while, and amuse ourselves ordering the trousseau.'

Mrs Shcpperton herself could conceive of no more delightful mode of passing the time. But Dulcie did not regard matters from the same point of view, and her countenance, instead of brightening, lengthened very visibly.

' Mamma,' she said, with a little inward shiver, ' would you oblige me by not talking about the—the trousseau —afc least, not just at present—and please remember, once for all, that neither the presents, the finery nor the frocks possess the slightest charm for me. Such things may please girls who are happy in the idea of getting married, and who look forward to the prospect of being united to the man they love, but how can they possibly please me, or seem other than a mockery ?'

' Tut, ■ child ! However, one comfort is, Mr Denver is certain to insist upon your being properly dressed.'

Her intentions were doubtless good, but she was utterly deficient in taeb.

1 Mamma, if you do not wish to drive mo perfectly wild, please do not interlard all your conversation with Mr Denver's name. It will be quite time enough for him to insist- when the—marriage,' shuddering involuntarily, 'has been celebrated.'

' Pooh, Dulcie! how silly and hottempered you are ! However, I will tell Mr Denver f thafc he may come and pay you a visit bo-morrow, unless you consider it too soon,'

' Too soon !' she echoed, drearily, ' Will it not always bo too soon aa far aa I am concerned V Yes, let him eoirto to-morrow-, if he chooses ; the operation is sharp, but it had better take place without delay,'

This concluding observation angered Mrs ShepDerton considerably ; but she was beginning to feel a little afraid of Dulcie —■ afraid of her strange caustic remarks, of her white sorrowful face and reproachful eyos, During the above colloquy little I?ipper had boon lying curled up on the hearthrug afc puloio's feet, with, his pretty pointed head resting cosily on his two hind paws,

Bob Mornington had sent him over to Milnacofc Lodge the day of his departure, with a message saying ho was to be given to Duicie; and Mrs Sheppsrbon had not dared to refuse to take him in.

Now, directly her mother disappeared, Duicie threw herself down on tho hearthrug, by Nipper's side, with utter abandonment.

The tears started to her eyes. The least thing made theni come nowadays ; she had no physicial strength left, and, although the doctor declared shs was gradually improving, she felt no better really. ' Oh ! Nipper, Nipper,' she sobbed, whilst the big drops rolled down her cheeks, 'you are all that is lefc to me now—l have nothing else to love.'

Nipper looked up into her countenance with;, bright intelligent) eyes, wagged his tail once or twice, stretched out his leg?, and gave a little melancholy whimper, aa much as to say he understood what she was saying ; anyhow, it pleased Duicie to think that he did.

' You are a good dog, Nipper,' she murmured, caressingly, ' a dear, good, sensible dog. And you must geb fond of me, if only for the sake of him who has gone away. lie used to like me, doggy, bo you will too, won't you ?'

And then the silly child kissed Nippsr as if he had been a human being, and fondled him and cried over him whilst he licked her face and hands all unreproved. The grey twilightcrepb softly into the room, rendering its outlines indistinct, and the fire ea-ab dancing shadows on the walls. And outside the wind grew hushed and the rain ceased pattering; to the ground, whilst one by one the 3ilvery stars came out, until the ivhcle heavens were sparkling with diamonds, after the dreary day, decking themselves in their loveliest and bravest jewels. Sho lay there perfectly still, feeling a souse of refit from the darkness and the solitude, while a craving tor repose filled her being.

Half an hour afterwards Marian stumbled over her prostrate body as she entered the room.- ---' Dulcio,' sho cried, with a start, ' is that you ? What on earth have you been doing ?'

' Nothing, Marian. Only thinking. I do co wish I could forget the past, with all itr, memories and regrets.'

Marian's eyes glistened. Her heart ached for Duicie. She put her arms lovingly round the girl's waist, raiaed her from the ground, and, pillowing the poor, weary head on her bosom, whispered softly :

' Don't cry, Duicie, darling.' ' Oh, Marian, I shall never see Bcb any more !' weeping bitterly.

'Hush, dearesb, dou'b distress yourself by balking aboub ib ; and remember, if ever I can help you I will. Bob made me promise bo be good to you before he left.'

Duicie dried her eyes, feeling comforted, for her sister's kind words and evident, sympathy infused fresh strength into her heart.

Marian's kindness came as rain comes to a parohed-up flower, or as a ray of sunshine to some poor prisoner whose eyes are accustomed to continual gloom.

(To he Continued next Saturday.)