A HERITAGE OF HATE

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 41, 17 February 1910, Page 8

A HERITAGE OF HATE

BY CHARLES GASVICE, Author oi "Thi; Alarquis," "iLorrie/' "A ilodern Juliet," "By Devious Ways," etc

CHAPTER XVii. — (Coniinued-J -\ 3y ciiis time the rainy seasoa had set j in: Dv: he neglected his prepars-tion jtnj precaution*, and allowed the rain to ttrifi; .:;:•■> h:s hut, arnj went most of the tj;.;-? w.-T ih:o::_rh. He grew thin ai:-d j ■wan i .-.I haggard, and tiie marvellous i ?t~;: - ": n'3= riowlv deserting him; he fair i.:■■">'. .t::> r .>n .'".ours ti~hing, and the arr- a ith which he to fell trers an i h-iui lurch, r so easily dropped to his j e> wearily if he exerted hinsseif in the oii wtri'-a-r way. ' Prr~ -nJv outraged Xature became in- I aijT'-u-.i and resentruL One day he was j fe-.'-n with a shaking fit, and had s<arce!y s: r> ■:::;::■, enough to rilk home, and icr .-. -i:e Jays be was in a. tind of fever, dv :■'::_• which he hopf-d he was! goi:? ' j die. Who knew": after uC"* T -ii h&\ miiriii =is her again. But he was l~~> spi--:u.;i a specimen of humanity to b* earn! -J out by a feverish cold, and he palled raroujrh. But for some days h.«. vsa~ \l_u3 weak tn walk, and oni , night Vn-.kJTy-r rouTid he fj.w tlie book from which Stella had t:iught bin. to read. Th. pencil and paper which they ha.i Esed \i his tiiociing lay beside it, and ht> sb jok ar.d shivered as he. rememberedhow gentle and patient she had been with him. c-ven while she hid laughed at him; how her STn?-":> hand had guiaevi his. With ;i groan he drew her letter—the lett«~r aiie had written to him—from hU povic-i. and jazed at it with aching, bloods-hot eves. T he sight of the writing which the .little hand had formed seemed to tear hl_- h.'.irt in twain: his heaved, and su , ■:■'-!'.• hi> eyes were blinded by a. j fiooj 'if :oj.r~. .1 man's tears are terriblo | at all timts; how much more the terriblo ; in this man who had been trained to the frtnicicx of the Indian! But -tiie •out-bursts- relieved him. and left him end enough in all conscience, bur strangely calm. And he repeated the lines of the letter wlii'-b he knew by heart: " 'I miss the island very much. . . How kind and good you were to mc! I hope "wu are quite well and happy, and don't miss mc very much: of course 1 T.-.ixt- you to miss ice a little; but not to be unhappy. 1 hope you will remember | the promise when we parted, that you won't forsret mc. . . . that you won't fall o> i r the cliff, or "bo reckless in anY It was like a message from the dead; he could almost h<>ar her speaking. Then he was assailed by th.? dread thai he might Fo-nie time fonret some woxd oi the precious letter; and. moved by that drsad. he resolved to continue his les , sj">3i. ".'i learn to wTitr, that he niighti always be able to read her letter. HU tit of weeping and this resolution probably saved hi- reason, if not his life. He opened the book and pored ovel it. 3.LL. fell to work at his writing with feverish eagerness. He slept Ivtter after this; for thft mind had found a detraction, some reliei from the perpetual brooding over hii And one day. as he went towards the beach, he looked, for the first time since Stella had eono, towards the hut. The storm bad blown down one of thj supports of rough wood of the verandah and"'had'" torn a srrfpoi shingle from the roar. . To him tie piaoe.jwas a sacred temple oi his lost Stella, and his reproached him for his negiect. He went hack and pot his tools, and a-pprcached the hut—■ but very slowly; and outside the door hp parsed, trembling as a devotee might trraiblt' at a shrine too sacred to bo entered; but at last he went in and stood still, looking round him with an aching heart. The r-xs-in seemed to cry out to him '"Stella! Stella:'"' He could almost fancy that he saw her standing by the table, or stc-ting in the chair, though he had never thus si-en her in life. Presently his eyes fell on the bed, and his trembling increased- He went up to it siovs !y. aiid sinkrinjr on >i'< knee 3 besidf it, let his head fall upon the coverlet, which id.- lips kissed a≤ one kisses the fare of the beloved dead. The caress— thr a-ct of worship, if yon will—calmed him, and he rose from his knees soothed and comforted. With loving care he touched some articles belonging to her —a ha/lf-finished skirt mon which she had been at work; the ncf-dle and thread were still in it, as Fhe left them: the wide-brimmed hat she ha,i lujide out of leaves, the book lying op»>n on the table. He touched and ki-.-"d them and other relics: and pregpnt'v he came across a small fiat, tin box lying under the pillow at the head of her bfd. A> h<* took this in his hand he renremhpred i'rip last worts of Stella's mother. Hi» it with intense interest, but ■wi r h no thing of vulgar curiosity. It was tied round with a piece of tape or braid and seal?d at eanh side. It did not occur ■ to him for a moment to break the seal. Of all rhf thing 3 belonging to her this •svas in his e~rs the most sacred, and he

would keep it intact while he lived. He ■ looked round for some pla.ce in which to pat it, and, seeing none to his liking, dug a small hole in a corner of the flooring of lie hut and buried it there. If the bos contained a secret, it belonged to the dead girl, and na one hut she should I ever learn it. \ Then he went outside and set to work repairing the damage done by the storm, i and it was the first work he had done, i since his loss, with any heart in it. When ! it nas finished he felt reluctant to leave j the hut, tor it seemed to him that the spirit of Stella lingered there; so he brought his blankets and other things from his own den in the tree and returned to his old quarters-, and all that nhrht he lay awnke communing with the vision of the boy girl who had gone and taken his heart with her. From this time he worked hard at his reading and writing, and tboniih hn made slow progress compared with that which is made under a tutor, lie learnt' to read with comparative ease, and to writ* in a stiff and boyish fashion; and the day he was able] U> read Stella's letter was almost a hap-1 py one for him. But "happy" is too big a word to use, for he never ceased to mourn and long for bcr. The time was now approaching for the visit of the Indians who came to trade; but Rath, who had hitherto looked forward to their coming with the pleusaut anticipation of a break in the monotonous life, now felt neither interest nor excitement, though, in an apathetic way, he overhauled hi 3 stock of skins and other artiieles of barter; but the time passed over and the Indians did not come. He was surprised, as they were nsually punctual to their soason; but ha was indilTorent. He grew nearly all the necessaries of life, and had a fairly good stock of ammunition, which was the principal thing he required of them. Once or twice he had asked himself whether he should diig up any of the gold Stella and he had discovered; but, remembering what she had said, her warning that the island would be thronged with fortune-hunters if the presence of the go:d were known, he decided to keep I the secret, especially as his pelts and seal-oil would get him all he required in exchange. Winter was very near at hand; indeed, there had been a light fall of snow, when, I one day as he was tramping through j the wood in search of buck, he heard i the distant sound of a gun. Concluding' that the Indians were approaching, he | went home and got his birter-stock! ready and killed a goat for food for them; j but the day passed and they did not| put in an appearance. He lit a tire out- I side the hut—his father had never per- j mitted the Indians to enter it —and sat'; up for them late into the night; but i I still they did not come, and, someivhat j puzzled, he next morning took his gun; and went to meet them. > The snow had fallen again during the ; night, and, ias he looked, round, he j thought how Stella would have admired i the white tracery with which the scene; was covered; for at all times his mind dwelt upon her. As he went, he gave the peculiar call with which the Indians are familiar; but no answer came, and aitex some hours of tramping, he was on the point of returning when he heard the baying of wolves. The weird sound came fitfully through the snow-laden air, and he paused and leant on his gun and listened. The sk-in of the Vancouver wolf i≤ valuable, and though he was not very keen about it—there was nothing about which he was keen now—he turned and went back towards the sound. As he approached, the baying was broken by the snarling which indx-uted that the pack was quarrelling over some prey, and moving more cautiously through the undergTowth, he came in sight of them. They were gathered around some object, fighting and snarling over it; and Rath, creeping nearer on. his hands and knees with the gun ready, saw with amazement that it' was a horse. He knelt on one knee, and raising his rifle, was a.bout to mark the largest of the wolves when he saw some of the pack leave the horse, and, with the peculiar, skulking move of the animal, make for another spot, as if they were going to attack some other object. Rath lowered his gun without firing, and crept nearer, and, with a thrill of amazement and excitement, saw a man crouching behind a fallen tree, over which he was pointing a rifle. Xha wolves were seeking for him, crowding and poshing on one another, and snarling like curs, their reeking jaws apart, their long fangs glittering whitety. As they were close upon his natural barricade, the man fired, and the nearest wolf dropped; the others fell back for a moment, then recovering from their fright sprang upon the fallen tree. Rath saw the man rise ] painfully to his feet', clutch his rifle, j aud swing it round; but in another inI stant he would have been overwhelmed ' and dragged down by the no in her of his

assailants; but Bath's rifle was at hia) shoulder in. a twinkling; he broug-ht down the wolf that was nearest the man's throa-t, and, with a cry, sprang fonraurd and rushed into their midst, striking at | them with the butt-end of his gun. They scattered like sheep, and joined by their fellows worrying the dead horse, slunk off through the wood like spectres. The man they had been attacking sank ( on to the fallen tree, and with trembling hand wiped the sweat from his face. • He was white with exhaustion, his arm ; was bleeding through a rent in his sleeve . torn by the fangs of one of the wolves; but he nodded to Kath with the smile which a brave man always finds possible even at his last moment. "You turned up just in time, sir," he said, trying to sp&ak calmly, but panting in spite" of his effort. "Another moment, and'those devils would have made a snpI per of mc. It was a near thing." ! Rath leant on his gun, and, with his j wonted gravity and calmness, regarded in silence the" man he had rescued. "Are you hurt?" he asked at last. The man rose, a little shakily, and shrugged his shoulders. "No; I don't think so. One of the beast- touched my arm; but it's a mere scratch. I'ju afraid they've done for my horse, though!" and he looked towards the dead animal and sighed. He was young and tall, and something in his face a-nd voice prepossessed Ka-th in , his favour. "Hotter the horse than you," he said, in his unconsciously philosophical i ] fashion. The stranger smiled, though rather i sadly. "That's true enough," he responded, "though the horse was a good one, : and I'm grieved to lose him. But it might have been worse, as you say. You have saved my life, sir." "I'm glad," responded Rath in his , curt way. "now did you come here? Where are you going?" The stranger straightened himself, as a man does when so interrogated. : "I am from Victoria," he said; "as to where I was going—well, I'm not : certain. The fact is, I lost my way— : if I had a way, about which I am not sure. The fact is, I left Victoria in search of—well, adventure; and, by George! Fve found it!" He laughed rather ruefully as he regarded his dead horse. "Are you a trapper?" "Yes," replied Rath after a pause. "You live near here?" "Yes. You had better come with mc," he added after a moment; for, in- : credible as it may seem, he was not i overjoyed at the presence of this 1 stranger. You see, the island was I sacred to him and the memory of Stella, and he did not welcome the , threatened intrusion. ,I "I shall be very glad," said the young i! fellow. "Is it far —your house, I mean 1 i —for I'll admit that I'm pretty nearly ;' done? I haven't tasted food since yes- : i terday, and this bout with those beasts : ] has played the Harry with mc." ; J "It is not far," said Rath, gravely. '. I"I ajn sorry that I have nothing for -i you to cat; but there will be plenty - j for you presently." .'; "That's all right." said the stranger, si as they stepped out side by side, but i. slowly; for he was evidently near dead' i i beat. "The sight of a fire and a square I meal will be very grateful." :. "Let mc carry your gun," said Rath, ;, and he took it from him. lj "Is there a settlement near?" asked j ! the stranger. il "A settlement? -Co," replied Rath, 31 "No? Then where are we going?" s asked his companion, with reasonable 1 j surprise. a' '"To my hut," answered Rath, quiete j Iy. c; "Oh —ah, yes, to your people," said i■■ the other. 1i "I have no people," said Rath. "I f am alone—live alone." y The young man regarded 'him -with t j amazement 1 "Alone! In this waste?" "Yes; quite alone," said Rath. i- "Good Lord! It's like a second Rob--1 inson Crusoe," murmured the stranger, c Rath made no response to this corns' meat, and they walked in silence until q i they reached the hut. d j "Go in," said Rath, with natural g j courtesy. "I will get some supper s j read} - . I have a goat killed, and will •, J cook some of it." '.. The stranger leant against the end s of the logs which supported the verif anrlah. c "Thanks, very much," he said. "I >- wish I could express my gratitude. 1, But I'm too astonished to express anyc thing. Do you mean to say that you It v>?—here—alone?" I, "Yes," replied Rath, quietly. "Why if not?" n "Oh, Lord! I don't know. But—but h how on earth do you manage it? Alone, is quite alone?" i- "Quite alone," replied Rath, as he ej turned tho joint of goat on the gridg j iron. c i The stranger stared, but said no c more. Rath served up the meat, cooked ;j to a nicety; and as the young mac ate n it, he said: n "We really ought to introduce out■e selves. May I ask your name?" -, "My name is Rath Rayne." said Rath, i- "And mine is Edward Bryan," said d the stranger. is (To be continued daily.)