THE GIFT.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIII, Issue 305, 21 December 1912, Page 10

THE GIFT.

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)

BY AXICE AXTD CXAUDE ASKEW "You take Christmas so seriously. Mis-. Rachel. I never knew anybody who gave »way ~o many prejs«*n« as you do. Why. I don't belipve you have forgotten ;> eingle soul ia the village—not even troublesome oid Nick Carvel; and as to the gifts you sent away by th" parcel post —why. the story ~ops that your hrown paper parcels block up the posL office." Molly Campion fiughod rrsily as sFk , fastened ?omr fur round her neck. PV , was * prp.tty. brown-haired, hronrn-eyed giri. Her father was the Squirp nf rfcr small village of Cudlir. and thp Campions were quite the ireat peoplo of thp neigh<bonrhood; but Molly knew—ju?t as everybody pL«p knew—{hat it was Miss Rachel Wilton who ht-Ui gpntle sway over the Cudlip toik. nnd was us honoured and loved as if slip were ;i queen —' Miss Rachel who lived in .1 small cottage and was 30 eimple in hpr way.-. She was tho nnmarried daughter o f a former vicar of the parish— not young, ior Miss Rachel was Hose on forty: not rvaiuifii!. and yet there wa* j-ome-thing in her face more precious than mere beauty, and her voice was soft and exceeding'/ musical; her eyes were grey. and her hair, flpcked here and there with silver, was a≤ Sue as floss silk—hair that -was neither light nor dark. She was slenderly built, and not very tall. Years . ago a man had told her she, was just the height of his heart, but that had been Trhen Miss Rachel was only eighteen. "Molly dear, it is a shame to laugh at mc." Miss Rachel smilnd fondly at the pretty girl. "Loncty old maid? like myself would havp a very cheerless Christmas if wp could not- send our gifts abroad. It is a pleasure to me —a very great- pleasure:—to get my presents ready ■and to send them off. Xor. but what 1 can give are only simple little offerings: I am not a rich woman—l often wish 1 •was." Miss Rachel sighed softly, then settled herself imo a big chintz-covered armchair. She was dressed in a grpy silk gown, and she wore some amethysts at her throat, and the faint scent of lavender clung to her dofchee. £he looked a little tired, but her smile was as sweet as ever, and Molly told herself that Miss j Racnel must have been wonderfully pretty in her youth—so pretty that if ■was surprising that she had never married. "I am very glad you are not a rich •woman, do yon know?" Molly knelt down by Miss Kachel'3 chair and fondled her friend's hands. ""You would be too jtbsurdly generous. I know that —always giving things away. Besides, you only i Vant to be rich for the sake of other jpeople—you do not want money for your own spending." '"That's true," Miss Rachel answered; then she smiled. "I need so little person any," she explained. "My tastes are | quite simple—they always wert , : but 1 should like to be in such a position that I could do a certain amount of real good in the world—lasting good. I would love to endow an almshonse. for instance, for when I die I shall so soon be forgotten, my dear. Who will keep my memory green?" "Those who love you."' Molly answered, quickly. "Don't you realise how fond everybody is of you. dear Mass Rachel? .You are beloved by rich and poor alike." "But I shall soon be forgotten.' . Miss Rachel smiled wisely. "Lonely old maidi Eke myself ■ cannot hope to he remembered for very long; they are lucky if They leave a fragrant memory behind— a iavender memory." Tears suddenly dimmed her eyes, but she wiped them away with a delicate lace-edged handkerehiei, and bent tEnderly ever MoDy. "I must not be silly and tearful on' Christmas Eve. I must be glad I have so | many kind, good friends, but I do feel a ! little. lonoiy sometimes. All my own [ people are dead, you see; and Christmas is the great family festival—the home feast. - ' She paused a second, then a smile lit up her face. 'Never mind. L have many friends. I only hope I hatfe | forgotten no one this Christmas —left bo one out—though my gifts are such small gifts." "Very precious gifts." Molly answered so daintily wrapped up in white tissue paper and tied with scarlet ribbon —real Christmassy ribbon. Xo one does <np their parcels so prettily as you do Miss Rachel." "Ah: fcaat's because I have more time to spend on tying my little parcels np than the women who have a husband and children to look after." Miss Rachel murmured, rather wistfully. "It is not as if I had a father or mother alive, or even a. brother or sister- " '"Miss Bachel, don't be angry with mc or think mc very impertinent, but why have you nev«r married—such a darling as you are?" Molly spoke wit-h the frank cariosity oi youth, bat a slight—a. very slight— quiver contracted Miss Rachel's face. "Oh. Molly," she sighed, "why ask mc soch a question? Do you want mc to tell you aboat a dosed: chapter—a romance that has faded iirto a memory?" "Of course I do—if it would not pain you too much. Oh. Miss Rachel, I knew —T fel: sure —there had been someone. But who was he? Do tell mc his inurio i —11l never -breathe a word to anyone." ""Dp.ir child, there i* so little to tell: and it all happened years ago. -vrhe-n I : ■α-as- about ninp-teeo. Wit. 1 don't think■ -cou vrerp -born at tiip time —and no one! wa? to Mame (or things going wrong—j it wac jnst Fate, I siippo.-p— Futi'.' , 1, Mis* Rachel pressed her two bands | tkrh-tly together, and shr turned rather) paie: but Molry. in her eagerness to hear the story, did cot notice this. ■•Do tell mc about it."' she implored. "Oh. did he die? —I am quite sure he ' died." Miss .Rachel shook her head. ~>Jo—he did not die, but he weni \ airroad. Mofly. He was a soldier, and so • iound to follow- the -beat of the drum. a»id the- East swallcnred him up. Hir- home ■was not in this part of the world; bur he often came down with a sister to stay 1 ■with friends, and I met him constantly.! He paid mc such marked a-tteation thai 1 j aoped he would speak before leaving for j India; but he left mc wondering if he reafly cared. My mother wss dead, or I . -wotud hase asked her advice, but -as it . "w* s wag aT>soVntelT in tie dark, and— andlloTedGny." Miss Baciel ftnshed—the bright, pretty ftmh that made -her ] o^si etrangely young! - lor tne moment- * * J ,' a, ?*" I kept wondering y -***** a£i<:r »&*• **•■ G «-

at whose louse we had met left the neighbourhood, so I had no meaais of I hearing about him." j I "Poor, dear Mies Rachel!" MOU7 kissed her friend's hand softly. •'THdn'X he love you really, the foolish man?" Miss Rachel's flush deepened. "Yes, he loved mc. Molly—he loved mc very dearly; and I found out later that he had written to mc confessing his love before ho left. England—a long, long letter, m I whieb hp begged mc to wire to him before hp sailed if I returned his affection, but if I did not rare for him to ta-ke no notice of his letter. He thought this would savp a certain amount of painful c.vpiaJia.tion. I expect. Anyway, he acted for tiip best." "But why did you not get his letter at once? "What wac the cause of the delay T ""Gut pavp the letter to his sister to ] post —a pretty, heedless girl—and she I just dropped it into her reticirie and for- j I got all about it. The family had to go I i in; o mourning suddenly, a few days after | i Guy : s dpparture .abroad, and Lucy's ' brown reticule was packed away in a ' drawer. It lay in that, drawer for over j ten y.-ar=—in 'old bag that Lucy never (even irou-ble.l to open. But one day, clearing thp drawer of rubbish, she opened thp brown reticule, and found the let- . 1 tcr that she had forgotten to poet. She i sent it on to mc at once, with some brief j j word? of explanation. So Gay's letter j i reached mc .at last, you see—but ten I j years coo late:" , | . j" "Oh. Miss Rachel, what a terrible thing !to have happened ! What did you do?" I Molly's voice was very quick and eager i and ht-r eyes opened to their widest extent, gazed at Mjps Kachel, and saw .in the gen Lie lavender lady the heroine j of a poignantly tragic romance. I "lly dear—what could 1 do? How I could I write to Guy after the long interval of ten years, and accept his offer of ma.rria.geV Hls people lived in London,; and Lucy had not been staying in our j neighbourhood for apes, so I was quite Jin the dirk as to what Guy was doing. , iHe might be engaged to someone else I for all 1 knew —engaged, or perhaps married.' , ; ■• I should have -written to him all the simr." Moll y nodded her beadjwisely, but Miss Rachel gave a gentle little frown. ( I "No, dear, you wouldn't; you would ! have remembered, as I remembered, that ■ I 1 was ten years older, and no longer . in the bloom and flush of youth, btrt close upon the thirties. You would have been ashamed to thrust yourself upon . I a man who very likely had forgotten I you. For think "in what an awkward , I position Guy would have been placed ' had I written to him. His chivalry • might have induced him to play the ( part of a lover whilst be wished mc to . Jericho—it was obligatory." Miss Rachel folded her bands together ' in her lap; a faint flush coloured her 1 cheek?. " I did do one thing, certainly. T wrote to Lucy, and asked her to let j Guy know that I had received his letter ! ten vea.rs later than I should have done; " but Lucy was on the eve of getting married—very busy and excited. I expect—and she never answered my note. ] I expect she forgot it almost as soon as ' she had read it. I doubt somehow if Guy ever got my message." •' I should love to slap Lucy—to slap ' her hard!" Molly pressed her lips to- . gether vicioustv. ''I felt like "that once," lliss Rachel T murmured slowly, " but Lucy had no ' idea of the harm she had done. I don't _ supposed it ever entered her head that • Guy and I cared for each other. She was always too full of her own concerns ; to take much thought about others . people. Oh! I have forgiven her years ago; we must torgive, remember, Molly, as we hope to be forgiven." ' " Well, you are a wonderful person, ; iEss Rachel—a real saint, if ever there • was one. but I'm built differently. 1 ' couldn't have forgiven that girl though I tried my hardest —I should simply have ' thirsted for her blood." ! Miss Rachel smiled and made no an- ( swer, and Molly, glancing up at the clock, rose to her feet in a great hurry, •' palling her furs tightly round her shoul- < ders. : j " Good gracious—l'd no idea it -was so : I late. I must rush home at once, or 1 they will be sending a search party after ] mc." She kissed Miss Rachel affection- ' a-tely. " Fl] never forget what you have told mc, and I will regard it as a most * sacred confidence. Let mc talk about it J ! to you another day." i " Oh. my dear — why?" Miss Rachel * winced a little. " Isn't it better to let 3 dead dreams sleep? I dug a deep grave ' for mina nine years ago." 1 Molly made no answer. She was col- ? lecting her gloves, her muff, her gold ' chain purse, a little flurried at finding s it was so late, thinking of the gay party which would be awaiting her at the Hall, for the Campions were entertaining ! a number of friends this Christmas who ' were to arrive that afternoon. 1 '' I really must go."' Molly exclaimed. •' running to the door, Miss Rachel's love- ' story forgotten for the raoment, for a < certain young man was coming to the ■' Hall that afternoon whose advent had ' been eagerly anticipated by Molly for 1 weeks—the young man who was the ■' fairy prince 01" her dreams. Miss Rachel had half guessed Molly's : secret, so she was not at all surprised J at the precipitancy of the girl's depart- 1 ture, nor wouJd she have kept the pretty f brown-eyed creature for worlds. Let 1 Molly be happy: that was Miss Rachel's earnest wish — that was her fervent 1 prayer. 1 She felt very lonely a few minutes later, however, when the door had closed 1 with a bani: behind Molly, and it seemed 1 t'> Miss Rachel that her little drawing- < room looked strangely empty shorn 1 of her young guest's presence. Then she realised that the room would look emp- i tier still to-morrow —on Christmas Day. ' and the lonely woman half regretted for •• a minute tha.t she had not accepted Mr. : and Mrs. Campion's kicd invitation to 1 dine at the Hall. Only they would be ■: such a gay party there —such a youth- . ful party—and she would have felt out 1

of things, perhaps. She might have been a* drag upon the young people, who would hare thought it their duty to entertain her. the lonely old maid of the party — the woman whom Lore had passed by. "I must not gruantte." She spoke to herself quite firmly and decidedly. "I roust not be discontented. Heaven has been very good to mc in a great many ways. He has giv-en mc kind friends, a. comfortable Httie home—oil, many, many blessings, and I must not Tepine if He has •w-jfchheM from mc the best gift of .ail. He had doubtless some good •reason in parting one from Guy HUton. Perhaps I was needed at 'home to cheer my father's declining years—for if I Jsad married Guy and gone to India, my fa/tiher would have been very lonely in his old age, and strangers waoid have tended him in his last ntomearie. Yes, T expect it has all happened for "the best." Mks Rachel smiled 'bravely, and sh« sut down in her armchair by she fire I and haif-ckeed her eyes. Her" face softened and grew efcrangeiy youthful ac the firelight danced upon it—ehe had gone j back to tihe old days again for a few I maratee—*to the old dreune.

'■"We might have been sitting by our own fireside to-night—Guy and I —if things had gone differently," she murmured, "if liucy had not forgotten to post her forother'e letter. And there •would have been a child upon my knee, perhtups—a dimpled child, eweet and vrarm and cuddley—my wee baby girl, and a 'boy leaning over chair listening in awe l-o the talee his father foad to tpjl him—a splendid Jittle boy." Her eyes gre-w dim with unshed tears —she drew a deep, sobbing breati. "Oil, the dream children—the dear dTeam children," she murmured. "It doesn't do to ihink of them too much — it —it makes a lonely woman feel ihow e-mpty her arms are—how terribly empty." A coaj feil from the fire in±o the fender, and Miss Rachel started amd eat up in her chair, and a* she did so a beil rang —the front door bell—and she wondered "who could be calling so late on Christmas Eve. Perhaps it would be the Vicar taking her on his Ohristmae round, or, maybe, the Vicar's wife. She eat up smiling in her charr—Mies Rachel always greeted her friends with a smile; bu-t the smile faded from her lips a second later, and a look almost of consternation crossed 'her face —consternation mingled with strange, startling joy—when tie drawing-room door opened quietly and her little maideer vant announced, "Major Guy Hilton." He came into her room slowly, the tall, handsome lover of Miss Rachel'e youth— the lover whom ahe .had never thought ■to eet eyes upon again. The years th:it had aged Guy Hilton had dealt kindly -with him all the same, for he looked very tail and strong and soldierly—a big, fairhaired man in whom a woman could safely put her trust and confidence?— and his eyfs were as bright a blue as ever, though the trair on the forehead was turning grey, and his forehead, Jmrixfc brown by the Indian sun, had more, than one wrinkle upon it.

""You?' , murmured Mise Rachel. She hardly knew what she was saying, but heT gTacious manner did not. dt-sert her —her sweet tranquillity. She held out her hands to her unexpected gue&t, and Major Hilton took those cold, trembling hands in hie and raised them solemnly •to his lips: and a* be kissed them it seemed to ilise Rachel as if the winter was ended—past and gone—a-nd the time of the 6ingang birds had come. She forgot everything in the world except that she and Guy Hilton had met again —that her lover had come back to her at last. "Dear Rachel" —the tall, bronzed soldier spoke in low cones; —"I have only just heard from Lucy about that letter —t-he letter you never received. 1 was staying with her and her husband yesterday, having just come back from India, and she told mc in a casual eort of way wihat she had done. I—l could have killed her!" His voice was hoarse wioh restrained emotion, and he gazed at Rachel in a hungry way, studying her face very in-t-enitl}. - "Would you have married mc?" he asked. 'Tell mc, would you have married mc ?" Miss Rachel nodded her head. She was trembling co that ehe could hardly etand. "'Yes," she whispered- "'Yes." A long silence fell. Flames leaped up in the grata ajid illuminated the little room, and it seemed to Miss Rachel that some violets -wh-ich stood in a vase on the mantelpiece were emitting a wonderful fragrance. The whole rooim seemed to be full of the fragrance of flowers; and how warm t%e air had grown—bow balmy; and her heart was beating as it had not beaten for yeare. "G-uy, you— you mtnsnt blame Lucy ■too much." Her voice sounded etrange and uirfamil'iar even , to her own ears— a very quivering voice; but it was ac the sof-tert. and finest mu&ic to tihe man ■who stood and watched her. "She didn't realise, poor Lucy, all thai that letter meant to us. She was just'heedless and careless." "'Yes. and "we havp had to suffer on account of Lucy'e carelessness. didn't you wonder at my long silence, and were you not surprised that I never wrote to you, Rachel—that I juet slipped casually out of your life? ]>id yom not think hard things of mc? But, of course, you must." "I—l was surprised," Miss Raohel confessed gently—"surprised that you never wrote; bu-t I don't think I ever •thougibt of you witih a-nger. 1 hope I didnft, anyway. And now a q-uestkm in my tern. Did you regard mc as little better than a vain and shallow coquette '! Did you think I had been trifling with you—ajDueing myself with a flirtation —when no answer came to your letter, and you thought that my silence meant ■that I did not Jove you?"

"Yes, I am afraid I -wae very angry in my heart of hearts," Major Hilton admitted. '"I told myself -that a girl had no rig-lit t-o Jet a man .think she cured for ■him if ehe did not: but it was hard to think of you as a flirt—a shalJow ooquette; it—it was almost -impossible. and I hated women for a time, and avoided t.he ccx. I marie up my mind that I would not bft made a fool of by a woman again." He paused abruptly. "Why tiidn't you write and explain that you had never got my letteT." he demanded, '"when Lucy finally sent it on to you? Why didn4; you let mc know at once? Wouldn't it have been kinder ■to both of us—fairer?" Miss Rachel sank into a chair. Her limbs -w-erc shaking under her—her colour war coming- and going. "I—l was afraid," she murmured. "I ■t-hongjht you might he engaged or married—in love with same other gir!. Howcould I tell that you hadn't forgotten mc? How was Ito know?"

"I see." Guy Hilton stroked hie moustache thoughtfully. "As it happened I very nearly did get engaged to a girl a-bout that time, but just on the strengtih of her }ikene?s to you, Rachel: onJy, forwraatejy. when I proposed shp refused mc. She told mc she knew .that I really didn't love her: and she finally wormed the whoie story out of me—how I'd cared foT a girl in my youth—a girl wio had just been playing "tie fool -with mc, as I fancied— aanoeing herself at my expense-" Another long pause fell—a -pause pregnant "with meaning. ■"WonU you sit down?" Mies Rachel aaked, gently. Tihen she pointed io a big armchair drawn up toy the fireside: and as Gxry Hilton eat down it seemed to Rachel as if iris' presence filled the roam—the little room that had struck her ac being co empty itaif an Irour ago. "TouVe very little changed, Rachel." He bent forward and looked at Mies Rachel seaxchrngly, and ehe flushed as 3 schoolgirl might bave flushed. ~T should have known you anywhere," Major Hilton continued. "Ah, but I've aged—aged. I am in. the autumn of in-y years, Gny. I am no longer a girl; eonsnex is xyver with mc and ended." She was couecioos ac she spoke of £he y-earo that the locusts had eaten —the wasted yeaie— the lonely years. The beJle snddenly began to peal—the bells that were ringing because it was Qbristamß Eve—and the man and tike woman looked at each otter eileatlT— thoughtfully.

! "Ghristmas! How many years it is I since I have spent a Christinas Day in 1 Engla«l," Major Hilton muttered. Then j a strange snrile played about 'his life, i aEd he beat forward. "What present have you got for mc to-morrow, Rachel? Wha-t gift are you going to -bestow?" Mies KacheJ glanced *ip. a' startled expression crossing her face. "Oh, Guy!" she cried, and ihere was genuine dismay •in .her tone, 'I—l haven't anything •worth your acceptance. I am so sorry, li I had only known that you -were coming horne —that I shonld see you to-day —I'd have bought a Christmas gift for you—something that you would really like. Why, I've sent preeentis or cards to everyone. I know—l've forgotten no on« —left oat no one, I think, but you." "But you have kept the. best gift for mp all the 6ame." Guy Hilton rose to his feet ajid crossed over to where Mi?s. Rac-hel ej-tting: then he bent over her. '"Ah, dearest," ihe whispered, "have you never heard tell of an India.n eiun- j mw—the splendid spell of warm summer dayfi uhat sometimes comes at the fall of tJie leaf? This Indian summer is aure foT the taking, I think." "What do you mean, Guy?" Miss Rachel whispered. She could JiaTdly analyse her own sensations a-t the moment : but ehp knew tihat she was feeling etrangely happy; and how loud the Ohristmae hells were pealing—how triumphantly! '1 mean this." Guy put- his arms about her. "I want you for my Christ- ! raas gift—you yourself.' , I "Ode?" She la-ughed shyly—'bappi'.v; i then warm colour stole into y/iss ' Rachel's cheeks, and ehe let 'h/tr 'head ! sink down on Major Hilton's shoulder, i "Why, I am yours —all youre, Guy, and • you know it, dear—you. must know it." . "My Christmas gift," he rohiepered back. "'My lost love of other years ' ciMoe at last—sent by the Christmas j ! post." (The End.)