THE MEECHANT'S STOEY

Evening Post, Volume XXVIII, Issue 65, 13 September 1884, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE MEECHANT'S STOEY

bread, and found that it had gone down the sot's throat. For he no doubt had a full-sized throat ; and what should have been his heart or his brain had gravitated towards his gullet and bis fist. Well, what is to be done with this demon stalking amongst our people, and turning homes into hells and husbands into fiends ? I don't know. But I know this, that whatever I may think about the methods or the permanence of the Blue Eibbon movement, or any other movement, I dare not carp or criticise, but only pray and labour in my own poor way beside all earnest men, by myself, if they disdain me as a co-worker, for the redemption of the drunkard, and to call back the truant to his manhood and his home.

" All my life I have been a lonely man, having no kith nor kin nearer than a cousin, and making but few friends around me in the world. There was but one human being for whom I cared more that for myself and that was Eobert Strafford. Therefore -when he, with his young wife, died of yellow fever in Memphis, and left their only child, a boy of ten, homeless, with the dying prayer that I would take him to my care, I accepted the trust thankfully, and took the orphan child, clothed with the memory and the likeness of his dead father to my desolate home. " Henry Strafford and myself lived together as father and son. Years strengthened the mutual affection, and brought Henry to manhood — myself to the age of forty, a silent and — except to him — morose man. I was wealthy by that time ; my business had been my only care, and. had prospered accordingly. I was looked npon by virtue of my wealth as a prominent man: " One day I was called upon by the cashier of the bank of which I was director. He told me that his accounts were in a fearful condition ; he had used the bank money to speculate with, and ill success had involved him to a large extent. Convinced that he had been unfortunate rather than intentionally fraudulent. I made the deficit good myself. He was grateful — I thought at first troublesomely grateful. He insisted that I should, meet his family — the family, as he expressed it, that I had saved from absolute ruin. "Talford, the cashier, was a man of social prominence, so. more for the sake of my adopted son — for I called him that, although he had never taken my name- than for myself, I accepted the invitation, and met his daughter, May Talford ! How the name still seems music to my ear! And so it should seem, for I loved her. " I called again and again at Talford's house, until I began to think that May loved me but little less than I loved her. She received every advance kindly, she spoke to me always with regard. Neither did I think that Henry was quite as often as I to see ' Miss Talford,' as he always called her in my presence. " When I asked Talford for his daughter's hand his delight would scarcely allow him to give me an intelligible answer ; and when, fortified with that answer, I went to May for hers, and received, as I remembered, when it was too late, a cool but ready assent, I thought I was the happiest man alive. "The next day I went to town, and while ostensibly on business, spent the whole day at the jeweller's, I bought a ring and had engraved upon the inside my initials and hers. With this accomplished, I returned home immediately. When I reached there it was late at night. I had to pass by Talford's, and my heart beat high with exultation as I neared the home of my future bride. I took the ring from my pocket and stopped under the street-lamp, to see if it was safely iv its case. I was childish in my love ; men at that age often are. "While standing under the lamp just across the street from Talford's, the front door of his house was thrown open. I raised my eyes, and there was May herself. She was showing a caller down the steps, and triumphantly I stood and watched him linger, as if loth to leave. I felt a kind of condescending pity for the poor fellow, supposing he was some old lover. "What! not gone yet? Still standing there ? Poor fellow !' I thought. Then I felt my heart leap wildly and stand still — the blood freezing in my veins. I saw May Talford in another man's arms ! — saw hi™ rain kiss after kiss upon her upturned face, and then I could see that she had fainted. "He bore her gently into the house, and then came out. As the door opened I saw his face ; it was white as marble, and it was the face of Henry Strafford. "He passed on down the street, and I stood there in the pouring rain, stunned and almost bereft of my senses, Presently the stunned sensation left me, and then my blood leaped fiercely to my heart, my passion turned to a wild desire for revenge, and I started almost at a run down the street in the direction that Henry had taken. Every feeling of love that I had entertained for him only made me hate him more. " I tore into the place I had called home, and went directly to his room. I found him sitting at his table, with his head buried between his hands. He arose to meet me, but seeing the look upon my face, stopped short. I raved at him; I raised my hand to strike him ; but his white, calm face daunted me ; he spoke no word. I raved on. Then little by little he learned the truth, and when, exhausted, I stopped for j breath, he advanced one step toward me, and almost without opening his mouth, said: " ' Your eyes did not deceive you ; it was I.' "Glaring at him, I stood before the appealing face, crushing compassion down in my anger, and pointing with my finger to the door, cried: "'Go!' "He quivered from head to foot. Slowly he moved back step by step, and I followed him; the mute appeal in his eyes was useless ; on, on, until he reached the door; then, turning mechanically to undo the fastening, he went out iuto the night without another look, out into the pitiless rain, and I was cold as stone. " I watched him walk slowly off into the darkness, and when the gloom enveloped him I fainted. " When I came to my senses the rain had ceased, and the stars were skining calmly. A distant church clock began to strike the hour, and

I counted the strokes — one, two, three. "All night long I sat in my chamber. I felt as if a hot iron had seared my heart and brain. The grey morning broke and found me sitting there. The sun rose and danced upon my nerveless fingers, but I moved them not. To have looked at me, one would have thought that I was dead. "At last I staggered to my feet, and passing out into the now busy street, walked mechanically without the exercise of any reasoning faculty, towards the residence of Talford. I asked for May, and was shown into the parlour. I was so unobservant of sound or sight that I did not know she was in the room until, touching me on the arm, she asked me in a strange, cold voice what the matter was. I started at the sight of her face ; it was haggard as that of a ghost. " 'May,' I managed to say, 'last '¦ night ' But she stopped me. " 'Last night, Mr. Hardin! You need not tell me ; I know all.' "'You!' "'Yes,' she answered; 'I, May j Talford, know it all. And listen to me, John Hardin.' Her eyes gleamed wildly, and I who had come to speak, remained to hear. 'listen to me, John Hardin ! ' she repeated. ' I love Henry Strafford — he loves me.' Even at that I did not move. She continued : ' Last night, he came to bid me farewell for ever ' "'Forever?' "'Wait! Yes, for ever! He could not help loving me, nor I him; but we could do our duty, and if you had not been passing last night, that farewell would have sealed the marriage tie of John Hardin to May Talford. That is all. As you told him last night I tell you now — go ! We owe you much, and if the debt has not been paid you have yourself to blame. Once more, my last word to you is — go.' " She came toward me with a wild gleam in her face, and before her, slowly retreating, I passed out of the door. I have never seen her since. "I knew then how much these two had intended sacrificing for me. I felt how I had repaid their devotion; and sadly, with bowed head, unheedful of the crowd, I went to my lonely home, more lonely now than ever. "Since that day my remorse has driven me from one place to another in the search for Henry Strafford. Vain search! I have never seen nor heard of him since that night when I watched him pass away, laden with my curse, pass away for ever from my sight with that appealing look upon his face. A bitter, bitter world is this, when remorseful memories haunt the vacant chambers of the heart."