A HURRIED ROMANCE.

Mataura Ensign, Issue 945, 14 September 1901, Page 3

A HURRIED ROMANCE.

CO PTRtOHT.

The railway ifain was jußt creasing the Orange Kiver Bridge, but neither of the pasaongera in one carriage made mention of its beauties. The sun had set, and the full moon rose from a blue-grey hoi izon I but faded upward into flasheß uf pale pink. The silver beams slanted on to the girl's head as she gat writing. The -man iras in shadow. He watched her, but she was intent on I lie words hurrying from her pencil. They had travelled together for several hours. Except im one occasion, when he brought her some cuffoo, the man had found no opportunity of eontersing with his companion who had written unceasingly. Presently she lay back with lier eyes closed. She lookcd,he thought, veiy frazil" and sweet, and he tried to think of something to say that would lead to eonveisuliun. But he could enly lind commonplace suggestions about the windows or the In nt. Anything more personal seemed to him in*™ impertinent curiosity. At lust, just as he had determined to offer his help with her lnggage at Verceningen, wlmiu it had to be examined, she commenced to wiile again. The task, whatever it might lie. wjia nut piogieeaing so rapidly an in the tiiiliur tart ol the day. The girl's eyebrows iissmnrd the curve of perplexity, her undor lip biieuine readies, hnr pencil remained idle in Im hand for longer and longer intervals, an I limilly the man in the opposite corner ili-t.iiicJr taw the big tears roll slowly down lur clinks. He was a man of sensitive di limey :md as soon as he becume aware of lirr distress he turned his eyes to the silveied landscape outside. But he i>.iw in thing I here. The shining beauty of the trees wan a elosed book to him; he could only think of the agitated figure opposite him, mid her ten alaiued face became of a peiiimncot oxistenco with the scene. A |niiln>lie vision,becoming (as it no often dues) mine real to hia consciousness than material tilings.

I'm m ntly, however, she also turned to the window and rested her curly head on her I'iiiid, A little audible sob broke from her. It wsis tho liist indication of complete aban.l.in,mm. She cried bitterly. The sound lr«;k him oil his guard. He turned round Mai-|.lr, wondering whothor he might take ml. antagc of his positiou as fellow-traveller tu nlfn his sympathy, or whether he ought to remain quiescent. Natmally, he was lii;u-i.u I towards the foimer proceeding, lint still his delicacy forbad* him to be other than coiumou-placr.

" 1 Icai the heat has overcome you," said In-. " Can I give you anything? I have some lavender salts here; or would you like a lilllcibrandy:"

She raisrd her head slightly and replied: " Nd, thank you. There is nothing the ■ratter. lam not crying at all." The voice was very soft, and just now not iiiiito steai'v. He answered without looking ilirrct at Her, man-like brushing aside her prevarication though somewhat brusquely. " I really can't bear to sou you cry. You were crying, you know." It was the best thing he could have said. The aniuguiiisin of sex became animate iu her. Shu glanced up coldly, but his handsome eyes weie full of anxiety, and Beeing it luii pride mellowed. She smiled involuntarily. " VVell, I have rather a headache," she Bind, sinly. "Would you itally lend me yuur walls .' It was veiy stupid of me to cry ami—mid guided, too." Hi! toi n found her the bottle. It was the first material link between thom. There was u;> need for silence now. " Won't you tell me what is troubling you ? remaps I might bo able to help you." " Oh, no! There is nothing tlm matter." Her coinpaniou drew back in silence. At Iho sight she ciie i, impulsively. " Piase see. it is H-icli a silly Ihing to cry ever." " Tin n why do so ? " s*id he. with a smile. '• Well." she said, " you sob [ have to earn my living. 1 have been teaching But lam s« tiifd of it. My aunt wrote and invited me to (.lime to her iuJoharinesburg;and,as [ have wiitten several stories and short things f»r an wlitoi iliere, I thought to continue in that Hoe." She sighed. " But thiH one won't ciniiii light, and it seems so bad altogether." She looked up at him, her brown eyes again shining. " May I ask tho name of the editor yeu wrile for ? lam connected with a paper my- ■ If and may be able to help you very materially. " Shu opened a small bag and handed him an addressed envelope lie smiled slightly at her t.iuM fulness but as he read the name the sniilo became lingid with perplexity. Then he laughed outiight. He said: " 1 know him lather well. I should advise you to go to him first thing to-morrow. He u/ay give you some mure permanent work."

Tlioy soon steamed into Johannesburg PBrli Station, and an elderly man met the girl, who greeted him affectionately. Seeing this her travelling companion bade her " Gcod-riight," and drove through the moonlit slrei'ts to his hotel.

The next morning blio put on her prettiest, flimsiest costume, and a straw hat with roses, nrid set. off to find •' the editor." Tho latter ha l monopolised all the talk at her aunt's bioiikfiist table. Manv a laugh and conjee tine, had the winsome girl won from the two elder people, though she was really nervous herself.

She stopped a moment outside the officedoor of a nourishing liand paper. A man waiting withiu flushed like a boy at the glimpse of such a dainty thing. In another moment she was standing before him, her I eyes wide with surprise. " Oh !' she exclaimed. '• Is it this paper you write for ?'' "Yes." he answered, taking a card from the table and handing it to her. " That is my name, ' he added. " Are you Mr. lionm, really?" she asked, loo&og at him again with pietty surprise. "Oil! You can't be! You don't look a bit like a solemn editor!" " I'm very sorry," he replied, smiling at her. " I'm afraid it is true."' ■• Why didn't you tell me," she demanded. "I don't know. Stupidity, perhaps. You are not vexed?" "Vexed! How silly! It didn't matter to me, did it?' Tl.ere was a spice of malice in the speech, he thought, though nono in the tone. And as she refrained from glancing at him (he knew t hn ways of womi n, and they generally run ;> thing to ground), he decided that she was innocent of intention to coquet. The idea of her working for her living, as she hoi self lwd said to him in the train, I Kerned absurd as bo saw her sitting now in his ai mohair, so dainty and unconcerned. Even if she possessed the stamina and business copacity neccssarj, ho doubted if her phjsical strength would be support sufficient tocairyher through the trials and disappointments that inevitably follow the liter-w-y .aspirant. He learnt gradually, and by dii.pla.ung infinite powers of finesse, something of her history. Her father's bankI ruptcy—long expected by him though undieamt of by his family—» sudden curtailment of all the hundred little luxuries she had hern accustomed to, the usual breakingup of the home, her inspiration to literature, hi r aunt's offer She discovered that. " That was all. And > wasn't it a good thingg that 1 had just , bought my summer things? I can never be too thankful. Oh, if 1 had been forced to wear that hat again when I had sat on it! , li wouldn't wear out." What she mußt do when next summer came she seemed Bcarcely to consider; sufficient now tbat the bud shone, and that the path to fame lay open. The editor perceived I his with something nf amusement and something of perplexity, wondering the while if he could do anything, and how? I He askec l if her story was finished. " Oh, yes. I finished it quite early this morning, Mr. Home," with a little smile. i " Well," said he, with true colonial freedom, " if you will leave it here and you will allow me, I will call for you in my dog-cart VbU afternoon. Then we can diteqss Dossible,

work fer you and ' come to terms. Tho diive madePora and the editor very ,'uod friends as ho had iriteaded. One day he was correcting ono of her stories in her own little sitting-rooin.. Suddenly he pushed the paper aside and commenced .telling her that old, old story, am! niie believed him. They wore married very quietly, and after a trip to the <Japo returned to Johannesburg for several years. The last we see of them is in a pretty villa on the banks of the Aroo. pora is looking bright and gay. She is leaning one arm on a balcony, the »iher she places i ound her husband's waist—at least, as far as it will reach. " Now, Alf," she is saying, " say you love me as much an ever, and only me." He kisses her, bnt turns in silence as though he did not hear. The hurried romance wai eudoa. BEATRICE H&IGH.