Short Story.

Mataura Ensign, Issue 1146, 12 February 1903, Page 3

Short Story.

Dream and Reality.

ijßy OOv Vi'ANOH OOTTEREIJL, to "The New Age.")'

A gray river and & gray country in ttie evenilng. and a gray barge coming •Jowly swimming down the river storogbt from tlhe pink, soft west. The barge was painted blue, a brutal blue in the daylight, but now thoughtful and remote.

■Rho stood by the river, down at the bottom of her father's garden. And plie did not. see oae single thing of all that was there, but stood thinking. Id the house belhiind wero two men. One lay in bed, and his face seemed part of the formless gray evening, and pawing away like it. The other sometimes stood beside him, sometime* strode up and down. He had put into a curve the plentiful inches Heaven had giv«n him to stand up, a straight and proper man withal, and he had a parting wbiob began on ihis left temple and ended hi a wild njaee of hair on his crown.

" I've never done such a thing in iny life," he wus saying, with the resolute air of one wiho begins to give way. " Few limn marry frequently," the other said, nfd when he smiled it wan as though his skull grinned. " I (ell yon, I've never looked outside ray study windows '." " Then she must come inside." " You would jest with Death."

Ttie man m the bed bowed hie head ceremoniously as though to some one else present in Hie room. " Heaven f<»rt>id," .he said, '• that a being with *o fine a seiwe of humour should not be entertained."

" Is tihiis a jest, your wanting me io marry your child ?" He (strode ranter up and down, amd .held his head straightw, and for the fiwt. time his eyes looked as though his whole mind were in (he. matter.

" dome nearer to me and stand still, eajid the other.

Half-an-liour Inter the man with the bent, head went slowly out imo the garden. At ]a«i. on the brink of tins river, as he came suddenly out of the (!(■••)i shadow of the trews, something wnsfce and very young and slender stood all at oiu-e before him. She was nfcaudhig so still thai the Whin on his ehown pt.iiitof the butUihoiiMeuearby was turnbur «o many yards of worm into ecstatic song.

She lifted her head at his heavy, hw,tilling footstep. " Mow k father ?" »he asked. " May I go to him V"

" Not yet, not yet. His murse is wit.li ■lT'in. lie must sleep," he said, a,nd waited. Ili.s eyes lingered on her, and •then looked' hopelmsly out linto. .the dusk. He went on nervously, " 1 have a message from him." She waited. It. was easy to obey even a wt ranger on this moist st range day. It was the first day in all her life Iha I. she had not laughed ouee. lie wood before;he.r, still silent. " 11: Hiis so good of you to come to us." she Maid, nervously, becau,so he was so learned, and inside her feel so very young. " You are no busy. You work so hard. You—you're infeiwteil in pathology, aren't yon ';" Her soft 111 tie voice stumbled over the pretentious word. •• Whail is pathology ?" "Tautology is—is pathology," lie answm-ed. He was* annoyed with the child for asking, and 'annoyed with himself for belli"; absvnt-miudod.

" I suppose so," .''. he acquiesced, quite simply. "Ami you're intu'iwtod in 110tiMiig else. are you ? Tathor said " " Nothing else." The eye of the scientist suddenly briglit«-ued and shone from him.

" 11. tinisi. l)o rather—dull." " Dull !'• he cried. " Dull ?" Aiul then -all at: once .lie Mi silent, noting the pathetic little way Iher hands lipid each oMmr.

" U roas nw.it; good of you to come to us." slio said again. Silence. Ho drove his hand through his wild hair and dragged bimsel'f into tike Situation ft I'rorth.

" What lis the message ?" she asked. " Nrtitice." he said, and cot do fswlihoir. " Yes V" " You know ■" l )'«' f "oi'-i- father is dying—" " Yes," wry low. " And that lie « leaving you all alone in the world—• How old are you. Nanoo ?" "{Seventeen." ■' (Jood (.rod." live said in himself. "Can 1 ?" Snob w (raider little young thing! It had wevcrr struck him before tiluit ;he wiik lug and clumsy. «ind uol meant, for iliattidling lifcU<> soft (thing's that, a man miight easily 'hunt, or 'break without o-vor meaning it or guessing it "Ho only 'brought, you home from New /calami tilm«e. mouths ago." ■' N-o," sighed. " Ami you have no friends." " I ihavo—friraidK in New Zealand." '• What is flint ?" '' .V—nothing," she admitted, and Big-lied again. " No one tliat you could go to live with '.'" he asked, brightening a little, mid yet rather breathlessly waiting for lier answer. At last it cjiiue. '' No." sue said, very low and verv shyly. He drew a long breath, and wondered ,why. " 1 was his college friend, his only friend," he said, and the words hung nervously iu the air a full niinute before she breathed an apprehensive " Yes ?" "And he trusts you to me ?" " It is most good of you," she said again, hurriedly, interrupting hint, and ■brushed her haiid across her forehead. " but I won't be any trouble to you. I will atay here, and I'll write, to you whenever I want to know anything. I promise. And indeed I won't be any trouble." She turned eagerly towards him and then away, iis though she would force, ■that to be the last word. " Child-O !'" he cried, miserably, and then rushed on. " you can't stay here." " Why not ?" He cast out his hands. " You must come to me," be filtered, and the unexpected thought ran through film : unworthy man ! " You mean to—marry you ?" She gave a little cry. and then stood terribly still. He heard her breathing fact. " Yes, Nance," v "Does fattier say that?" " Yes." " Is it the only way ?" she cried, and looked helplessly round. '■The only way." She lifted ner eyQS, and tried to pierce to nis through the twilight. "I'm very young," she said, with a little piteous tremble in tier voice. Then ner eager

eyes fell, and lier head, and her hands dropped at ber sides. " And he has given me to you V He could OiainHy hear her speaik. " He has given you to me." And he never questioned whether the other had the right to give or he to take. Nor she either. He only felt a. heavenly tremor as he eaid the words, and then he heard the voice again saying : unworthy man!

" I've never disoheyed him," she said, and her voice faltered a little.

" I did not think it of you," he said, falteringly too. " I shall spend my life in making you never regret that you obeyed him and trusted me."

She had dreamt of love-making; he had, too, ages ago; but dreams are dreams, aud reality Is, after all, reality. " But the pathology ?" There was a brighter note in her voice. " I—l ca)inot let you neglect that. I must stay here, and not do as you said. It would be wrong. I cannot come between you and your life-work." " You shall not," he said, hardly knowing what he did say, unreasonably pained at her eagerness to escape, and meaning, unwitting soul, just the opposite, for all at once pathology .seemed to fall back, and to be but a dull tiling, a thing not capable of satisfying all a man's desires "Vm\ shall not." he cried.

" I shouldn't like to," she said, and her voice broke wifli a sound of tears. " I—l shouldn't fike to be a man's sole •thought and care. It—it would be selfish—l couldn't bear it!" " Yon need not. fear." "Cnn't I slay here ?' " Child," tie said painful Iv. "it cannot be."

She covered iter face with her "band*. And taie-re was a long silence. " Then," said he, trembling, " you will do a« your father "

She did not answer him. He flhoughf he 'heard words, not for him. murmured behind her hands. He thought he heard " Good-bye."

Tlion she put her hsiiwt into to.

" You and ho miifrt know best," she said very low. And everything there Muiit was llvinvc, «*ivi* only he. heard n pathetic little note of interrogation, hangiiiifr quivering at tlie end. Then lie drew 'her to him and kissed her in a wolonin, impressive way. She felt it. was a kind of service. " I will try to lie Rood," she murmured, "and 1 am grateful" and there a soli flit lit short. And then, as lie still held her in his armx. mai-ve-lling at, the pleasure of it, and dreaming Ihow he would protect her from every harm, ' " I'm not 17 now," she said dreanuj. " I'm old. old, old !" And he kissed her again, finite ddffereully. and lot her go, and stumbled away like n drunken man. How lons he wandered iin that da {•ken ins garden he d'iil not know. Ligbis W-jr;\n to move about in the house, and there was an excitement in the air as of an arrival or departure, but he never knew. Km he did nee Hie slars come out, one by one, because if. struck him lie had never really seen them before. Then the moon came up. aud lie stood o.n the edge of the river and gazed along the moon-pa!h. He saw wonderful fair 'Mimiss coming 'to h'un down it. It was when ihe stood Mill Hint he he.-wd the mad hearing of 'his heart. And he waV not afraid nor ashamed.

'Ph.'!;. long after, he found, himself in the rouii they ih.'irl given for a. study. His papers and his hooks, and pamphlets in blue and In-own covers, were over everything, lie did not see i'liem. lie sat down'm his chair and put his elbow right i,n the midst of them and loaned his cheek ibii his hand. His eye wais on ". l'(irli«>lo,t:y : The Secrets of Disease" lull: his thoughts were full of a fragrant soft cheek, his raws of a sweet voice i.iia'i faltered. There mine vague tioaveiily foreknowledge of what ■his life should be. Could it- be that to this en.d the worhl was made ? His breath .stopped. Hall'-am-hour went by, atnd 'his eye- never wavered, gazing out of ilerl. 1 it'li; lit tiered numi into the ■lra'iwcending joy and of the fulness of human life.

Thou ,!]'.> hoard lie, langiiim; vorli'o owning to liX-i study. • lie got. up staggeringly. 'I 'it'll she opened the door Hiiwl 0:1 iu<- in. Willi her was n young man. sunburnl, rt,!i bright eyes am J very tall. Ilis arms MI to li T * si-do. and lio stayed w'kovi. ho ti His. Ivy 'lii.s tabic •'This is < lil'bert. t'oycs." she slid, ■iiiiitl even in that moment ho rwvlised ho had :i!..",-;t truly known iier lovou-no.-i-:. " lie has just 00:110 from Now Zealand." Oii.M.ii'i"!. lioycs fwais nivaii'i' thait. iho shook 'luni'ir: witill ftliitil. ll'' wis JU'M. ■Slio cii'Uip. usare-r t:o -thi- table and looked rapturously up to liiin. Hs Jieair-l ivt-ood still. " 110 has loved me all my life." T!io red Hooded magnificently those ehprks t-ho IIUMTKH'J' of whose SO'I'MICSS, folt. two liotßw -as l ', had >never left ihim. " Only, bol'oiiv 1 loft, -ho ojjul.'ln't tell iho ho cause of s-oim"fliinig--sonie business 1 doai't understand,"

"Yes," Ills mouth was dry, and hid eyes Hmrut m h'i.s head. " Ho loves hie," .-;he said softly again, like ti 'bird staging over and over the three moles it loves. " A-nd so —■" eh-e Quvitated, and t-ho-n smiled tit; liim very simply 'and like a dhild with a pleasant- 'Wiing 'to t«-11. "awd Hi) there te -no need for you who don't love me, but only out of y.-iir great friendship to faitiher. to— l.i)- —"' She stopper!, ji;nd then-rttciliiMl joyfully on. "I'm so glad yon 'haven't, got-to be troubled with me !"

"Y«s." he eaid, and canglit at liis collar and looted ro'innd as if for air. " I'm only 17 !" slio cried in the glorious seSf-epntredneiss of youtlh. "And I 40." He tjupivoscd that wais Irimsolf speaking. " Yes, and I sihould have been such a .lMxrrid nufeance to you. Just think of it!" " Y'es."

" It was so verj' good of yon,"- «iid s'Ji? with a sweet little qnaver of gratitude. "• I sliall never forget it. Wo sliall never forget it. But now," she \Vai ; dored why he was so pale, "• iu>w j'-)U can just give all your life to the pn-t'lio-logy and tnev-fcf need remember ■itliat suoh it, 'tronbleKOJme little tiling ever threatened to stand in the way." " Yes," lie answered, looking wildly round, " yes, yes." "What, is jxubhologj" ? i asked Gilbert, and ike doesn't believe in it." " Pathology is—is pa-r.hology." " And 'it is the thing yon care for most m life, ksn't it ?" Ifer forehead wrinkled a little, anxiously.. "Most in Iffe i" lie eohoe'd, and -the voifca broke iin tois throat, aid 'hiis h-aauls felll violently •among .his japens ;vuA scattered tiheni all atxmt. She toote her lover tiy ttlie haiwl, " Come," whispered softly. "We aire oovly disturbing him. What wo car«-aibout! is very childish to him !"