A BURGLAR AND A MAIDEN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11687, 24 June 1901, Page 3

A BURGLAR AND A MAIDEN.

J'Ait.l I. 1 .Mas. Bi-atke's tired little companion p !lLs j down the book with a stifled sigh of reli e f_ I It is not at any time an easy or pleasant ! task to read, for a couple of hours at a | stretch, the driest of dry literature to an i elderly lady, whose hearing is far from acute, j though Aw will not allow such to bo tho\ case, 'hi: to-day the girl i- suffering with a .'ore throat, and the effort hi'.s been un- i told aijony to her. " Vim run your words one into i'm> other j so, Miss Travers," Mr;. Dlayne is apt to I plaintively remark: "read slowly, and with • due expression, plea=e,"' and her you tig com- ! pauiou, each word falling clear and distinct I ns h boll, goes on and on till lime is up, j and her task for that day ended. j New Mrs. Biayno locs Kharpiv round at • her victim, who 'is still silting bolt upright, I as she lists !>een taught to ilo, but with a ! pale face and. sad, tire t eyes, oho is a par- I tir.uhtriy pretty girl, or wouhl I-.- ;-o, if theri I was :> tiu-jo of colour in l!>-- pal":or of her I cheeks', a sptiik'e of hri'/hcr.eas it: the pa- j lliotic !iit;;:'l „ray eye::, or i; smile hovering round the pretty mouth. .> '.10-.tlh that locks I made for smiles. It i- an irregular little I face as to foat'.iro, but ;: very !e\'>d>!o one. . There are dimples hidden in her checks, and ! her dark eyoia.-lier, at" a wonder to see, ,so i thick and lon- are they. j Mis. ivayne is 0110 of those ladies who are ! universally pronounced io ho "old maids ! spoilt!" That i.-> to say, she had married m ; late middle life a t;uiet old gentleman, who '■ after a few years' dutiful obedience relived I from this world, leaving his widow with ' ample means, and an unsubdued will. .She I considers lurso'f "a sad sufferer," and her j com.panio:! -the fifth in lialf-a-year—leads a martyr's life. i for predecessors have found ' v. month quite sufficient of Warnworth j Grange and its mi.stress; but Hilda Traver- j is practically homeless, sineo her adored and i adoring father had slipped out c.{ life, lea\ j ing his memory ile.epiv enshrined in the ! heii-rs of his two motherle-1-: girls (Hilda has j 11 little, sister, left in the care of an old ami i faithful nurse): but, tills! leaving them no- j thin;? mere tac.-ible with which to fight the I battle of life. So Hilda is very anxious lo | please the iiv.i.ciblo o'-.l lady, for it would j never do to leave her flrst situation so son;: ! and Mrs. Biayno .it least pays her well. it | only .she were i; shade, less trying! Hilda thinks, as she rises listleordy to take up, at I Mrs. lilayne's command, son;. - ' fancy work, j "Hey- old are you, Miss Travors?" her j companion commences, as Hilda threads the needle with front crimson siik. and proceeds i to embroider a poppy on a 3»tin square, j which is to cove.- a cushion. Hilda raiscss Iter sweet, yellow-pray eyes, j "1 am 20—and two months," the says, I simply. ' j "Tien why do you move as though you were SO.' her tormentor demands: "it is i trying for a constant sufferer .-:cl. as I am i to havo anyone so about me. "sow. Miss An-.d'. my last companion was most bright and cheerful." Mrs. I'h'.yne does not think it necessary to add that Miss Ansell had flirted so au- i daciously with Mr?. IVtayne's nephew, then on a \isi; to Warnworth Grange, that a stormy scene had resulted in the exodus of j the young lady: see is only anxious, by con- j tinual cW-nlaiut, to pierce the armour of calm self-control in which Hilda has en- I velopod herself. j "I mustn't let her vex ire!" the girl often ! says, between set teeth, and with clenched | hands; thus sin- is able to boar, apparently I unmoved, the s'hdits and affronts that are ! her daily portion. .Site works ti-e poppy in a sort of dream : | her eyes are aching with the small print she i has beer, reading, and the glare of the silk I makes them feel more tired still, lv.it shti i mechanically places the stitcher, cuts the! silk, and threads tho needle, until a! last i comes the hour for retiring, the hour v.hen slip may seek " the blessed boon of rest." Her golden head is scarcely laid on the pillow ere the; weary eyes are closed, and the angel of sleep fans her with his shadowy ! wings into oblivion.

What is that? At midnight, with a start, ! Hilda wakes, every nerve quivering, and mingling' strangely with her interrupted dream of the dear home days, a scraping sound below. Unlike Mrs. Blayne's, Hilda's hearing is remarkably acute, and though it is so slight a noise, she can hear it distinctly. She is thoroughly awake now, and realises with a heart throb that drives every trace of„ colour from her lips, that someone is doing something to one of the downstair windows. Hilda had been a timid child, ; but hers is one of those natures that cannot rest without investigating where there ,is mystery of any kind; she slips out of bed and clothes herself in a white dressing-gown ] —a relic of happier days— thrusts her 1 little, cold feet into soft, felt slippers. Then j noiselessly opening the door she creeps out on the landing. She can hear the loud snores of Patty, tho servant, soundly asleep in her room above, but below all is quiet. Hilda gropes her way downstairs, and stands in tho passage which leads to the kitchen, and what house agents style "other domestic offices." One minute she waits irresolute, the next she goes forward, her heart beating so loudly that she fears the burglar may hear it as he stands by the kitchen table, his head bont over something in his ml. She watches him as she crouches there in the dark, and by the light of the lantern he has brought she sees his profile clearly defined. The burglar is unmistakably good-looking, and. what is more, appears to the uninitiated j eye a gentleman. What is stranger still to I the trembling little spectator, bo leaves the I silver in iho pantry untouched, and appears J to be moving sundry valueless tins on the mantelpiece. Hilda holds her breath, how- j ever, when she sees that the beautiful Queen Anne silver teapot, of which Mrs. Blayne j is so proud, is on the table beside him, and j that when he lays down what he has been j scrutinising so closelya small, old-fashioned | box—he takes it in his hands. j Hilda never knows whether an exclamation ; passes her lips, or whether she inadvertently t moves, but something tells him of her presence. He lifts his eyes and sees her white j drapery' in the gloom of the passage. j She "--hut.- hoi lips tight, determined to die | rather than scream, as he leads her —-not at j all roughly for a burglar—into the kitchen, i and places her just where the rays of the lantern fall on her. The light shows her a set face, handsome, pale, and resolute, with nothing of tho ordinary housebreaker type alvout it: it shows ira a pretty, shrinking girl, who eyes are brightly defiant, though her mouth trembles like that of a chidden child, whose hair shines like silkworm's silk, and falls, a golden glory, over her shoulders, and below her slender waist. The burglar is the first to speak. " Well, my dear," he says, and he has a very nice voice, mellow and soft, " what i-> the meaning of this?" For a moment Hilda looks at him, then her gaze wanders to the row of bolls above her head, but of what avail if she were able to roach to touch one? Patty will not hear, and shall she call Mrs. Blayne tp what j might prove—she shudders at the thought— ] her death: She fancies there is a desperate | look about the man. in spite of his gentle j manly ait and handsome face; if anyone h;,s '~, ,eel death at his hands it must be, | Hilda thinks, with it choking sob, herself! i Suddenly, as he looks at. her, a different ; exprro' ion "comes over his face. _ j ■'■ What a brute 1 am," he exclaims; "don't ' look like that, little girl. [ didn't mean to ! frighten you. Confound it, 1 hope .she ' isn't going to fainl '." Here Hilda, with ;>. mighty effort, calls ! back the senses which seem deserting her. | '• I shall not faint, abandoned, wretch," > ! she says, severely—that seems to her a filling j ; style of addressing so depraved and hardened j i a "man-- " leave these premises at once;" ; 1 Her tone is truly appalling, but her child- ; ! i.-h iiguro and half-frightened lace deprive I ■ the threat of much of its terror. A faint j | smile hovers round the burglar's mouth—i! I : i- a very well-shaped mouth, with no mou- ; ', ,-taehe "to hide its regular lines—'and he j shrugs his shoulders. ; i "It's no go," he mutters, beneath his i ! breath, "baffled, by dove!" ! Then he turns to the waiting figure, drawn > i up ill what she fondly imagines a threaten i I ing manner, and one likely to strike awe , ! into the lawless breast of the man before! I her. . " I'm going, darling," he -ays, tmciaeions- ; ; ]y: "but you mils'., let me kiss you before j i go." She starts back, her face an indignant. : flame, but to her intense surprise lie merely ' (aires one of her little cold hands and, betid- ' ing low, leaves a kiss as soft as the flutter . ; of a butterfly's wing on the rosy palm. Then : in a flash he ha; gone, through tho window I as he came, and Hilda, with a queer little I flutter at her heart, fastens it. and, replacing ■ the teapot, creeps back to bed again, i "What a strange burglar!" she says, and I trios to see in the darkness the precise spot ; his lips had pressed. " I must stay awake; ! suppose he should return!" she drowsily : continues, but somehow she feels so sure i he will not that she falls asleep, with her cheer pillowed on her hand—the hand the burglar had kissed. (To be concluded to-morrow.)