ANDREW OGILVIE, K.C.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11824, 29 November 1901, Page 3

ANDREW OGILVIE, K.C.

As Andrew Ogilvie walked from his offices in Great George-street, Westminster, to his flat in. Victoria-street, his thoughts were of his day's work. There had been a great trial, and, thanks to Andrew Ogilvie, the prisoner was a free man to-night. It bad been a very intricate case, and has no place in this story, but men almost forgot the main interest in their admiration of the counsel's speech. It was in everyone's mouth; the newsboys were declaiming it, as a selling headline, in the special editions of the evening papers; one sharpe. than the rest, followed the lawyei along the street, and was dismissed with a shilling and a sharp reprimand.

For years the spare figure with its slight stoop, and its hard, gray face, had traversed tho same path ; omnibus drivers raised their whips, policemen touched theii helmets, the man selling matches touched his hat, and Andrew Ogilvie took it all as bis due. Ho had worked to this end; had accomplished it, alone. He was a man who had no friends; a hard, unsympathetic man who wanted none. Many admired, envied, respected, courted the great man, but none were evei admitted to his friendship or his confidence.

He let himself in with his key, according to custom, and went into his study to look at the evening paper, and sip his sherry and bitters, before dressing for dinner, when his man, a thought dryer and grayer than himself, brought him a, letter.

,"It came by hand," he said as his master took it; "a young leddy brought it an' left word she would call to-morrow about ten, before you left for the office."

The envelope was directed in a fine, sloping hand that had trembled as it penned the lines. And the sight of it made his pulses leap. "Who brought it?" he asked, sharply. "Just a young leddy, in black." Having unburdened himself of so much information, MacEwen withdrew, leaving Andrew Ogilvie alone with his letter. He did not open it at once, indeed, he seemed almost to have forgotten it, as he leant back, holding it in ono hand, and tapping the other reflectively with it; for his thoughts had gone back 20—aye, five-and-twenty years* or more, to the days when he was a rising man, but only one among a number. He had been on the right side of 40 then, and his hair was black. The old days! How far away they seemed; but a woman's hand had bridged the gulf, and to-night he was back in his rooms in Gray's Inn, working . for Katie, thinking of her all day, dreaming of her all night.

But there was the dark shadow overlying it all. He shuddered as he recalled the last letter she had written him, telling him that she had married his friend Charles Drummond, and opening the gate of hell for him! He flinched now as he recalled the year that had followed, the bitter heartache, the insatiable longing; the tempest of hate for the man who had wrecked his soul; and then his work had filled the gap, and he had resolved to live for nothing else. In the leaden-footed years that followed he had heard, as in a dream, of Charles Drummond's death. Of Katie lie had never heard until now. That brought him back to the present, and he- opened her letter. It was to beg his forgiveness, and implored him to befriend her only child. " When you get this, Andrew," the write:.- said, " I shall be in my grave, and my Katie will bo alone hi the world."

Alone! ah, net one knew better than he what that meant.

"Will ye be dressing yet?" MacEwen's voice inquired presently. It was dusk, the clock was striking seven, and Andrew Ogilvie had fought his fight out, had buried his past, and was dryer and grayer than ever.

As ho ate his breakfast tho following morning MaoEwen reminded him of his impending visitor. " Shall I tell the young leddy you're in?" he asked.

"Eh? Oh—yes, the lady who called last night; you can say lam rather pressed for time, but will give her a few minutes." As ho spoke tho <dectrio bell resounded through the quiet rooms and his pulses trembled in unison.

"That'll be the young leddy," MacEwen said, placing the toast within reach before withdrawing. According to custom Andrew Ogilvie cut and buttered his toast; but this morning he got no further, pushing the plate from him and leaving his second cup of coffee untasted I also; which thing caused MacEwen* to marvel- and decide that his master needed a change. But it was not only a change of air, MacEwen !

After a brief interval Andrew Ogilvie went into his study, somewhat curious to see Katie's child ; but his face and heart hardened, for it was Charles Drummond's daughter who rose at his entrance and addressed him, in the old, frank way ho remembered so wellaye! and hated. Thero was no trace of Katie.

She spoke without any embarrassment. "It is very good of you to see me, Mr. Ogilvie." He made a slight gesture of dissent. "Pray sit down again— you had breakfast?"

"Two hours ago, thank you." "So your mother is—dead? I am very sorry." She went white even to the lips, but made no other sign as he went on in bis precise, carefully-thought-out tones. " We were friends once—many years ago— it makes us old folks think a bit when those we knew in our younger days die; how long is it since '!"

"About six weeks," very quietly, with that iron determination not to break down before this keen-eyed old man with the hard face. " I have been staying with a little friend who is employed by the same firm as myself. Poor mother was so very anxious I should bring her letter, or I would not have troubled you." Charles Drummond again! "H'm! So you are in business, eh?" 71 1 am head bookkeeper with Hepplewhite's, the art stationers, in Moorfields—l have been there ever since I left school."

Ho experienced a twinge of regret that she was so independent of him; he had taken it for granted she would be a helpless, weak woman, and he was so seldom wrong in his calculations that he was disposed to feel injured. "And where do you live?" li l have given up the little house at Brixton where wo lived for so many years, and have moved into some rooms near."

"Then I can do nothing for you, really?" She flushed slightly. " Oh, no, thank you, not now, I did not come because I wanted anythingbut I promised mother; sho was so afraid I (should want a friend one day." " Then when you want a. friend I must see if I can be of any service to you." " I hope I shall never be much trouble." "I should say not, you look very selfreliant."

"I have been obliged to be self-reliant; still, I am sure it is very kind of you to have seen me. Good-morning." "Good-morning," touching the bell for MacEwen. "Let mo hear of you from time to time."

Andrew Ogilvie was dining out that night, and it was late when he returned. MacEwen was sotting out his usual glass of whisky, and placing the papei, slippers, and cigar box to hand. A bowl of sweet scented flowers, roses, sweet peas, and mignonette stood on the table.

"Where did they come from?" Andrew Ogilvie asked.

" The young leddy who called, she left 'em with her compliments, and thanks, for your kindness to her." "Their scent is too powerful, take them away," the lawyer said, sharply. So nothing loth MacEwen bore them to his own apartment, where they gladdened his eve for a. week.

Summer and autumn passed and Katie Drummond made no sign; hut on Christmas Eve, as Andrew Ogilvie sat over his port, there came a ring at the door bell, and MacEwen brought word that she waited in the urawingroom, where his master presently joined her. It was o room he seldom used, and wore the chilly, uninviting air of the best parloui, albeit a good fire, burnt in the grate. She was thinner, palci thai: before, and Andrew Ogilvie'. stern face relaxed a little; there was a tired droop about he lips, too, that reminded him of the other Katie. "1 hope you have been well," he said, as he took her hand.

" I'm sorry to say that I have been ill—it was influenza at first, and then r relapso through going back to work too soon." " You should have let me know." " I should never worry you over a little thing like that, when your life is so overcrowded with serious matters. lam quite strong again, thank youwhat I came about was to beg your votes to get a little girl— one of my landlady'sinto the orphanage at Shinfold; the father died last spring, and she has six more children." "If my votes are not promised you shall have them. I forget foi the moment." "I saw your name in the list of governors." "Aye; I had almost forgotten it myself." Sc she wanted nothing f.-.- herself: he was sorry.

"I won't detain you any longer, then," rising, and fastening the fur at her throat. "My dear young lady, you cannot go without any refreshmentl am, not in any hurry to-night." "Then perhaps you will let me look at your pictures. I was admiring them before you came in," with a longing look at the walls.

"By all means. Won't you remove your jacket and hat? It is hot in this room, and you must not take cold again." MacEwen, entering with a decanter of wine and some real Scotch shortbread that Janet had made fo. Christmas, stared in wellpleased amazement at ids master helping the "young leddy" to take her jacket off. When she had seen the water-colours, Andrew Ogilvie took her into the dining-room, where one or two Morelands and a very fine Turner hung. Then they came back to the fire and Katie ate her shortbread, while MacEwen mulled some of the wine and Andrew Ogilvie listened, as in a dream, to the woman's soft voice and low, musical laugh; and looked wonderingly at the shining golden head against the satin cushion. For to these things he had been a stranger for a quarter of a century. ti All too soon she rose to go, wishing him "A Merry Christmas," and the rooms looked emptier, more unhomelike than ever, as the echo of her footsteps died away. Wintei- passed into spring, and with the snowdrops Katie came again. To say good-bye. "Good-bye!" he repeated, incredulously. '" I am going to be married on Thursday," she told him, with a happy tremulous smile playing round her lips, " to our junior partner, Mr. Frank Hepplewhite; it was to have been in the summer, but he is going next month to take over the management of the Munich branchand so 1 am going with him."

A mist swam before Ins eyes, as lie made some formal speech of congratulation, for a great blank was opening out before him. He knew now that he desired this woman's friendship before all things on earth. To look into her clear eyes, to hear her voice, to hold her hand; the truth rushed upon him, but he had set a barrier between them with his own hand; and —now he knew the truthshe was going, and he might never see her again he was an old man, an old man!

Long after she had gone he sat with bowed head thinking of all he had gained: fame, riches, honour; and of all he had lostsympathy, love, friendship. " This is tho end of every man's desire."

The spare, gray figure still walks in its accustomed way between Great George-street and the flat. Men admire, court, envy tho great lawyer; but these things are as Dead Sea fruit which turns to oshes on the lips.