EVEN UNTO DEATH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLI, Issue 12736, 13 December 1904, Page 3

EVEN UNTO DEATH.

i ' Mb. Febkand 'smoked li cigarette ': on the 1 verandah of the Graswater Hotel, his ears 5 half unconsciously open to the conversation j wafted through Lire drawing-room window. i But you should not flirt with Harry," , said a ■rirl's voice, with a strong accent of ( reproach. " My dear, I shall flirt with him again •> if lie comes my way—-with him or anyone ; else. You will be in Koine; you won't ' know." And then a man', voice asked someone ' called " Trix"' when she started for Rome. : New arrivals, Mr. Ferrand thought, and lie looked at them a little curiously when : they presently appeared on tho lawn — evii dently a country parson, with two distinctly - pretty daughters. Which was "Trix?" Oh, ; the ruddy-haired one, for she addressed her darker sister as Joan." Mr. Ferrand looked coldly on tho latter; she was a flirt. Ho hated the whole class. Beatrice Lennox and he soon grew good comrades. The girl amused him with her petulant ways and quick speeches. Above | all, he liked the memory of her anger 1 against a flirt. He thought her "real" and ' unspoiled." I Mr. Ferrand's taste was a trifle fastidious. ; He was not a lady's man, but to Trix he fell a victim; he walked with her, he talked with her, and Joan laughed to see Trix blush when 'he. spoke to her. ! "He is so handsome," Trix pleaded, in extenuation of her blushes; "he is unlike other men--and so delightfully cynical. I suppose ho must be nearly forty," with a sigh—-it seemed an. enormous age to one-and-twonty. " Joan, even yap must allow his eyes are good'.'" ■' My dear, they may be. I have never ' seen them; lie. has never yet honoured me 1 with his regard." laughed Joan. The eider sister made but a short stay at 1 the little lake, hut Trix and her. father stayed on from one week to another. The mountains were so grand, the boating so jolly, her father was enjoying -fishing— ' why move? Yet it took very little to spoil 1 tho charm of the place to the girl. She and ' Mr. Ferrand were sitting on the wall by the - sunny lake, watching the boats —at least, the girl was, for the man was 'ooking at her. He had been listening to an account of liei home at the country rectory, laughing quietly at her plaint of its dulness. "But you go abroad," he said. [ "I wish I did— l do not. Joan does; she winters in Rome. Her godmother talkes her. Alas, 1 have no fairy godmother!" '. " But surely I beard your father say that i Trixpardon me—Trix was going to Rome." "Oh, very likely; father muddles up our names. But, alas ! it is only Joan who goes abroad." Mr. Ferrand tilted his hat ovei his eyes and sat silent. Ho, after all,, the girl beside, him, whom he had believed in, was the flirt— his abomination; and all those- days she had, he supposed, been trying to amuse herself with him in the absence of Harry. Trix wondered why her companion was so stupid. She wondered more as the days went on. Ho became worse than stupid, for his remarks grew an edge and sting. She had laughed at his cynicism when others were the victims, but she quite failed in liking it when the shafts glanced her own way. Poor Beatrice, she was proud, and pretty, 1 and not accustomed to be slighted. She disliked it very much indeed, and was angry; but the worst of it was, it hurt, her. too. . She found Graswater slow, and persuaded her father to move on elsewhere. She was furious with herself to find tears in her eyes when she left. Thank goodness that disagreeable Mr. Ferrand was not there to see! It was late October, and Trix sat with ratliot startled eyes staring into the fire, digesting a piece of news just given her by her father: that Mr. Ferrand was the new tenant at the Manor House, and that he had accepted the rector's unceremonious invitation to dine that night at the rectory. Was she pleased? She would have been, were it not for the memory of that last week at the lakesbut now? She made a poor attempt to believe that she was quite indifferent —a very poor little attempt indeed. Christinas came and went. Mr. Ferrand still puzzled the girl; he was polite, but quite inscrutable. She began to avoid him because she never felt at. ease in his presence. And then, one frosty December evening, it was all changed. Her pony-cart had come to j»rief as she was returning from shopping in Dcanton; a bad shy and a broken wheel had left her stranded some miles from the town and five miles from home. Riding: with his groom back from, the market town, Mr. Ferrand had come on her in the midst of her discomfiture. He had dismounted, and insisted -upon chaperoning her on her homeward walk, leaving his man to see to the horses and cart. The girl had accepted his assistance grudgingly, for she had not wished him to esquire her. She had obstinately persisted in taking the shorter, narrow track over the moor, impatiently overruling his objection that the road would be safer in the half-light. For nearly a mile Miss Lennox walked on briskly, a little in advance of her companion; another mile, got through with no large amount of conversation, and still, so far as Mr. Ferrand could see, they were completely mossbound—a narrow sheep-track between boulders and stones left something to be desired in the way of comfort on a dusky evening. If Mr. Ferrand's brow wore an impatient I frown as. he followed in the footsteps of the tall, lithe figure before him, perhaps he was not all to blame. Presently the girl's step faltered, it grew more and more uncertain, and at last she came to a dead stop. The humiliating confession was made— she had lost her way. Excited by her recent carriage accident, chagrined with her companion, she had walked heedlessly where every step .should have been warily noted. Mr. Ferrand looked decidedly blank when Beatrice, in a small voice, stated that she had not an idea where she was; further, that the moor was honey-combed with quarries, indiscernible in the evening gloom. "Indeed! Had you stated that fact before, 1 would not have consented to cross the moor. Fancy attempting a 'honeycombed' moor in the dark!" _ She made no reply; and he walked cautiously a few steps over the coarse grass, returning again to her side with an audible "Perfect madness to have attempted it" on his lies. "I. am very vexed," she said, meekly; " I believed I. could keep the track—l use ' it so often. It does not run very near the quarries." Mr. xerrand had struck a bundle of matches, and was stooping, with the flaring, spluttering light in his hand, trying to malke out the lay of the ground. The light fell on the girl's face, and lie dropped the matches as if they had become unpleasantly hot. He had seen tears on Miss Lennox's cheek, and a quivering red mouth. His voice and look were gentle enough when next he spoke. "Well. Mis-; Lennox, there is only one course to follow; tho moon will rise shortly, we must wait patiently rill die is up, then we shall be able to escape the quarries. It would be a dismal wind-up to one's existence ' to end one's days in a (marry!" ' Two bouluers formed a comfortable cornerseat. There he made her sit down, she doing what he bid her and giving the lead to : him in a way which would have surprised her independent young self at any other ' time. It seemed he wished to put her at her ease, and for that, purpose talked on in '■ matter-of-fact, friendly tones, without re- ' quiring much reply on her part. Leaning ' against the boulder, ho told her of the wan- ' dering life he had led, of scenes and places < he had visited, and people he had met, until she forgot her humiliation, and was surprised to find how quickly the time passed till the round moon appeared in the east. He would not. allow her to venture forth till the white light lay around them clear and bright; then he rose. "Nov/ let us try our fortune, Miss Lennox. Lead on, and i will follow, and show ' 1 have still some trust in you." She laughed merrily. " Indeed, I could not complain if you had not. They moved on cautiously till a civ of re- - bet from Trix told that .die had recognised her bearings. "I see the Mare Stone! Do you see it yonder, Mr. Ferrand? That stone is on the mam track. We have been dose to die edge of the moor all along, had I only known i lt '.. I "I hope the time you have been kept a I prisoner has not been too wearisome? I give ! you my word, I have tried to amuse you'." "No one could have been a ploasanter or companion than you have been tonight," she broke m, impetuously, "and you had every right. I am sure, to have been cross. My stupidity deserved punishment." 'Do you know you imply that I am nor, always a pleasant companion? Perhaps a feeling of self-protection is mv best excuse. lo pass many such hours as' I have been passing this evening might be dangerous to one s peace of mind." The red light, from the cottage windows fell on Trix face showing its crimson dye.. Mr. I'errand thought of that blush as he walked on alone to the manor. »-H7i Vliat if fihf> does flil " " ho muttered. , What business is it. of mine? I hate a flirt m theory; but, after all. she does not ; flirt, with me." The sudden vexed toars be had surprised on her lashes had disarmed him: the memory ot the shy hazel eyes, the childish, quivering mouth was with him as he smoked ins soliI tary pipe. 1 It was spring; everything was joyous and ' gay, everything except Trix Lennox— face

..... was flushed with anger; she stood facing Mr. Ferrand in the long shrubbery walk, biting her lips and trying to keep back the hot tears. The little Moorish ring he had placed on her finger but a few hours earlier lay on the ground between them. For a space Trix had been as happy as a girl could be. Since that December evening Mr. Ferrand had ...jen her old, good comrade of tho lakes; that evening he had asked her to be his wife, and she had accepted him. And then her curiosity had marred it all; a true daughter of Eve, she had worried him into telling her why ho had treated her so badly at Graswater. Perhaps Mr. Ferrand had been clumsy in the telling: at, any rate, her pride rose in arms. So he had regarded her as a despicable flirt; he had seen she eared for him then it was pity that had made him bo kind at last. It was all over, and the gold circlet lay between them, and Trix would not hear a word in extenuation. " So be it," said Mr. Ferrand, bowing to her decision. He, too, was angry. She was fooling him, playing fast and loose with him. There was no making up the quarrel. Mr. Ferrand quitted the manor next day, and was seen no more. Each was proud, each in fault; and the girl, at; least, suffered. Thank goodness no one had known of her engagement, no one knew of her humiliation. It was her only consolation. Three months later Beatrice was a guest at St. Michael's Hall, on the northern seacoast. It was a pleasant house for a girl to stay at, but Trix felt listless and dull; she always did nowadays. She had arrived at the Hall with barely time to don her dinnerdress ; indeed, the soup was nearly over before she got downstairs. As she took her place at, the table, she started ; across the cactus dahlias and maiden-hair she saw a face she knew. Mr. Ferrand was her vis-a-vis. He bowed slightly as he met her glance, but he showed no emotion. The girl was furious that her heart should beat so wildly; she did not care for him. she would not. He was nothing more to her than am- other chance acquaintance. Why, then, did she fly to the solitary verandah when the ladies quitted the diniriQ'-room? Oh, only because the room had been so insufferably hot; that was why her cheeks burned so furiously. At once, before she had time to fly Mr. Ferrand was beside her, holding out his hand with provoking calmness. As he did so, she saw he wore the Moorish ring upon his little finger. He had never done so before their brief engagement, though it was an heirloom. The sight gave her an odd, choking sensation ; she could not have spoken to have saved her life. He spoke quickly : "Trix, the riftor is safe; will you have it back? Beatrice, why keep up this miserable pretence? Why pretend you do not care? I love you ; I have told you so. Say what you will, you love me still I saw it in your face to-night. It is only "ique that parts us. Pride can go too far. Had I not been idiotically proud, I should have said this all before. Trix, you are such a child, do try to be reasonable." ' It was too much !< Pitied before, scolded now, treated as a child all through! " I .quite recognise your goodness in offering to renew our engagement," she said, with a pitiful little smile, "but I must decline with thanks." Bitter words and looks, and the breach was widened, not mended. On the following day Mr. Ferrand stood moodily on the headland looking at the sea. He was quitting St. Michael's in the evening; he meant tc go abroad. Ho was a soft fool, he told himself; he had let himself care for a pretty little flirt. After all, was it not well that her shrewishness had cured him of his folly? Women wore all alike, fickle, shallow, not worth a'man's thought or trouble. But his philosophy was of no avail—he did care, and there was the rub. He looked down the eighty feet of cliff and rock, down at the beach, down at the incoming tide; and he drew his breath, with a sudden gasp. That blue-clad girl's figure sitting below! v Was she demented? The sea was high over both points, and round those points was the only egress. In an idle hour he had tested the perilous nature of the beach. The fishermen had warned him i of it. The rock, smooth as an anvil's face, and overhanging, offered no foothold for ascent; I assistance could come by sea alone —and no I boats passed that lonely' covo. There was a ■bare chance of getting rescue for her. A vagrant . was berry-gathering close bv: for gold he would carry a message for help to St. Michael's— miles to go, but no help was nearer. Before help could come, twelve feet of water would be washing the cliffs below. Still, it was a chance. The vagrant flew with the pencilled message. _ "No help will be in time," he said. "Ay, sir, by the rowan tree you can climb down"; it be an awkward thing, but I have done it. ; There be no coming up. You be not a-thinik-of going down? 'It be but a-throwing a good life after a bad." / Mr. Ferrand had been an Alpine climber of no mean repute, yet it was a dangerous descent, but at last he stood on the sands behind the still unconscious figure of Beatrice Lennox. He tried not to alarm her, to make her believe assistance was on its way. But onceshe saw that the points were" impassable, she grasped her peril; she stood staring out at the beating waves with widely opened, startled eyes. How young and childish she looked, and, good heavens, she must die! The man clinched his hands in impotent helplessness. It was idle trying to reassure her. Facing them was the cruel tide, coming ever closer and closer ; behind them the frowning cliffs, and the nearest aid ten miles off. She sat down on a ledge, making no' fuss, watting for what was to come. It, was kindest to respect her evident wish for silence. We stood quietly beside her, watching with her, waiting with her. "Oh, why did you come clown?" she said at last, wringing her hands together. "You must have known it was but to die, too." He hesitated. The waves drew nearer and nearer; the end was not so very far distant, Thinking so, he spoke the truth. ' "If need bo, yes—to die with vou, Trix. Do you think I would have let you meet it quite alone?" Her face was in her hands, find the unredressed sobs shook her frame. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Trix " he said, softly—" Trix, may we be friends at last? We have wasted months of happiness; now, if we may only have hours, let us take what is left to us. At this eleventh hour will you have the ring back? Will you believe that 1 care for you— even unto death?" '■' It was a strange renewal of their betrothal, solemn enough to them both, with their last leave-taking staring them in the tace. Resting on him, supported by him, sure at last that his love for her was real, i'nx found peace. Waiting for the death so ciose at hand, she was happier than she barf been for many a long day. The waves were washing tip to the hem of the girl's dress, and hope had' died to them both, when, at last, help came. Providence was good to them. Round the point puffed a little pleasure steamer; its captain, a St. Michael man, realised the peril of those two solitary figures, and sent off a boat to their aid. While thev waited for their deliverer, and the boat was still but. a mere sneck in the distance, Mr. Ferrand looked at Trix, smiling under his moustache. '' x ',r,^ lal!l you east me off now you are sate.' The smile was in his eyes, too, a,B he stooped and kissed the face she raised to his. "I feel safe now, Trix. You are compromised irrevocably. Do you realise child, those steamer-folk are all ogling us through their glasses ? We have just delighted them hugely." "My goodness ; ejaculated the scarletfaced, dishevelled Beatrice, as she attempted to readjust her hat afTa proper propriety low Ferrand laughed long and "Beatrice, what a fright you gave us," said her hostess that night; '•and vou are engaged to Mr. Ferrand ! I was so certain, too, that you disliked him. Why is it'™' _ "It is difficult to stand out when a man just makes up his mind to die with vou-" .and she feed the quaint old rim- on her hand when she thought her friend'was not looking. -