SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 12833, 5 April 1905, Page 2 (Supplement)

SHORT STORY.

"A BASKET OF ROSES."

A quiet, unpretentious house wis No. 16, Montague-street, and little or no notice was ever taken of it by the crowds of people who thronged the busy thoroughfares of Marieville, an enterprising town hi South Australia.

A darkened room, plainly but comfortably furnished ; a. bed, by the side of which stood a sweet-faced nursing sister, watching with a trained, yet compassionate look, the pale face of the unconscious man who lay there; on a. chair, with his hand upon the patient's feeble pulse, sat a young medical man, who, with his skilled eye, took in every movement of the poo. sufferer. Such was the mise en scene of the drama, well-nigh a tragedy, which was being enacted on that particular afternoon. Only a few hours before, David Kvskinc had been :n the best of health, and full vigour of manhood—he was but 30 years 0 age— now, so little vital force remained in that athletic frame, that it was doubtful if he would live till the evening. Suddenly 'he lips of the unconscious man were seen to move. 'Laura! Laura!" he murmured, and at the tfords a strange look passed over the doctor's face as he bent down and listened. Again, in a voice scarcely more thaA a whisper, came the words, Laura, my darling. ' Thereupon, Dr. Greville, having gently laid on the coverlet the hand which he nad been holding, rose from the chair, and walked over to the window. He stood there with his face buried in his hands, and the nurse could .see that he was greatly agitated. Sue, however, put it down to the fact of his close friendship with David Erskine, and she supposed that, cool practitioner though ho was, he must naturally feel the sudden calamity which had overtaken bis friend. When ho returned to his seat by the bedsid. she noticed that he was very pale. In the course of half-an-bour, much to the relief of the silent watchers, signs were observed that their charge was returning to consciousness; and soon afterwards he opened his eyes. '. j ! As he caught sight of the doctor he smiled faintly. "All, you, Charlie?" he gasped. "Where am I?" "You've had a nasty spill, old man, and must lie quiet for a bit," answered ,his friend; " and now I must leave you for a few hours, but I shall return later."

He had been, two years in Marieville, having come straight out from the Mother Country ; but such uphill work did he find the building up a. practice to be. that even then he was seriously considering an offer which had recently been made to him of an assistantship to a leading specialist in London.

He entered his coxy surgery and threw himself down in a large easy chair; and as he lay there, the light from a shaded reading lamp fell full on his face. He sighed deeply, and it was evident from the pained expression on his countenance, an expression so foreign to those handsome features, that something was preying on his mind. "My God! If it should be the case!" lie muttered passionately, as he passed his hand over his forehead. " But surely she could not play such a double game. No! I cannot believe it!"

Then, a." if an. idea had suddenly occurred tc him, lie jumped up; and going to a writing table at the opposite side- of the room, be opened a drawer and look a, photograph thefrom. Returning to hie chair beside the table, he .sat down again, and holding the por trait in front -f him for soma time, he seemed to study every feature of the face there portrayed. "No!" he said lecisively, "I shall not doubt you. God forgive me for harbouring such a base thought," and he slipped the photograph into his pocket. A few minutes later he went to pay his promised visit to his friend. He remained some little time with the invalid; then, having see" birr comfortably settled up for the night, and having given the nurse her final instructions, he took" his departure. As he went downstairs he met one of the nurses carrying a basket of exquisite rose*, and he stopped to look at some of the blooms.

"These are for Mr. Enskinc," said the woman ; " they came this afternoon." Then, just at that instant, he caught sight of an envelope attached tc the basket, bearing the words, " With food love from Laura,"' and as be- looked at the familiar handwriting his eyes seemed glued to the spot. " What was that be saw? Then his fears had not been, groundless," he thought, amd with an effort he said, "Oh, yes, they are very pretty," and made his way down to the dooi.

It was with a sickening sensation, at his heart that he walked homewards that night, and by the time hi reached his rooms he had made up his mind to accept the London appointment.

" I should advise you to see Greville." Scarcely r day paused that these words were not addressed by one person to another, with the result that the well-furnished waiting and consulting-rooms at 496, Harleystreet, wen seldom empty: a fitting testimony to the skill and repute, of Dr. Charles Qreville, to whom they belonged. Twelve yearn have come and gone sides be left Aoatfali* for London in order to take np the position of assistant to the late P©etoT-—r>* the famous throat specialist; and when his principal died, he had sne*«ded to Lis practice--a practice which was burning every ywt more and more lucrative.

A great favourite with ell his nnnirtoiis acquaintances, it was generally o. matter of surprisa that he still remained a single man; and if any of his friends ventured to mention the subject to him, they were usually met with a shake of his head, or drew forth such a remark as "I have no lime to think of such things." Notwithstanding his fivc-and-forty years, and the fact that here aud there his hair was streaked with grey, he was still a striking handsome man, and many were the women who would have been proud to hear his name. Ob a certain morning early in December, when, in London, the light of clay was at a minimum, he was sitting at his writingtable, in his well-appointed consultingroom, engaged in looking over the names of the various persons with whom \\. had booked appointments tor that- day. The last on the list was the name of Madam* Vdlmar, the famous singer ■w'b.u la. d WKMjjtly taken Luudt-o by *io«m.

The clock on his mantelshelf had barely chimed the hour of twelve when bis manservant entered the room and handed him a card bearing, the mime—Madame V njmar, and ths next moment a tall, beautifully dieted woman was admitted to .his presence. Their eyes met. , • "You, Laura!" he exclaimed. At the sight of him her face had grown pale, but she quickly recovered herself, and extended her band. . " ■ "Yes it is I, but—l—had no idea that, you were the renowned Doctor Greville.' " The touch of her hand sent the blood coursing through his veins with furious energy. what is the meaning oi this?" he "But what is the meaning ot tins.' lie asked, taking up the visiting card which lay on the tabic. She smiled. "Well, that is mv card," she replied. "What? You arc' the celebrated concert singer, whose name is in every mouth?" .She nodded. " But. sit down.' - lie continued, as be drew up a. chair for her, "I am only beginning to realke that it is vou—ah ! I beg your pardon, T forgot, that vou had called to sec- me professionally," and he sat down in his usual place beside the table. " Yes, I believe I did. Doctor Greville, and she emphasised the words, "tut I have made up my mind the consultation can wait." " Which means,'' he interposed, "that you had faith in Doctor Grevilie, but not in Charlie Greville. I suppose." " No, certainly not, she replied. '"I am glad of that," lie said, "for I con-, sider it a feather in my cap to have my advice sought by such a distinguished person." " Oh, ridiculous nonsense, Charlie—l may call you Charlie, mayn't I? You know yon are just as famous as I am. Let us talk ,of the old days." .'He passed 'his hand over his brow. " Yes,' those dear old days," lie said; "who would have thought that the girl who used to sing at charity concerts in Marieville would one day make such a name for herself " "And who could ever have fancied." she put in, " that the young, struggling doctor in Marieville would one day become a leading authority in London?" Suddenly, as if by an instantaneous impulse, he arose from his chair, and going over to the fireplace, stood there, with his back to her, looking Qown at the red coals. For several minutes there Was silence, broken only by the measured tick, tick, of the clock. Then he returned to his place beside her, and she observed that the expression on his face had changed. Yes. Laura," he said earnestly, "we— at least have been fortunate in many ways but— and he hesitated. "But, what?" she asked. "Oh, notihng!" he answered somewhat abruptly in an altered tone or' voice, as if he suddenly desired to change the subject. " By-the-bye, I do believe I have a programme of one of your prospective concerts in my pocket.' As be pulled out a bundle of letters and papers some of them fell to the floor, and amongst them was a photograph which lay there face uppermost. He bent down and hastily snatched it up, but it was too late. "Laura?" he asked, "lid you see that?" but the question was superfluous. The deep crimson on her cheeks told him so. "Yes, Charlie," she answered in a low voice. " Do you know what that means?" She made in reply. "I daresay," he went on, "I am mad to speak to you thus, for it was all an accident this—this happening. I have not seen or heard anything of Daves for years, but he used to be my friend, and—'" but lip got no farther. "What do you mean?" she asked quickly, •looking up at him. "Why? David F.rskiae and you were engaged, were you not?" " No! Never! What made vou think that:-" At the words, a- gleam of hope flashed through his mind. " Do vou rcrr.envber when lie came by a severe bicycle ajcidenf ?'" "Yes, perfectly!" she replied. "Well, when "he way lying in a private hospital at 16 Montague-street, you sent him a basket of flowers— they were— with a ticket bearing the words," With fond love from Lam*' ; so, naturally, I thought—" " What? I sent him flowers," she exclaimed in amazement. "Oh, I see it all now. What did I say a short time ago about arriving at hasty conclusions?" Why I used to send flowers every second day to an o'.d uncle of mine who was laid up for many months at 16 Montague-street." "And his name' was?" asked the Doctor quietly. " Alexander Erskine," she replied slowly. He scarcely realised what her answer meant to him, and for a few minutes be .sat with his face buric' in his hands. At last he looked up. ■ "But Ki-"kiii?—David Erskine loved you, I am sure of that: in fact, he raved about you when lie was ill." "I know that," was her reply. "Then why were yo>- not engaged? Did you not like him?" " Yes, J liked him," she answered simply, lint—wellthere was someone whom"l liked better. I '—George Rathveii.