SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 12910, 5 July 1905, Page 2 (Supplement)

SHORT STORY.

A fateful forgetting. "Come in!" responded Alfred Morris, the village dootoi, as a tap resounded on hi* study door. He had retreated there afr-ei all unusually stiff day's work, and was about to revel in Ins favour, magazine for a brief hour before retiring, but i- was not to be. His ™ an looked in and said: . "A servant from the Hall, sir, to say that the squire is worse and wishes to see you at The°tired practitioner donned l.is hat and coat, and in a" few minutes was striding along the familiar road which iciMo the 10 eidenc.e of Squire Oakfield The sqiino had boon seriously ill for many weeks, and hi ß end was not unexpected. Morris dinc. Oakfield had boon school chums at, J-ton, and as doctor and squire they were still loyal friends. . . ■> .1 "Glad you ha v o come, Morris, said tlie dying man feebly, as ho smiled a we come to his friend. " I havo sent for Nettlcton, but I fear he will not arrive to-night, i want you to prepare a will for me to sign. I may not have strength enough 10-mor--10The doctor grasped his ,friend' by the hand, and replied, in a voice husky with suppressed emotion: , „ "J ill do aw you desire, PhilipSend for Alice," said the sick man. A minute or two later a love£ ir r+ '| entered the solemn, oh am and Lroetea the squire with a look of tenderest affection an " Wi l at call Ido for. you, dear " Bring me my writing-desk, Ahou fiom the study. I have some important business \ftoi- 3 a°iiiimcd' word <* greeting to the doctor, lie girl departed', but returned soon to place the squire's ting-desk oil tho table beside his bed. « "What shall I write?" asked Mouu, when Alice had left the room. . . "Say that the legacies I bequeathed in mv first will are to be bestowed as mentioned " but that the bulk of my estate here audi at Edenlieldl is to become the possession of my niece, Alice v\ litora. The doctor nodded gravely, and foi the nest few minutes the room was silent saAo for the scratching of the quill pen *• the parchment, and the shot, ja.png breath of the dying man, as lie foil back exhausted after his brief effort. , Then the writing ceased, and the praoti tioner (said to his friend: ... "I have done as you requested, i will ie -'Thit^precisely what I waiited fred. Thank you, my old .friend. INow I shall rest more calmly to-night. After the document had been duly wit nessed and signed, the doctor told his friend that ho would return at an early hour in the morning. He then hastened: home to snatch a brief, interval of much-needed Sl At'seven o'clock the next morning the doctor ascended the Ilall steps, but the white, tearful face of Alice Wilford as she opened the door to him _ told him that Death, had been a yet earlier visitor. "Dear uncle passed away very peacefully at four o'clock, said the girl, bravely striving to subdue) the pitiful sobs that shook her frame. . ~ , After a glance at the remains of his departed friend, and some words of sympathy to the members of the sorrowing household, the doctor departed slowly and sadly, tor the blow had struck him more keenly than, lie oared to admit. He had traversed about a thousand yards of the road leading to his residence when an open carriage approached him. In it reclined a rakish-looking young man, of some twenty-five summers, who had evidently been sowing his wild oats with more haste than discretion. • -"Morning, Morris! You're out early today. I'm going to the hall to see the pater. I shall see you later on, I suppose?" remarked the young follow, nonchalantly, as he stopped the carriage a minute to greet bis father's friend. , . " I have some sad news to toll you, Richard," said the doctor, regarding the youth with obvious disapproval. " Your father is dead." . "The pater dead!" exclaimed Richard Oakfield, as a momentary look of concern flashed over his face. Then he added, with a complacent smile and a tone of triumph: "Ah, but I don't suppose he took the trouble to revoke his will. So it's all serene for yours truly." ■' 4 This time the doctor, as he bade the youth a grave good morning, had difficulty in concealing his aversion. As he,crossed the village common on his way jhome, ho soliloquized, with, a warmth unusual to him:

"Tho (heartless ,young rascal! He (has broken tho heart, of his indulgent father by his prodigal habits, and next, I £ impose. he will be trying to marry Alice Wilford— rather, her fortune— he hears about the will. But he shall not deceive that lovely girl, if I can help it!" After breakfast, before going on his morning round, Dr. Morris placed his friend's will in an envelope and glanced round his room for a safe place in which to deposit the document. Ho was gazing at the face of a life-sized anatomical figure in the cornel/ of his room in a somewhat abstracted manner, when a shrill cry from a room beneath caused him to hasten thither. It was the voice of his wife, who shouted: Alfred Alfred! Come quickly! Save Dorothy! She has fallen out of the window into the water-tank!" The alarm was not unfounded. Tho torrified mother had jeft the child's room for a few moments, during which the baby girl had climbed from her rot near the open Window, and had fallen through into an immense tank of rain-water some twelve feet beneath. ' Tosecuro a ladder and place it against the high tank was a task speedily accomplished by the excited father, and from thence ho plunged just sis he was into the water, whence, a minute later, lie drippingly emerged with the unconsoious child in liis arms. Prompt measures were adopted, and it was not long before the little one regained animation, and in two hours was as well as ever. Then the doctor changed his wet clothes and returned to his room to look for the will, which ho had left behind in his hurry, but it was then nowhere visible, and the most careful search failed to reveal its whoreabouts. i The doctor's distress at this untoward mischance may bo imagined, and when a week passed without throwing any fresh light upon the mystery his anxiety became almost greater than he could bear. • D 11. Tho foregoing events transpired in the summer, At the end of October a friend of Dootor Morris, Leonard Couvtnoy by name, was visiting ono of the Fleet-street- editors for whom he wrote, when he suddenly confronted a very beautiful young lady descending the stairs. Her face seemed familiar to' him, though it was somewhat obscured by tho veil she was wearing. He gave another discreet glance as she passed him, then lifted his hat, exclaiming with glad surprise: Miss Wilford! I thought it was you, though I never expected to meet you hero. Have you come to reside in London?" . ' Jos, Mr. Courtney, I have. I am writing for the papers now. You will remember 1 daresay, reading the MS. of my first literary effort when we met at Dr. Morris' house. iou assured 1110 that I possessed literary talent, and advised me to cultivate the gift. 1 have done so, and am now proving it to bo pleasant and moderately profitable." "I am delighted to meet, you, and to hear about your success," said Courtney with genuine earnestness, " but I fear you will find tho journalistic career a somewhat precarious one unless you can secure a staffappomtment on .a good paper. So much hard and persistent toil is required." at I lla . v ? Proved that already," returned Alice, with a weary little smile, " but I am determined to plod very hard, and some day success will come, I am sure." Courtney glanced at her in'a puzzled manner He could not understand the reason tor her having to work so hard. When he last met. her, six months before, he had heard that slio v, '? likely to come into her uncle's Property, but an unconquerable reticence now deterred him from mentioning tho mat- * i mi 5, a m cheery words, they parted. That day, and for many days afterwards, Alice llford occupied a larger place than ever m the mind of Leonard Courtney. His best work was done while thinking of her sweet face, and ho longed for a chance to see iei again. It came earlier than he expected. Feeling m need ot a rest, he gladly accepted an invitation to spend a week with his friend met lll 'L. There, one morning, he again met Alice Wilford, who was visiting a friend "! tw 6 J , " o ', During a long ramble a day 01 two later, Alice narrated .to Courtney the story of her own life. Ho then heard how as an orphan, she had found shelter in the home of her undo, who had been like a father to her. The squire . had earnestly desired Alice to marry his scrapegrace son, but the mrl grateful and loyal 111 all else, resolutely refused to do this. She had all along heard more about the lau s wilduess than had reach eu the squire's ears, and what she knew did not tend to increase her esteem for Richard Oakfield. Later on the squire had also been informed of his son's dire disgrace -at college and in London, and the distressing revelation had doubtless hastened his end. Tho squire's last will had never been recovered, and Alice Wilford therefore had 110 claim whatever upon the estate, ajjd was left.oven without a legacy.

Dr. Morris had been extremely kind to her, but there came a time when her independent, spirit led her to London to search out a means of livelihood. She had found it, and was doing fairlj well. Her cousin Richard had written to her once, proposing i marriage, but she had sent him a prompt refusal. Leonard Courtney heard ilwstory and glanced admiringly at tin* lovely face of the narrator. Then lie resolved to learn his fate fit her hands, for by. this time, she had become very precious to him. "Miss Wilford—Alice; I have loved you sincerely since I met you in Loudon. You havo been in my tendered thoughts ever since. I cannot go through lift; without you. Will you accept my devotion and myself, and consent to become, my wifo?" ] The promise was shyly given, but Alice ' would not consent to an engagement for a ■ few months, until certain important! work was completed. 111. ; ; Alice Wilford had just completed the ! bulky MS. of a serial story about two' • months later, and was going to take- a little ' well-earned rest when a letter reached her : from the doctor's wife, begging that she would be their guest for a week. She post-' ed a prompt acceptance, and anticipated the coming' change with satisfaction. A few' ; days later she arrived at the homo of her old friends, and prepared to enjoy her holiday to the, very best advantage. The doctor ! had never recovered his former brightness' since the mysterious vanishing of the will, ami the presence of Alice Wilford brought - it to his mind with fresh and painful vivid,' ness. .The girl noticed this, and said: s " Now, Dr. Mow is, I wish you would try ■ not to think any more about that unfortunate will. I know jt is that which is weighing on your mind. Please try to for- ' get all about it, and lot us go for a delightful row 011 the river this afternoon." The day being splendidly fine the proposal was gladly acceded to by the doctor' and his wife. A boat was engaged and the • doctor, who had lost little of his ancient, prowess as an oarsman, pulled the merry party through the cool, glistening water for' somejniles until they reached a lone, but' lowly, islet, on which they landed. After: two hours' exquisite enjoyment they took tea at a pretty farmhouse near by, and then proceeded leisurely home, the tide being in their favour. They were within about a-quarter of a, mile of their destination, and the dootor, was pulling shorewards to a convenient spot for landing, when a shrill shriek pierccd the quiet evening air, as a little boat between them and the shore turned suddenly over, plunging one of its occupants into.tha *SS T child!' My child! Oh, save my precious 'baby 1" cried a distressed motheu from, the bank. , "i 111 another minute the dootor, by a few, vigorous strokes, brought their boat over, the spot where the child had disappeared.. As the little one rose to the surface for the second 1 time ho rescued it and restored it to its mother. But the poor woman had become hysterical with fright, and was still calling loudly for someone to save her child, Suddenly the doctor placed his hand to' his brow, as a strange look of luminous revealing flashed from his eyes, and ho shouted excitedly: "I have it! Oh, why did I not think of it before? I know where it is!" And, without a word of explanation, he left the little party, and went running towards his residence at the top of his speed. When they arrived at the house ten minutes later, , they discovered the doctor ripping to pieoea the anatomical figure in his study, like a man demented. Presently he pulled out oj its interior a piece of parchment, and, way. ing it before them, said: "I've found it at last! It's the lost will I put it in there through the aperture in the head the day 'when Dorothy was nearly drowned, and the scare I got then must havo induced' tho freak of memory which has teen so fateful to Miss Wilford."

So, indeed, it proved 1 to bo, and' very, joyous was the party that gathered round, the doctor's table that evening at dinner, the merriest of all being the doctor himself, who had lout his gloom, with the finding of the will. The precious document was duly produced, legally proved, and executed, and a few weeks later Alice "Wilford came into possession of her rights and reigned as mistress of the ancestral Hall. A letter to ; Leonard Courtney brought that ardent • ; young gentleman to the Hall by the first fast train available, whereupon Alice" related to him, the startling episode which had suddenly made her nob. • A blissful engagement followed in due course, and Mi months later Alice Wilford became Mrs. . Leonard Courtney. Richard Oakfield went , abroad, and has not been hoard of since, J; but the worthy doctor and his wire are fre- ' quent and favoured guests at the "flail, where the now squire a,nd his beautiful.wife live in the loving esteem of all who know em. ' ■