NEW ZEALAND STORIES BY NEW ZEALAND WRITERS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1315, 13 May 1897, Page 41

NEW ZEALAND STORIES BY NEW ZEALAND WRITERS.

‘AND THE GREATEST OF ALL THESE IS CHARITY.’ (Written for the New Zealand Mail.) [By G.A.C.] • Poor thing !’ The head nurse bends over and with deft fingers draws the pillow to a more comfortable position. 'Yea, indeed, Sister,’ responds her companion ; and, reading from the board above the patient’s head, continues, in a low compassionate tone—'Nineteen years. Single.’ ‘ The house doctor says she will be out in a week,’ remarks the head nurse, looking pityingh” down at the face of the sleeping girl, whose flashed features, refined by illness, contrast sharply against the dead white of the counterpane. • Well, I’m convinced some men ’—with a scornful emphasis— * deserve hanging,’ warmly says the other nurse, as they move down the long ward together. • The girl’s eyes slowly open and she stares wonderingly about the bright-looking ward, with its rows of clean beds and pleasant-facod nurses flitting noiselessly from patient to patient. Outside, the wind whistles shrilly round the buttresses of the partly-open corridor, and through the window she sees the rain steadily falling. The ward is quiet. The appearance of order and comfort about her stills her senses to a languid content. Her eyes, roying along the wall, at length catch sight of a piece of holly encircling a card, ' Peace bn Earth, Goodwill to Men,’ and with a moan of anguish she turns restlessly in bed. At last ! Her gaze is fixed starii.gly on the ceiling, and as the curtain of her mind is torn aside the pictures flash out on her consciousness, and —she remembers. # * * # A far-out bush township. The one long street is dotted with tree stumps a”d tussocky pa'ches of c-ckrfoot. At wide isf.vt v: 1* ough y-buiit khalts stand in cl aril gs fr. rathe main road. The blue smoke rising from huge fallen rata trunks forms a dull haze, through which the horizon appears dull and indistinct. Then ! —the picture burns itself into her brain, and she clutches convulsively at the bedclothes. The arrival of the mail eoach connecting with the distant railway How handsome and clever he looks as he steps from it. How politely he raises his hat as she meets him at the store and post office. How gentlemanlike he speaks ; so -different from that awkward Joe with his silly, bashful compliments ‘ Those delicious long walks down the road in the twilight after tea Mrs Brown warns her. ‘He is a scamp.’ Mrs Brown is an old gossip!. He said, ‘I must go to Melbourne, Mary. Will return quickly.’ That was —so long ago. No letters. ‘Oh 1 why had he not kept his word ?’ ' Those weary, weary months, before I came to town/ ...... ‘ Poor blind father 1 Poor dad 1 Brain on fire—-thoughts all disconnected. Must be going mad 1 ...... The journey to town. Stations and townships roaring past, all jumbled up together. ' Shall I never get to my journey’s end, and hide my shame V

A cheap lodginghouse. ‘How heartless of the landlady to turn me out in the street.’ And —what is that she says ? ' Not respectable !’ How cold it is ! Cannot sleep at all. So pitilessly cold lying out on this waste piece of ground, *Oh ! why did he leave me? Yes the child was born ‘lmpossible !’ *they said at the police station. ‘ You are charged with ——’ 'No ! Oh, my God, no !’

* Number Fourteen, nurse !’ the house doctor, just entering the ward, calls out warn* ingly. ‘ You really must try and not excite yourself,’ the nurse, rearranging the bedclothes, says softly, and as Bhe joins the doctor in his rounds adds, ‘ Light-headed ?’ ‘ Exactly/ he answers, as he turns his attention to the next patient. The girl’s eyes open widely ; and once, more, are concentrated on the ceiling.

The Crown prosecutor sits down, after a speech which seems to place the case beyond doubt of a conviction. As he wipes his heated forehead, his faint smile of approval at his junior across the table, gradually melts into one of self satisfaction. The dark-robed girlish figure in the dock regards him with a tense, strained look, and wonders in an abstracted way how he so hard. The silence of the court is broken by the .voice of the defending counsel. He lays stress on the fact of the doctor’s evidence not being conclusive. Granted that the evidence showed marks round the baby’s throat, yet there is the admission by the doctor that perhaps the child had but just breathed. She is little more than a child herself. —Had lost her mother early.—Her environment has been harsh and soul-des-troying. —Little wonder that she has fallen a victim to the glitter of a well-educated scamp.— The story is an old one of woman’s trustfulness and man’s treachery.—And the counsel for the defence, amid applause from the spectator’s at the back, winds up with an impassioned appeal to give the youthful prisoner the benefit of an unquestionable doubt. • The sympathetic hum from the body of the cuurt is quickly checked by the stern tones of the crier’s ' Silence !’ The judge sums up impartially, weighing the (vidf'.ce fairly "equal, and the jury retire. To the whi:e-faced girl in the dock,, the early part of the interval which precedes the return of the jury, is spent with her mind painfully alert. This soon gives way to an exhausted feeling; where the officers of the court, standing listlessly about the judge’s seat; and the crowd of careless spectators all appear misty and confused together. The one thought in her miud, soon developing into an intense longing, is to see him. And then, as she fancies the crowd in the court has given back his name as if in echo ; with an effort, controls, herself. A Bmile is startled from her face, as, looking up, she watches the jury re-enter, and yes, the foreman is Cyril ! Why do they call his uame so loud ? Mr Johns ! Poor boy ! How ill he looks 1 But why is he there ? * # * ' Are you awake, Number Fourteen ?’ The far-away voice of the nurse falls on her ear, and swells • to a roar, as she listens, * A visitor. • Mr Johns to see you. Have you had a sound "sleep?”’ Patient Number Fourfceen’a eyes suddenly clear as the visitor, Bitting down at her bedside, tenderly unclasps her wasted hands and takes possession of one in a strong, warm

clasp. Then as he whispers * Mary !’ in a remorseful way she returns the pressure. ‘l’m so sorry, dear,’ says the man. * It doesn’t matter —now,’ answers the girl; and continues hurriedly, as if to stop him replying, 1 Oh, Cyril, I have had such awful dreams to-day. I thought ’ 'But you must not worry, dear,’ quickly interrupts the man. ‘ I only got back from Melbourne a week ago—went up there —traced you to town—the nnrse said —brought in with brain fever, and Oh, Mary 1 I haven’t told you my good news yet. An old aunt has died and left me five hundred pounds. We will go away, dear,’ and as he tenderly examines the third finger of the girl’s left hand over her face the faint flush deepens to a rosy red. Outside the wind has dropped and the rain ceased falling. A stray beam of sunshine glimmers in through the window opposite the girl’s headi bathing a small patch of the floor near her in a pool of dull, golden colour. In a little while the man turns to leave. As the girl watches him stop and speak to the nurse at the door of the ward a contented look creeps over her face, and with a sigh of relief her tired eyes close and she is soon peacefully asleep. Down the ward the quiet is broken by a subdued bustle, occasioned by a change of nurses. Two of these, going off duty, meet in the corridor and stand looking out at the garden enclosing the hospital. ‘ We shall have a fine Christmas after all, I think,’remarks the head nurse, contemplating the flowers still moist from the recent rain. • Yes,’ answers the other nurse; then continued in a contemptuous tone —‘ Did that man say anything, Sister ?’ ! He mumbled something about going to get married when I observed that Number Fourteen’s health would be delicate for the next few months,’ replies the head nurse. 'Then it will.be all right?’ musingly questions her companion. ‘Yes.’ * The child ?’ ‘I suppose £o —of a sort !’ bitterly answers the head nurse as they walk away to their room.