A TWILIGHT IDYLL

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1676, 13 April 1904, Page 12

A TWILIGHT IDYLL

(By Dorothy Hilton.)

She was struggling with the gate which upon the fields leading to her father's house. The catch was not a, (sfiiff one, but her muslin gown was clean, while the gate was not, and she touched it dubiously. A man stepped oult of the shadows which fringed the high road. •'■‘‘Permit me,” lie said, raising his hat, but he made no attempt upon the gate ; he was scanning the girl’s face eagerly in the dim light. “It is—is it Muss Morand?” The girl in her turn scrutinised! him closely. Then she gave a low laugh. “Dick,” she said with conviction.

“Yes, it’s Dick. Yop have not forgotten me? 1 ’ he said rapturously as he took her ungloved hands in liis. “You, knew me even in this light?” “I recognised you by jour voice,” she* said, “and yet it must be five, no, six years since you went away.” “Yes, it is six years since we parted,” he said, and his voice trembled. “And during all those six years I have dreamed: of this meeting, but I never hoped to find yop just here by the old try&ting ppqt. Why it cannot be six years—'surely it was only last night .we met! Christina, Christina, dear!” —he drew her impetuously towards hint, but the girl - started and drew her hand's sharply away. “Oh, Dick, you—you”—she looked at him in consternation.

“I beg your pardon, dear/' he said penitently. “I know I cannot expect to take things up just as they were in the odd days, but, for the moment, those long, weary years blotted themselves out, and—but I will not offend again if I may walk across the fields with you.” As she did not-say “no” he opened the gate and they walked for some little distance in silence until the girl asked in ordinary commonplace tones how* long her companion had been in England. “I landed two days ago,” he said, “and came on here this morning. I have taken lodgings at Datchet with a woman who has come there since I left. She did not know me. I asked her some questions about the people of the neighbourhood half hoping she might mention you. Would you believe me Christina, that despite all my confidence in you, I dared not ask optright for news of you. I was afraid I might hear that you were married or that there was some other fellow and I had returned too late.”

“Would it bo a great-blow to you, Dick ?” There wa9 a curious constraint in her voice as she asked the question. The man’s deep voice trembled a litible as he renlied. “I think, Christina, it would have - been my death-blow —no, I suppose it is nonsense for a great, strong fellow like me to say that, but little girl, if 1 could tell you the history of the last • six years you would understand' what such a possibility meant to me. How many nights have I lain awake thinking of you and of home, and if things were going well with me I would dream of some such meeting as this, but if I happened to be a bit down on my Ira ok X would picture myself returning with my hard-earned fortune to find you, the wife of someone else. It was a. constant nightmare to me, yet in my heart, dear. I always trusted you.” “Suit there was no promise between you and —between us, Dick?” “There was that which was as binding as a promise; Don’t play with me dear;, it hurts.”. She turned to ■ him suddenly, and put out her hand, s “Dick,- poor Dick, after such a long wait you deserve better things.” “That is my own darling speaking / now!” He caught her hand, and would have again drawn hex* into his anna, but she drew back. , “No, Dick, yotu must not,” she gasped. - /“I am very stupid, dear.,” he said. “I must, seem almost a stranger to you. Six years is such a long time, and you have scarcely, even seen me y,et. I will be patient.” “Did you expect to meet me to-night ?” she asked, hoping to bring the conversation into safer channels.

“No, I was in 'luck’s way. I had intended to come to the house.” , “You meant to brave Dad at the out-

set? What sort of a reception didl you expect?”

•T was too much concerned; as to the reception you might give me to care auout anything else. But I hope your father will not object to me now. lam thankful to say I am in a different position now li 0111 what I was in the old days.. I didn’t see things in that light at the time, hut now I think Mr Morand was quite right in objecting to such a penniless stripling as myself philandering after his little girl. It was a comfort to me out in Australia to know that you had such a dragon, to ward off would-be suitors! Yes, I .shall call upon your father to-morrow. We must have things open and above-hoard 1 this time.” “To-morrow, Dick! Oil, not to-mor-row.”

“Why not, dear? Are yop afraid he will forbid me the house as lie did before ?”

“No, it is not that. I can haptly tell you why, but —do wait for a few days!” “You think if I go to your father it will appear as if I came as your accepted lover, and you do not wish that just yet,” lie said rather sadly. She caught at the ‘suggestion eagerly. “Yes, after six years—it is a long while —(you will wait a little?” “But how am Ito see you then ?” He conceded the point with evident reluctance. “Are you often down in the village at this time of the evening?’"’

“Almost every evening.” Her face was averted, but he could tell that though she bad rejected his honourable plan of action she was ashamed of suggesting a more clandestine course. “I

go to read to a sick girl in the village. Father says I shall soon have to visit her in the afternoon, as the nights are so short now, but lie has not actually ordered me to do so. Now wo must say good-night- Oh, you silW faithful hoy, why do you care so much ?” She drew away, the' hand on which he had. imprinted a reverent kiss, and ran tip the steps to the bouse. Dick Warwick turned away with a curious sensation at bis heart. The meeting which he hafl looked forward to for SO’ long was over, and Christina had not denied his claim, upon her affections, yet—such is the way of mortals —he was not quite satisfied.

CHAPTER II

It was in the latter pant of August that Warwick had returned to his native country. The month had been a particularly fine one, and the warm summer weather lingered well on into September. Every night in the balmy twilight. and later in the ruddy radiance of the harvest moon, the young man kept tryst with the girl he had loved so long and faithfully. It was a period of ideal romance, though the clandestine nature of these idyllic meetings in the gloaming jarred somewhat upon his open and honest temperament. He was puzzled by Christina's attitude in the matter. Time after time she had begged him to defer his visit to her father for “just a little longer,” yet he knew in her heart the girl was as ashamed as he was of the underhand nature of their intercourse. Christina had grown very wayward i,n the six years since they parted. Often he was at a loss to account for her varying moods. One night he ventured half-laughingly to express something of what he felt. The girl turned on him quickly. “Then you do find me different? You d'o not like me as well as in the old days?” “My darling, what an absurd question !”

“It is not an absurd question, and you must answer it,” she said petulantly. “Then of course I like you as much as ever.” “But you find me different?”

“Well, yes,” lie admitted, half inclined to tease her. “The old Christina was much more placid. She never broke out in unexpected ways. She never provoked a poor fellow for the fun of the * thing. She used to let me kiss her occasionally, while this one—well, I need hardly say that sometimes this Christina is neither pleasant nor kind—• brut. let me whisper, dear”—he had slipped an arm around her waist—“l can’t think I ever loved the other Christina as I love this one. I was a lad in those days, I am a man now. and the love I had for you then is ‘as moonlight unto sunlight, is as water unto wane,’ compared with the love I feel for you now.” His voice trembled as he spoke, then he added lightly, “You see the lovely moon is making even me poetical 1 Will you not be a little kinder tome, dear? Be a little loving to me tonight?” “Dick,” she said, drawing herself away from him and paying no heed to the tender reproach of his plea, “has it ever occurred to you that we have not yet seen each other in daylight? Six years is a long while-, Dick. Suppose I should 100k —different, would 1 you still love -me the same ?” “Dear A have you changed in six years, and is that weighing on your mind? Do you want me to see the gray hairs and the wrinkles and. the orowsi’. feet: stamped upon your face by your twenty-six years of life before I swear- that: I love you? Little sweetheart, how absurd: you. are! Come, let me see. surely these terrible signs of age must be visible in the moonlight.” He took, the delicate oval of; her. face between Ins hands, and: scrutinifeed it with mock gravity. “Eyes like

two 'stars, skin like satin, chin very firm, like cherries, hair scarcely looking gray yet; we think our Christina should not look so very terrible in the searching light of day.” Then very deliberately, he bent down and imprinted a kiss on the lips upon which he had just passed judgment. She repulsed him angrily, but he made no show of penitence; he felt that there must be an end even to patience and forbearance like his. “Now you are angry.. How yo-ur eyes flash! You look at me just as your sister Kate used to do when she treated me to a scolding. By the way, where is little Kate?”

“She is alb home,” said the girl, stiffly. “What an imp she was. I suppose she will be quite a woman, but X can’t think of her as anything but a tom-boy in short frocks and pinafores.”.

“Kate is a woman of twentw now.”

“Do you remember the time when she put on your father’s top-ooat and hat - and stood at the stile as we were strolling down the lino in the dusk? What a fright she gave us! She was a regular harum-scarum, buit her heart was in the right place. I shall be glad to meet little Kate again. I suppose I shall see her when I come to the house ; -and now, Christina dear, when may I'goto Mr Morand? Nothing could be sweeter than these meetings of ours, but it is not right, and’ I do not like to continue them/*

“Do you think I like it either ?” she flashed on him. “You may oome and see father to-morrow night!” > “You mean it P”—eagerly. “Yes, I do, but you miuisib meet me in the afternoon first. We must see each cither in the daylight before—-before things go further,” He laughed. “Are you serious, dear? Do you really fear that I may think you less beautiful, or that I; would care less for you if: I did. or. is it that you wish to see whether I have grown bald, or old and; de*orepit in these tenihle six years ?” They reached the garden gate as. he

spoke, but he could obtain-no answer to* his question. Not another word would she. vouchsafe to him beyond appointing a meeting place for the following afternoon. fcstie would not even let him kiss her hand, the most love,rlike form of farewell she even permitted, and he felt that this was his punishment for the warmer caress he .had taken without permission. Ho felt somewhat injured nevertheless. Christina, in the old days,, though modest and demure, had not been so very unapproachable. CHAPTER 111. When Warwick entered the little wood which was the rendezvous, assigned by Christina, he found 'the girl already there. She was leaning on the rail of a bridge which spanned a tiny stream. Her "back was partly turned towards him and she seemed intent on a hook which she held in her hand. She did not look up as he drew near, and the young fellow concluded that as his foot was not a light one, and he had taken no care to conceal his approach, it was embarrassment rather than absorption which was keeping her eyes so firmly, fixed upon the open page. He was beside her in a fey strides.

“Christina, darling,” he said softly, laying his hand on her arm. Slowly the girl raised her eyes and looked at him. As she did so he released her arm and fell back a pace. All the ruddy colojur had deserted his- face but he rallied! himself, with a nervous laugh. “Kate—-what is the meaning of this? Still as fond of practical joking as ever?, Where is Christina — she should not have told you we were to meet here; yon imp of mischief. It was a mean trick to play, me at. the outset, but we’ll shako hands for, old, acquaintance sake.” The- garlt still regarded' him fixedly out of her great; dark eyes. “Dot you really not understand, Dick. I think you > wex4 affrays a. little slow*. •

“Kate” —a long : pause—“you don’t mean” P—she nodded solemnly. , “And I have never met Christina at all?” —again she nodded. A blaze of passion swept across the man’s usually sunny face. “And vou have deliberately kept us apart after six years of patient faithfulpass—you have made a spoirt of our constancy ! Kate Morand. what sort of a heart have you got—not a woman’s certainly. if ryou could' steal your sister’s lover foir a jest. Gracious heavens what a jest ! I hope yep have enjoyed it; you may Batter yourself that yaw have discovered something unique in practical joking. "What do von say?”—the girl had moistened her dry lips as if to speak, but no sound came. Her faoe was -ghastly. “No wonder yon look a little frightened. My God—if you were a ■man! Yes. I have foamed cither things in six years than making pretty speeches to girls. No. I will not say any more. Tell ! me where Christina is and I will -go hefotP I.say what I might-mgret. She is not at home?—no X thought not. nr you ooald handler have carried out your joke so easily." “She is at Weigh ton—” “I shall go to her at once. No. T •shall not,, toll hei what a fooi 1 have been—nor what J think of her sieter.” •fie turned on his heel and strode - away. “Dick, X want to tell yon someth : ng ” she called after him but’ he took no Ixesd, never turned nor stopped. A •wave of angry crimson flamed into her white cheeks. “Let him go then—-why should I spam him? Why should I care?” she owed * * » September had gone, and with it He last touch of summer. Between Tr n.te and her father it was tacitly understood that her visits to her sick p-otcigeo must now be made in the Aavtime. except when a young moon brightened Hm ■early hours of the evening. Kate liked to steal as many of these moonlight walks as possible. It was a melancholv satisfaction to her to trace the familiar paths in the gloaming. Though at first she had finite expected Dick to crip back to her. she had now given np 'm’ of his doing so. She had had a letter from her sister telling her of Warwick’s visit. “I thought he seemed put out at hading mo married,'’ (Jhnsuiia wrote wioii a iruid touch of pride in her old lover’s constancy, “but lie behaved very meniv. and John, who is too sensible to mind about that romantio nonsense six years ago. thought; him a very nice, intelligent young man. Little Dora took quite a ■fancy to him, but he wouldn’t hear chat she was at all like you • while we see tlie likeness more plainly every day. He thought Jackie very like me. Baby has been very cross lately; I think he must be cutting another tooth/’ Then followed other items of a purely domestic character. Further oin there was another reference to Dick. He did not stay long, she said, and be told her he was returning to Australia very- shortly. She was pleased to find that he had prospered in his new home. Kate had smiled as she folded away the commonplace little letter. She had a vivid picture before her mind of. Dick, still quivering with indignation at the trick played upon, him, and burning With eagerness to atone for his uniatem-iomu inconstancy, bursting in upon Christina. How 1 well she could see the placid young matron receiving her old lover with just One tiny blpsn as a tribute to memory, presenting him to her'big, middle-aged husband, and showing off her little flock from Dora "with the curls like Aunt Kate, to the baby with his one precious and remarkable t-ooth. Surely after a ifew hours of Christina he would return to her —-Kate—if only to reproa’oh her once more. Kate, herself, always iei't that she wanted a little gale or winu after a few hours of her sister’s society, aud she was quite prepared to be too gale to Dick’s mental atmosphere, but the days passed, and he did not come. She was very angry with him. However much she had been in the wrong -she thought he might have given her some opportunity for exculpation, some chance of proving that she had not been -as cruel and heartless as he had deemed ber. " _ Then one night, when she had quite ■given him" up, he came. She was struggling with the gate by which they had •.first met. and he had evidently been waiting for her, for he stepped out of the shadows at once and opened it for her. ■She knew him by this action, and by his ■height, -rather than by proof of eye- : sight, and he did not speak until they .had both passed through the gate. “I am going away to-morrow, but 1 thought you might like to tell me you were sorry before I go.” “So-riy, why should I be sorry?” she mid with a toss of her head. His tone , bad aroused aid that was m iher, tough, but a moment before, her heart had been full of tender thoughts towards him. “Yes, after all, why should you be eorry,” he said bitterly. <( lt, was an ©xcj&llent Joke, and you carried it out to You- enjoyed it *' '“lmmensely,”—with an airy laugh. “As you are so fond of fun it was a pity. you . could not accompany me to Wiiglrton, then you would have seen the .played to the end. I thought Ohr—your sister —was with her aunt, •but I-soon found out.my mistake. What matron Mrs. Jones makes. She received me into the family circle

with'the utmost- hospitality. And what, delightful children—ehe assured' uie they took to me at once. You can imagine tlie picture?” “Quite, thank you. Dora kissed you with jam an her mouth; Jackie insisted upon riding upon your foot, and —” “And I inspected the baby’s first tooth. Yes, X see you appreciate the denouement of my little romance — comply, X should say.” “Really, Dick, you are growing quite clever,” she said. “X never thought you had ilt in you to be sarcastic. An ordinary'vulgar display of temper used to be your highest achievement. I congratulate ycrn on your improvement!” “And who lias taught me do bo sarcastic, to be bitter, to be —>yee, I can still make a display of ordinary vulgar temper, you see. X am net yet educated up to your standard, though that is no fault of yours I admit.” “Who has taught you to be bitter and sarcastic?” —she repeated reflectively. “Could it possibly be that model of constancy my dear sister Christina?” He winced at her words. “You know it-was not Christina.” “No, of course not! Put all the blame on me if you like, but tell me honestly do yop think tlie result would have been one whit different if you had really met Christina at the gate as you met me 9 Picture it to yourself, that meeting. "You would have cl aimed her as jura claimcyl me, and she would have tinned on --on with her pretty little air., of matronly dignity and told you that she had been another man's wife for four out of the six years in which you had been waiting and working for her!” “Tlie shock would have been greater,” lie said, simply. “X have the sense to see that. X realised well enough as X rode over to Wight on that after X had been phi hindering for three weeks with the voting girl—oil, it’s humiliating enough, 1 assure you—l couldn't make much pretence of being deeply in love with Christina. I saw that I had put an idol up in my heart, and worshipped it for six years .under her name. I confess I was more curious than anything else to see the real Christina, and I could have latughed very readily when X heard that she was married. There was comedy in the air, not tragedy. I tali you 1 rode away with a feeling of thankfulness that things are as they are.” “Then you have soma thing to thank me xor outer ad. Kndow the first pretty girl you meet, on board ship with the qualities you believed to- be the exclusive ptoporty of my dear sister, call her tuii»una to yourself if you like, imagine sue has rewarded yoiur constancy, and is returning home with you—and, heigh presto, the world smiles again!” i know i have made myself a laugh-ing-stock in your eyes,” he said bitterly. “No wonder you think me a man whose lu-jo aueou-ons can drift from one to the other with the utmost ease, but you should be the last person to. 'taunt me with it. Was there any wonder I made the mistake 1 did? Napu-rally I expected to find my love changed somewhat in six years. X found her wayward, capricious. sometimes cold and unkind, but with heights and depths in her nature that I had never before suspected. X find out that X have been tricked, and now you mock me because the calm, phlegmatic nature which T thought X loved has grown repugnant to me!” “Then, horrid as I have been,, you like me better than you liked Christina?” “Like' "ou! Do you think any man who knew vou could ever think twice about Christina! You know very well that I love you, Kate, but you do not knew how bitter it is for a man like me to love where he cannot respedt. I know 1 am brutal, but — oh. Kate, what have I done?” for the girl had turned away, and was weeping as if her heart would break. “Oh, Kate, little Kate,, tell me these u jars are genuine, and that .you really have a heart. Tell me you didn’t realise w nai- it was to piay with a man's affections as you played^with mine. Child. 1 forgave you half when I knew that Christina was married, and that you hod sinned against me alone, and, oh, Kate, X am so willing to forgive tne rest also,. Tel! me why you did it?” He put Ids arm round her slight form, which was shaken with the violence of agitation. She dud not repulse him; all her pride and defiance had melted before his gentleness. She sobbed out her confession as artlessly as a child. ‘‘When 1 found you had mistaken me tor Christina, I thought it would be a joke nu>c unueceive you tor a while. You know I was very proud of berag grown-up, and I wanted 1 to see your surprise when you knew it was little Kate. I never suspected that you were hoping to find Christina still true to you, unite! you began to tell me bow you had waited and worked and hoped and then—oh, Dick, I simply could not bring myself to say she haid been married four years. I thought I would break it to you the next night, and then somehow I didn’t manage, and then—and then you seemed so certain that you cared for me, really for me, myself, that I thought perhaps you did. and that perhaps you wouldn’t core so much about Christina after all.” ‘Then, Kate, you have also learned to oaire for me a Little ?” “I think I have oared for you all my Life. Dick,” she said simply. “Do you remember the day when you saved my terrier, poor dear old Piggy, from' that odiieP—l think I worshipped you as

my hero ever after that, though X was sjucli an awful imp. Oh, I was so pleased to see you when you came back!” He drew her closer to him; he felt that he had been very cruel to her, and toidl her so with passionate repentance. “ And you will never say again that you cannot respeob me,” she said tremulously. “Never, my darling never! I was a bruit,a to say such a thing.” They reached the garden gate as he spoke, and he begged for permission to go in with her. “Not to-night. Dick,” she said, conscious of her red ©yes, “bait to-morrow.” “Well, I will wait till to-morrew then, but only on one condition.” “What is that ?” ‘That Kate will let me take a kinder farewell than ‘Christina’ used 1 to- permit three weeks ago!” She laughed merrily, and I>ick considered; that his condition was accepted.