AT THE HOUR OF SUNSET

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1679, 4 May 1904, Page 14

AT THE HOUR OF SUNSET

(By Augusta Hancock.)

"I want you now,” the man said, passionately, insistently, and there was forcefulness in his strong voice, an eager longing in his glance; but the girl at the porch-door, under the green trellis where in the autumn the traveller’s joy had spread its silvery cobwebs, only shook her head. And yet the pleading in his tones came gently to her soul, the soul that had known bitter trouble since the sunny d&y when he had said gooetbbye to her under the whispering leaves in this very garden, with its quaint alleys and its winding ways. She had few to speak tenderly to heir now. The dear father, who had been shepherd of the mountain flock, was gone from her loving car© into the greater fold on the other side of the hills, where the way runs beside the still waters into the green pastures of peace. And her life stretched out before her alone—alone — unless she took advantage of the offer made her by the man who had gone fortm from the hill country into' the great world years ago, and had now come back, rich, prosperous, successful, to woo her for ins brida. To woo? Nay, ha had don© that many long years before, in the soft stillness of the old garden, under the red beeches and the bending willows, in the shaded walk that led from the quaint Vicarage to the old grey church, in the green-clad God'acre, where- the first snowdrops peeped like angel faces on the quiet sleeping-places of the dear dead.—be had w'andered with her, and held happy converse, and won her gentle, loyal heart, all in those faraway days of the past! And be had planned out the- future, the wonderful future, bright with the changeful radiance of a rainbow, that time that should bring them together again after the dreary parting and the patient waiting and struggling and) working, that hour crowned with golden sunshine when they should meet hand in nand again in the June-time beside the crimson and pink rosiG-bushes, lovers once, lovers always, never to be panted any more. All! It was all very pretty, very sweet, very tender! In the liusli of the peaceful hillside his voice had sounded so true and brave to her loving ear s, liis clasp on her poor trembling fingers fiad seemed so strong and caressing, and l the soft dusk had fallen about them as they stood, and the dew cn the grass gleamed fragrant and star-like in a thousand diamond drops, and the little blossoms in the garden, the blue forget-me-nots and the honey-sweet pansies and the dappled clove-pinks, had nodded l and swayed joyously in sympathy with the love-story in their very midst. I|t had all been, very fair and beautiful with his kiss on her rose-flushed cheek, and the tears of love and parting together shining in her sweet eyes. And his last words had been of coining back, always coining back, to find her, his iove, his sweetheart, waiting in the quaint greenness of the dear old garden on the hill slope, among the roses and the tall pale lilies, and the dancing pink columbines of the sunny border near the gate. She could see them all now—she cored hear the soft sounds' rising from, the valleys below, where the dairy-maid at the farm caUied her red cows homeward, and the .plough-boy whistled as he climbed Ihe stile leading to the village beyond. She could see the whit© road that pointed the wlay do wn the valley into the great wo rid ait the gate of the hills. And his parting words rang 'n her et rs, his parting kiss was on her cheek, lie Avas going from her to win fame and fortune, and then he would come back, and they would! b© together for always and always, “till dearth us do part,” and beyond even that narrow portal!, This had been the dream, the beautiful fairy story commenced ill the gardenworld, with its nodding blossoms and ics whispering leaves, ended —in the long, long stillness of the slowly passing years, in thei stories that had come at last to them in the far dale village of his wonderful success, of his growing fortune, of his sudden, marvellous rise in the great world of business and 'enterprise—finally, of his 'standing as a leader among men, of his clear-headedness and foresight, ot his certainty of'a title and a stil higher position in the ranks of England's greatest and best! Tbe dalesfolk bad rejoiced over him as over one of themselves, whole-heartedly, simply, proudly. The old Vicar had sighed once or twice as he looked at his bonny girl, whose years were passing so silently in. this out-of-the-way corner of the world. Perhaps he had guessed something of her secret, for he spoke very tenderly to her in those days, and his face seemed' lighted with wonderful sympathy sometimes as he -Spoke lovingly to his flock from the old carved pulpit in the tiny grey church. But the man never came back, and the flowers nodded themselves to sleep through many a long winter, and the leaves of the red beeches and the golden willows dropped softly to the ground with, the sunsets of many a radiant autumn Home.

And now, now he had come back again! After all the long years, after all the springtime and_ the summer sunshine and the gold-crowned 1 autumn, he had returned to the spot from whence he set out to conquer the world*—conquered in his turn by the memory of a woman’s face. The world had given him of its best, its riches, its honours, its high places. It would have given him a peer's daughter for a bride, a lovely girl with a face ilka a rose-leaf and hair like spun gold, and he would fain have taken the delicate offering, only chat a memory intervened — a sudden, quick, painful memory, called up by the sight of some quaint, old-fas-hioned flowers that he remembered as growing m that green, garden on the far hillside—clove-pinks and pxxrple pansies and drooping blue love-in-a-mist. He remembered her gathering them into a little fragrant posy for the bosom of her soft white gown. And like a flash he thought of the face

above the blossoms, of the b vad ihil, queenly head, w iill 'l% crown of bl ight hair of tbe proud fair lips, and the blue eyes like tbe sky in summer time, and lie turned from the crowd around Lady Maul at the grand reception, where the Duchess had- placed the- quaint flowers for decorations, instead of roses and azaleas and other hot-house blooms. He was ever a man- to act on what he thought at once, and his resolve was- quickly formed * ud as quickly acted upon. He would go- to her at once, directly, and win her again, and she should stand at the summit of his ambition with him, and wear the laurels that lie had so strenuously won. And so he wont. # * The old Vicar had but just been laid to rest, with the softly-falling snowflakes drifting scantily on the- freshly-turned earth above bis narrow bed. The girl was to seek shelter and start her new life in a cottage near the oaken of the old grey church, a quaint spot, with a wee garden, where roses blossomed in the Summer, and yellow jessamine starred the white wails in tiro spring. And she had listened to his explanation, to 1 m pleading, very gently amt sweetly, looking lovelier than ever, in spite of the long years of waiting, in her thin black gown, and the tear-mark® still cn her fair cheeks. But at the end of it- all she quietly answered him "Nay,” and the man's soul wasi stricken with amazement and remorse. "I waited a long, long time,” she said, simply; “but you never came, and then I knew you had forgotten. So I took up my own life again; and I have work to do- hem Your way in the great world, mine lies under the shadow of the hills; and the two would not agree.” Her voice was very sweet and tender, but the man knew instinctively that 'i was also very firm. This was no girl whose heart could be Avon by the glamour of riches, by. the pleading of passion. This was a Avoman who had known sorrow and heart-break, and had lived and loved through it, and com© out victorious, to shed her heart's sunshine across the lives of other sorrowing ones. He looked long into those calm eyes, blue still as the Avaves of the summer sea, deep and true as the still depths of some moorland lake. The peace that passeth understanding lay there and the desire of all that the Avorild can give had no place in their calm repos©. And around them in the wind-sweipt garden the fallen leaves rustled, and 'he bare boughs sivayed and shivered in the AYintry Avind. But the girl looked aAva.y across the valley, where her life-AVork amid the poor and: lonely lay, and the sunset fell behind the far hills.