CLAUDE DURANT'S FIANCEE

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1726, 29 March 1905, Page 10

CLAUDE DURANT'S FIANCEE

( By E. C. Kenyon.)

“Well, it’s a bad job! But it can’t be helped. So here goes,” atvd Claude Durant sat down moodily to write his let lei's. The first one cost him the most effort. He began it several times, and as often tore up the unsatisfactory writing. Finally, he mad© a dash and inscribed as follows; "Dearest Eva, —I am writing to give you your freedom. Circumstances have made it impossible for me to carry out my part of our engagement. Since my father's death my family has fallen into great poverty, and as the eldest son I must perforce put my shoulder to the wheel and heave the family coach out of tne abyss into which it has been precipitated. In other words, the whole of my income is required to maintain my mother and educate my younger brothers and sisters and assist them to start in life. I shall have no money for myself, except for the barest necessities, and cannot think of marriage for years. Therefore I release you. Goodbye, my sweetheart —never to be mine any more.—l am, for the last time, yours devotedly, Claude Durant. ‘To Miss E'va White.” The writer heaved a deep sigh as he read the letter over. “If she possessed money,” he said to himself, “it ■would be different, but she is as poor as I am. Nevertheless it is a pity!” and he drew his hand across his eyes before applying himself to write the next letter : “My dear Mother, —Make your mind easy about the future. You must all come and live wiki me. My income is sufficient to maintain us if I remain a bachelor, and I have written to Eva to l-elease her from her engagement. With her attractions she will, no doubt, make a better match. And oh ! hang feelings ! Mine I foreswear from this moment. Duty shall be my watchword. Arrange to come to me at The Dimes as soon as you like. You know the house is ready for occupation, and if you bring your furniture it will scon be habitable. “With my love to all, —Your affectionate son, Claude Durant.” •Be surveyed this letter with a little more satisfaction than the other. “At least I am a good son, and a brother in a thousand.” he said to- himself. “And Eva—'Eva, with her beauty and fascination, will no doubt console herself. But I must not think about that.” He resolutely addressed the letters and took them to the pillar-box nearest to his rooms. It was late at night then, and he was startled just as he was about to drop the letters into the box by a restive cab-horse, which reared and plunged, and then returned the way it had come, despite its driver’s efforts. An uneasy feeling that perhaps one or both of the letters had not fallen into the box made Claude glance back before walking away. He could see nothing, however, in the light of the streetlamp except the red pillar-box and the road upon which it stood, and so walked off at a brisk pace. t CHAPTER 11. The next day Claude had two visitors. His mother, who lived in the town, came early, looking very sweet and plaintive in her -widow’s weeds, and thanked him with tears for the noble sacrifice he was making. . Has it noble? He had planned and carried it out in a burst of Jilial love j and traterual affection, hut now a rej action had eii-med, and lie was Ikvj ginning to wonder if lie had thought

sufficiently of the duty he owed the sweet girl who had given him her love, and to whom he had vowed enternal devotion. It was therefore with a mind very liL at ease that he listened to his mother’s thanks and praise. She had scarcely gone when E.va herself arrived upon the scene. She ran in, just as if nothing had happened, kissed him hastily, and then exclaimed; “I know what you have done. 1 met your sister just now as I was coming. lam proud of you, Claude ! With so many depending on you, there was nothing else to do. You have done nobly, dearest. God will reward you. “Oh, EVa i” he began, as soon as he could get in a word. “ What a doleful tone! My dear Claude, don’t lose heart. You are going to put your shoulder to the family coach, and I am going to put mine, too. No, I won’t tell you, trust me. all will be well.” She threw him an airy little kiss, and ran out. of the room as quickly as she had entered it. stag-te<T up to follow her, but at that moment his employer, an architect., entered, to discuss some plans with him, and he was obliged to turn to the work. CHAPTER 111. Eva’s mother and sister, who were making a brave effort to live respectably upon an exceedingly limited income, looked very grave when, upon ber return to the bouse, the girl unfolded to them her plans. They argued that her project was one which a lady could not undertake, that she would lose caste, and that, in the end, her lover would think less of her for it. “I think I know him best,” said Eva, replying to the last assertion first, “and, being sure of liis love, I dare risk the consequences,” and she smiled. Could anything part her from Claude? “And as for caste,” she continued, “my position in our local society as granddaughter of the Late Dean of Perrifield, and youngest daughter of the late Rector, Canon ’White, is unassailable; and it I turn to honest work to provide me means of livelihood which my worthy ancestors omitted to leave me, what harm is there in that?”

“You will need capital,” suggested. Eva’s sister, Janet. “I know where I think I can procure it. No, you must not ask any questions. What Ido will be done an my own responsibility, and without the aid of anyone. It will be better so. ’ “Take care, Eva! Take care!’ said her mother, with a sigh and a little aside t o Janet, “She is so headstrong! If only her father were alive!”

“It is a mad scheme !” sighed Janet. Eva loft them. They would speak very differently when she succeeded, and she meant to succeed. Being a young woman of great promptitude..

she caught the next train to • London, and in the course of the afternoon was standing at the door of Ralph Darroil’s fine old Suburban Hall, sending in her card with no little trepidation. “Miss Eva White,” he was reading from the pasteboard as she was ushered into his study, then he added aloud, “Not a daughter of my father’s cousin, the late Canon White?”

“Yes, I am. A younger daughter. Thanks for the> welcome.”

Me was shaking hands with her heartily. “My dear child/ 5 he said, “What can I do for you? 55 “A great deal. I have come to borrow money.” The man dropped her hand instantly. A look of deep displeasure took the place of his bright, smiling expression. “I am sorry,” he said, “very sorry. It is against my principles to lend money indiscriminately.” itva looked frightened; the tears came into her eyes and she coloured very much.. A feeling of honesty had caused her to blurt- out her errand at the very commencement of the interview, yet she saw she had made a mistake. It was plain the rich man regarded her as a sycophant. “Indiscriminately, 55 the remembrance of that saving Avoid readied her through the mists of shame and despair. “Listen, 55 she said, “please listen. I will tell you all, 55 and she poured out the whole story of her poverty, her lover’s sacrifice for the sake of his bereaved relations, and her own determination to work hard and win for them both a sufficient income upon which to marry, ending with, “There is only one difficulty—want of •capital—which I cannot get over without, assistance. I thought of you, who coukl so easily lend me a few hundred pounds, for which I would pay any interest you like to name. I would also pledge myself to repay the capital, bit by bit, as the profits come in.” She spoke eagerly. Mr Darroll listened to her. his displeasure giving place to admiration. How brave she was! And how clever and business-like What a man her lover ought to be, for whom she was willing to do all this I “Does he lore your” 5 he asked: "'does this man, Claude .Durant, love you sufficiently to make it worth while! 5 ” “He loves me as his life, 5 she answered instantly. “Because,” suggested Ralph, “he rather puts you on one side m this devotion of his to his family. He should at least have offered you your release — 55 “He know better." she interrupted. “That would have pained me very much. I am quite sure or his love. And the knowledge makes me strong — strong to work for him. ■ Her voice was- not trembling now, it was calm in its intensity. RalMi Darroll sat down and wrote

out a cheque for five hundred pounds, payable to Miss Eva Whit©. He handed it to her, with the remark, “I lend this money to you without any security.” •The security is my word,” said Eva. 'That is sufficient, of course. Still, to he business-like, you ought to sign this promissory note. Thank you. That will be more correct. Please note, the interest you agree to pay is five per cent.” •Yes. That will be £25 a year, l,sss than that, when I have repaid some of the capital.” "You are sure of success?” "Yes, now,” she answered readily. ‘■’l don’t know how to than it you enough, Mr Darroll.” "Don’t mention it,” he said, adding, ‘•I should like to see your fiance©.” "You would like him. Good-bye.” "Stay. You must make the acquaintance of my wife and daughter, nnu have some tea with them.” He touched a button near his chair. But Eva declined the offer cf hospitality, alleging that her c.ib was waiting, and she would have to return at once to catch the express for the Ncr'.h at King’s Cross. Ralph Da roll put her into her cab with great solicitude. CHAPTER IV. Claude Durant, who was the honu clerk in an architect’s office, worked steadily on, deriving what consolation lie could from the fact that he was an excellent son to his mother, and also a father to his younger brothers and sisters. It was, however, inevitable that he should have times of depression and bitter regret that he had given up his betrothed, who a day or two afterwards mysteriously disappeared from the town, leaving no address that ho could get hold of without appearing to seek for her, and only the vague infonnai.on from their circle that ehe had gone into business for herself in a distant town. A letter ho received from her, bearing the postmark of London, and evidently posted on the way to her new home, mystified him not a little, as it was written in the old affectionate terms, though it stated that he must not expect to hear from her, or see her, for quite a long time, as she was going into business, which would take up all her attention. "jIUCI'o will have to be a waiting-time, dearest Claude,” she wrote, ‘‘and it will be easier for us to get it over if we are quite apart in mind as well as in person.”

Often and often during tlie year that followed he pondered over those mysterious words, which, coming after the letter he had written her, were quite inexplicable. One morning, when he was recovering lrom a slight attack of influenza, the depression incidental to his illness seized upon him, and he began to brood over the great disappointment of his life. Before liis mother he had kept a brave face, but she had gone out to do some necessary shopping, and ho sat over the fire in their little draw-ing-room thinking about what might have Deen if he and Eva had been able to marry. He was so intently absorbed in all this that he did not hear a knock at the house-door, or even footsteps in the hall, and was considerably startled when the housemaid announced : "Miss Eva White.” "Oh," Claude! Claude! What is the matter?” cried the girl, hurrying up to him in no little anxiety. “How pale you look! Are you ill? Oh, Claude!” She caught up his hands and looked searcliingly into his face. It was any tiling but pale now. How beautiful she was! And how dear!— dearer than ever, and as sweet to him in spite of everything. "I have not been well,” he said, “hut I am cured, I am quite cured now that I have seen you.” "Then I am glad I came. I have much to say to you. May I sit down. Where is your mother,” "Out. Pray sit down.” Then, more naturally, with a burst of deep emotion, "Oh, Eva, it is good to see you again!” He coukl not say any more, his heart was so full of regret for the last letter he sent to her. “I have stayed away a long time. But it was for your sake. What do you think? I lave been making a business, which is so successful that I am now in receipt of weekly payments at the rate of £4OO a year after all expenses have been paid !” Claude was astonished. “What a

clover girl you are!” he cried. "Put I have heard nothing of it. What have you been doing?’ The girl laughed a lit tie nervously. “Nothing very bad,” she said. “ r lhough some of my old friends and acquaintances have cut me for it. Perhaps you will, Claude, when you know what it is.” “I?” He became very red. Had he not broken off with her a year ago? What “cutting” could be worse than that ? “Claude,” she. said, “dear, my business is well established. It produces an income huge enough for us vo marry upon.” “You sav this to me/” lie . tamincrcd. “when' I ” They were interrupted. A maid entered with a letter upon a waiter, ■which she handed to Claude. Nervously, scarcely thinking what he was doing he tore it open It contained an enclosure and a short letter, stating that the writer’s little boy, in his zeal for collecting stamps, had picked up the letter cue morning a year ago from behind a pillar-box, and, having torn off the cover, that he might get the stamp, had thrown it into a drawer, where it was eventually discovered. The writer apologised for this, and expressed regret, hoping that the delay of the letter had not caused inconvenience. “Why,” cried Eva, whose quick eyes saw the name at the head of the letter which was enclosed first, “it is for me! Let me have it!” “Never!” cried Claude. “Never!” He seized the letter,, and tore it into a thousand fragments. “For a whole year,” he said, “I have regretted sending that letter. But Fate has been kinder than I could- have expected. My darling. what ''must you have thought of all my neglect?” “Oh, I thought your sacrifice necessitated it, and that you could not trust yourself to be with me, or write to me,” said Eva. “And, indeed, I was too busy to think much about it. Even now I must be off by train very soon to look after my work.” Yet she lingered. “I want you to say something, Claude,” she said wistfully. “What am I to say? I love you more than ever. But you know that.” “I have next heard much about it this last yoar,” said Eva, shaking her pretty head. “However, will you help me to spend the good and increasing income I am earning ?” “And live on your money—your hard-earned money? How can I?” “Very easily, seeing that I have earned it for you. But perhaps when you know all you will not care to marry a laundry maid!” “Lanudry maid? Wliafc do you mean ?” “Well, I am practically that. I earn my money by keeping a laundry. That is why so many of my so-called friends have cut me.” “Cads! Snobs!” cried Claude, springing up. “Why, Eva, you are a brave, noble girl—” “I have only put my shoulder to our wheel, whilst you were devoting

all your strength to your poor old family coach.” “If there were more girls like you there would be more—” “Marriages,” suggested Eva, merrily. After a little while, when they were calmer, Eva took a letter from her pocket, and after explaining that it was from a half-cousin of hers, named Mr Darroll, who kindly lent her the canital with which she started her laundry, she handed it to him, and he read as follows : “My dear Eva, •“Many thanks for the cheque for £2OO, which completes your payment of the whole of the £SOO I lent you. I must say you are a brave and clever [girl. and withal most honourable. ! Write and tell me when your wedding- ! day is fixed, for I should like to be j present on the august occasion. I am fond of bridescak© you know, and fear j that if I don’t come I shall not get I any, and besides, as I said before, I should rather like to see your betlirothed. He must be a good fellow. “By the bve, I will enclose my wedding present now. It may help to free j you from anxiety about the immediate I future. It is early days for me to I offer advice to your fiance, but will you tell him from me that it might be advisable for him to see if he could—for certain considerations—become a junior partner in his firm, or else he might take steps to begin business on his own account? I am thinking of building a model village somewhere in the country, and he might as well be the architect. “With every wish for you happiness, Your affectionate cousin, “Ralph Darroll.” “And look at the present, Claude!” cried Eva, waving a cheque excitedly before his eyes. “Look! Look!” Claude looked, and mentally threw up his cap. Aloud he exeaimed. “What a dear old fellow ! £1000! Hurrah ! Hurrah! Hurrah!” “I am going home,” said Eva, after a little while, just to call on mother and Janet to tell them my good news, j They will not shake their heads over my venture now. You, Claude, must write a letter of thanks, also, to dear Mr Darroll, and Ml him that you will think over his advice about beginning 'business on your own account, or buy a share of your firm’s, and be sure to add that you feel equal try drawing plans for the loveliest model village.” “And when shall I see you again?” “Oh. I shall look in on my way to tlie station on my return-- from mother’s. I have so much to say to you yet. I haven’t even told you how I worked up my business.” A little later slie explained that some good old servants who had been laundry maid and cook in her late grandfather’s house, superintended her staff of young washerwomen, whilst she had spent two months in a London laundry learning the business before venturing to buy an opening in the country town where slie was so successful.

Then she left him, but it was with the understanding that she would be ready when lie came over to marry her in six weeks.

“And we will not forget to invite Mr Darroll,” were her parting words as she ran off to catch her train.