“ONE NEVER KNOWS.”

New Zealand Times, Volume LVII, Issue 2543, 22 June 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

“ONE NEVER KNOWS.”

‘Who? Miss Mowbray? Well, yes ; she is pretty—very pretty. The glamour of her eyes alone will thrill you with the nicer sense of rapture ; but the girl’s manner is odd, you know, to say tho least of it. She is far too quiet—far too pensive and sad for a girl of her years and appearance. It would surprise me but little if, some fine day, she were to act upon Hamlet’s ridiculous advice to the fair Ophelia, and go to a nunnery. I have heard, indeed, that tho singularity of her disposition—should I not say indisposition?—is the result of a disappointment in love—one of those little tragedies of the heart so pleasant to read about or to see on the stage, to slow music and with limelight effects, but so grievous to experience. Candidly speaking, Hugh, I don’t think you have the ghost of a chance with Miss Mowbray. To my certain knowledge lots of other fellows have tried to woo and win her, but it all ends in despair and a woeful waste of emotion. Tho girl is quite inflexible; lovers merely annoy her. She will never marry.’ ‘ Bah ! Who can tell?’ cried tbo speaker’s companion, as he leaned forward on his chair and warmed his hand at tho fire. ‘ Miss Mowbray herself told mo so.’ ‘The deuce!’ exclaimed the other, turning ■ round and casting a questioning glance at his friend. 4 1 say, George, you . must have caught her in a very confidential hnood when she told you that.’ • ; ‘ Yes, we were rather confidential on ono -particular occasion;’ . George removed his briar from his lipaand laid it quietly on the tabic. ‘The fact is,’.ho resumed, after a pause, ‘ I may as well iell you, Hugh, that I once foil in love with the girl myself, long before you appeared upon tho scene. I proposed to Miss Mowbray in tho ordinary way, and was, I believe, rejected in tho ordinary way—that is to say, civilly, but unmistakably. There was no nonsense about Miss Mowbray at all. She did not even promise to bo a sister to mo, but simply thanked me for my offer, and refused it, and then began to talk about tho weather—which, by the way, was confoundedly cold, I remember. Well, I have got over it now, and but seldom think of the matter; only at tho time, you know, it was rather •. Yon arc nearer tho fire than I am, Hugh ; do you mind licking it up a bit ? Thank you. Of course, lam not so egotistical as to imagine for a moment that because Miss Mowbray rejected my proposal she will treat yours, should you make it, in a similar fashion. Indeed, it is clear to me, and to other people as well, that Miss Mowbray cares a good deal more for you than she ever cared for mo ; and, besides, you are a prime favourite with her parents, which auspicious circumstances alone ought to cheer you considerably on your way. Still, I cannot but think that Miss Mowbray will remain true to her vow, and refuse all offers of marriage. You see, in her first love, which they say is always tho sweetest and deepest, although I don’t believe it myself, the poor girl was most basely deceived by a perfidious scoundrel, who ’ * But arc you sure he was a scoundrel; George?’ interrupted Hugh,in a tone of voice that gave a somewhat irritating emphasis to tho doubt implied in tho question. ‘ What a brutal question to ask Perhaps

you rather admire tho fellow for having deceived the girl in so heartless a manner? Perhaps you imagine ho must have been as good and noble as any hero of the ago of chivalry?’ ‘ Why go so far back into history, George ?’ asked Hugh, with tho driest of smiles. * Tho age of chivalry is past, according to Cocker—tush, I moan Burke—who, by the way, was a sort of oratorical or Parliamentary Cocker. It is past, I say, and a good job, too. There wore scoundrels then as well as now, and, besides, a hero is always a hero, no matter whether ho stalks about in steel of proof, and makes a noise, or goes quietly to his work, clad in modern corduroy, and with his dinner rolled up in a napkin. But, would you mind telling mo tho story of this lover’s apostasy.* 4 Oh, I know little about tho affair!’ cried George, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders. ‘lt happened in London, before the Mowbrays came to reside in this part of tho world. Miss Mowbray, it seems, was engaged to be married to a fellow whoso name, as far as I am aware, has never been mentioned. He arranged to do what you have done —went abroad, namely, to make his fortune, and in about a year’s time or so lie made it. He married the daughter of an opulent Spanish-American planter, and was never heard of again.’ ‘ Did ho ? But was it not merely a rumour?

* I don’t know—l suppose it was ; and yet, taken in connection with the fellow’s long absence and silence, you will allow, I think, that Miss Mowbray has some claim to be considered by her friends as having been most cruelly wronged and aggrieved.’ .. ‘ Does > Miss Mowbpjy wish you to take £uch considerate view of her case?' Certainly not. That is whore jou are all in the wrong —you and her friends and admirers. Do you not know that the la*t thing a woman would have you believe is the report that her lover is false? Do you not know that, even when the woman herself is compelled to let her belief„tako hold of her touching her lover’s perfidy, she will do all in her power to conceal that fact from the world? For the love of a true woman is proud. When her heart is bruised, she will bow her head in silence, and strive to make a secret of her anguish. Of course, you will understand that Miss Mowbray belongs to tho noble typo of womanhood of which I am speaking. Now, if I wanted Miss Mowbray to form a good opinion of me—and I freely confess that I do—X should endeavour to persuade her that I had no reason at all to imagine her lover was not a most proper and honourable man ; nay, what is more, I should consider it a part of my duty to make her believe that her lover was honest and true, and •’ ‘ That will do,' cried George, with a melodramatic wave of hia hand. ‘ When once you are fairly started in your favourite paradoxical vein, there is no end to tho rubbish you talk. What you would regard as a part of your duty, Miss Mowbray, or any other girl, for the matter of that, would very naturally regard as an insult.’ ‘ I think not.’

* You may think what you like ; but what on earth, do you mean, Hugh? You can hardly be serious, and yet there is sorao--4 Listen to mo, George, and I will tell you a story.’ ‘ Oh, bother your story! But wait a moment till I light a cigar. Help yourself, ray boy. These are real Havannas, I assure you, and their bouquet is excellent.’ ‘Six years ago,’ Hugh began, after a few preliminary puffs, ‘ I was doctor on board the steamer Mercedes. Wo coasted between Buenos Ayres and Rio Janeiro, and had a monopoly in passenger traffic. One day we put in at the port of Paranagua, on the coast of Brazil, where wo learned that the yellow fever had appeared at a place some few miles up the country. Although the dreaded yellow flag had not been, as yet, unfurled over the resolved to shorten our stay, and allowed but a handful of persons to board us as .passengers. Among those was a young Englishman. Wc had been two days at sea, when I Was informed by the quartermaster that one of the “ deckers ” was ill. As soon as I behold the patient, 1 knew we had the yellow fever on board. I reported the discovery at once to the captain, who flew into a rage, and almost over the bridge on which he was standing. He swore at the fever, at the patient, and me for fully half an hour, and then recovered himself gradually by filling his mouth with n fresh plug of tobacco. He enjoined me to keep the matter a secret. Butitwas.no use at all. Yellow. Jack had boarded us like any pirate, and began to stalk about, striking down his victims fore-and-aft. 1 The fever reached the cabin passengers : oil,cof the first I was called upon to attend was the young Englishman whom I have ’already mentioned. I knew at a glance that his case was hopeless, but I did my level best to pull him through. One evening ho asked me if I would write a letter to his dictation, as ho was too weak to hold a pen himself. All his ro’ations w«*rc dead, ho said; but he had a friend in London to whom ho was in duty bound to -write a last epistle. Of course, I made haatq,..to comply with the poor fellow’s request. ‘My dear Emily,’ the letter began, and before I'had written a dozen lines I know that my patient was composing a farewell love-letter for his sweetheart at homo in Old England. Somehow my hand got shaky a bit, and I could hardly see to write, for my eyes became moist, and a tear or two fell upon the paper, and rejadea mess of it. That letter, however, never was finished. The man suddenly paused while in the act of dictating to me, and—well, an hour afterwards we sowed his body up in a canvas shroud and hurled it into the sea. His name was Philip Basset. Ho gave me his photograph, and I kept the fragmentary letter—why, X cannot toll, as I had no idea where : ; to send it. When our quarantine off Kio Janeiro had expired we handed Mr Basset’s luggage to a gentleman who had been expecting him, but who seemed to know little or nothing about him. Now ’ * Stop !’ cried George, in an excited tone of voice, and as ho bounded up from his chair. * I think I know what’s coming, Hugh. .Have you told this story to the Mowbrays?’ ‘Yes.’

‘ And what happened, pray V ‘ Well, lu tho first place, when I mentioned Philip Basset’s name, Miss Mowbray became as pale as death, and fell in a faint into her mother’s arms. Then, while I stood wondering as to what mischief I bad done, Mr Mowbray came forward with a strange, uneasy look on his face, and asked me if the story I had told them was true. I assured him that it was, and showed him, moreover, the unfinished love-letter and the portrait of the man.’ ‘And, of course, that settled the matter?* said George, with a mod and a smile. ‘ Philip Basset was - ■’ ‘ Miss Mowbray’s lover.* * Just so I Well,'of all—but I don’t know what to say,’ and George leaned back 5u his chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, ho said, ‘ ’Pon my word, I wish I bad been there to have seen it all. How dramatic and affecting it must have been! How unspeakably'confused you must have felt I And so Miss Mowbray's lover was no base deceiver after all. Poor fellow ! Dead, eh? Well, better dead than false. But, I say, Hugh, it would hardly surprise mo now if Miss Mowbray- . Hallo 1 What arc you laughing at? Why, you don't mean to say P’ ‘Hal I see you have guessed it,* cried Hugh, with a pleasant twinkle iu his eye. ‘ Yes ; Miss Mowbray—Emily—has promised to be mine. Wc are to be married in a year’s time from now.*

‘Thunder! this is awful,’cried the other, as he threw his cigar into tbo fire. ‘ Dash my wig! but give mo your hand, old fellow. You really deserve the girl, and from the bottom of my heart I wish you joy —lndeed I do. Ha ! what a lucky chap you are!’ 4 1 thank you, George,’ said Hugh, as he blushed and smiled, and warmly pressed the hand of his companion. 1 ’Tis odd how things come about, is it not?' ‘Very;’ answered George with a solemn shake of his head. ‘ One never knows.' — Alexander MAcDoUGAL,in Glasgow Weekly Herald.