WITHOUT IMPEDIMENT.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 6450, 22 February 1908, Page 2

WITHOUT IMPEDIMENT.

(Bv Helen Lockwood Coffin, in •'Cassell’s.) One warm spring night Jonathan Briggs balanced his accounts and took stock, and the results were satisfactory. “Now," lie said to himself, “I will go home and get Dorothy.” The daring, the bravado of the words shocked him into silence. He drew a small leather case from his pocket and took from it a white tissuo-papar parcel. His fingers, big and rough and awkward os they were about many things, were deft in their untangling of the ribbon which held , this package together; because of the practice which makes perfect. He laid the opened paper before him on his desk and gazed earnestly at the faded blossom which it had enclosed, and as he gazed he slipped back two years into the past. “It was the first time she over touched me,” lie remembered, “and she pinned those flowers on my coat. What is it that gets into a man’s heart and makes him afraid of a girl? I stood there like a stick. Nobody else was in the room—and she was near! Near! liven the curls of her hair moved as I breathed. And what did I say? ‘lsn’t it almost time we were starting out?’ Fool! I did it! But it was all I could think of to say. I never could think of the right thing even when ’’ He thought of various other times when he had come close to the boundary and almost set foot in the promised land. He thought of how often those, words of confession and entreaty had trembled upon his lips and almost broken forth in spite of his fear. He despised himself; he reviled himself; lie called himself coward; once he had said to Dorothy: “I am a craven—an abject coward.” And she had said—oh, the flash of her eyes as she said it! —“lt’s no such tiling I You are the bravest mar. X know?’ Jonathan pulled himself together with determination. “I will go home and got Dorothy!” he repeated. And he went the next day. “Home” was a dear, quaint little village, tucked away in the hills. It had calmly stepped out of the way when the march of progress swept by; it clung to the past, and the old way of doing things; it was a matter of pride that here was one little untrammelled spot where a man oonld live the identical life his father had lived before him. Jonathan had scoffed and ridiculed this old-fasbioned stylo, but ho found a certain delicious flavour about it now. The absence of paved streets and electric tramcars, the forced dependence for news upon your neigh- I hour and the weekly paper, the postoffice in the little shop, the simple social life of teas and concerts, the grey stone church, covered with ivy, cool, forbidding, stern, and yet so thoroughly founded in righteousness—all these were restful after his scigry and rush in London, and his fight for a footing among its business men. Ho did no, exactly want to give up the rusb for the quiet, but it was a good place to come to—for Dorothy.

He found the girl in {he lane that went by her father’s house. Ah, me! It, was just the same Dorothy—the same merry, dimpling girl, with the clear brown eyes and the yellow curls that danced with the wind. And the man, watching the eyes and the hair, and drinking in the life and colour before him, turned traitor to his purpose, and spoke of common-places. . They talked of his health and of hers, and he said: “How’s your mother?” He told her of his work; of his new friends and his new hopes; of everything except the new house which was waiting for hqf coming. And she told him who had been married who had died ; there ■were two houses down on the main street—did he know that one belonged 'o Silas Martin? And wasn’t it queer? bailie Jones had run away somewhere, and they said she had gone on the stage! One by one she called up ail bis old friends before him, and gave their history since he had been gone. If she had ever read between the lines of his letters—if she had the slightest suspicion as to his reason for coming home,’ nothing betrayed it. Evidently Jonathan's, faint heart had not won this fair lady. She must bo stormed to ■ urrender.

“She’s nothing but a slip of a girl 1” said Jonathan bravely, on the second morning. “And look at me! I am as -tree of her!”

He held himself proudly for as much as half a mile. And then, because he caught a glimpse of a pink gown on the road before him, he dwindled suddenly into pygmy. “A mite of a girl!” He had been mistaken. . Dorothy filled the world—and yet how daintily! He waited for her te oome nearer, pitiably conscious of all his awkward inches and ungainlines,s. When she came they talked about the weather. So it was every time he met her

-ever a day dawned but he resolved that it should be the day of his confession. Never a night came but he reviled the cowardice which had kept him silent. His time w’as limited, and fast slipping away; something must be done, and done speedily. So the desperate Jonathan decided on heroic measures.

Sunday came—or “the Sabbath”— rather. Jonathan went to church early and sat near the back. He was strangely perturbed and anxious; but he found unspeakable soothing in the quaint old sanctuary. The woodwork was white, deep-tinted to ivory; the great high pulpit in the front was delicately carved and embellished; the great high pews with doors seemed out the curious and keep hold of all that made for peace, Dorothy’s pew was across the aisle and three in front of the. one where he sat. That spoke for contentment. But Dorothy was not there. The Murrays were late. And Jonathan lost his hold of the joy of life, while sorrow stared him in the face.

Sorrow and all her sisters—dismay, and chagrin, and anxiety—sat in the seat with Jonathan. Presently, after the reading of the first lesson, the Murrays came in. The door of their pewclosed after them, but above the top of the door Jonathan caxight a glimpse of on© fair cheek with tendrils of bright hair. Ho clung to that glimpse and forgot his seat-companions. He was thinking—of other things. Then the minister began: “I publish the banns”—and a stir of eager interest ran through the congregation. Jonathan saw Dorothy lean forward with that warm sympathy with which a young girl always greets snch an announcement. He watched that fair cheek with the closest attention, and the minister went on w'ith the notice. “I publish the banns of marriage between Jonathan Briggs and Dorothy Murray, of this parish. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking." The sudden colour flashed red into

the check Jonathan was watching. He fully expected Dorothy to jump up and declare impediment, but she gave no sign. She was the perfect picture of a modest, prospective, embarrassed 'bride, and Jonathans heart glowed within him. ■ After the service lie walked beside her. Her eyes were downcast, her cheeks were crimson. For the first time he had known her, Dorothy was stricken dumb. Suddenly ho broke the*, silence between them: “Was that all right. Dorothy?”

Sio walked on a few steps before she answered. Then she smiled up at him and said: “I think so, Jonathan."