THE NOVELIST. After Long Years.

Otago Witness, Issue 1430, 19 April 1879, Page 21

THE NOVELIST. After Long Years.

A COLONIAL STORY.

By Fabian Belt,, Author of "Stella," the "Big Nugget," 4c.

(Written for the Otago Witness.)

Chapter XIV. " Take him up tenderly, lift him with care."

"Meister Stretton's na in 's reom, fayther. What an ye done wi' him?" queried Maggie Macintosh, confronting her father with an air of determination and suspicion calculated to force a reply from the most unwilling lips ; but the old man affected not to hear her, and as she stood exactly in his path, he put out his hand to thrust her on one side. Maggie did not move. " Where is he 1" she cried. " Dinna fash me wi' yer clavers, lass, I canna thole it. Gang awa ben, yer mither's needing ye." " I canna gang whiles ye answer me, Feyther, what an ye done wi' Meiater Stretton ; where is he ?" She fixed her piercing black eyes upon him with such an intense gaze that the | man turned his head uneasily aside, and again strove to pass her. But the girl would not permit it. " Tell me vrhere is he 1" she cried passionately. " I must, I will know. He was in his room yesternoon when I took him his dinner. He said he should be needing no supper, and that he should go to bed early ; he went for a walk about 5 o'clock, he turned down towards the mine, and he has never returned." "And how should I ken ought of his goings," retorted Macintosh slowly, goaded to answer by her persistence. " I was on board the Pretty Jane, as ye ken weel eneuch." " Yes, but ye wer* no there all nicht. I heard ye come home, and I heard — feyther ! feyther ! who wast came up the rocks wi' ye 1" For a moment the man's face lost its look of stolid indifference, his shifting glance turned to the right, then to the left, as if to make sure that they two j were alone, and then seizing the girl's arm with a grip of iron he shook his list in her face, Baying in low determined tones, "Whisht, laßs, hauld yer tongue or — " The silence was ominous, but Maggie cared nothing for the threat ; " hard words break no bones," was a saying she knew well. In childish days her father had often beaten her into submission, cowing by blows a nature tenacious and obstinate as his own, and although he could never by such means succeed in breaking her will, he had managed to silence its outward expression ; but since she had attained to womanhood he had ceased to exercise his parental authority by blows, and Maggie was tolerably well assured that he would nob strike her now, so ehe lightly touched his clenched fist

[ with the forefinger of her left hand, and i said, " Was it wi' that that you struck him V The man recoiled with an oath,' and angrily repeated his command to hold lier tongue and return to the house, ,but the girl heeded it not. , " "You said you would kill him if he went into the mine. Have you done ao ? Is he in the mine now, lying in some out of -the- way spot 1 Are you— a murderer V* " Whisht, lass, whisht ! dinna use tack an word, some person may hear." „-- " I don't care who hears. I will shriek it out so that all the world must hearj if you do not tell me where he is, and what you have done with him. I will go into town and tell the perlice I will — " > „' But Maggie's threats were suddenly brought to an end by the sound ofjfipproaching feet. The steady tramp, tramp of evenly falling footsteps, of men who walk steadily and together bearing! a heavy burden. That sound once heard dan never be mistaken for any other^ and which falls like a blow on the .hearts of those who wait and listen, expecting evil tidings. , , . Maggie heard, started, and turned wards the sound. Four men were coming slowly up the narrow uneven path between the rocks, bearing on their shoulders a wide board, on which wai stretohed an inanimate form. f - She, standing above it, recognised in spite of soils and stains, the suit of grey tweed, and the short thickly-curling chestnut hair. ' She flew to meet them. " Is he dead V* she cried breathlessly. One of the bearers shook his head. "We caano' tell. Jem here aay's not, but he's quite insensible, and he's gotten an awfu' blow on the head." . ! "A blow," said Maggie, "A blow," and she looked at her father, who had followed her slowly, and to whom- a fifth man who had accompanied the bearers was now relating how they had found the body in one of the unused workings of the mine, where, but for a mere accident it might have lain undiscovered for months, perhaps for ever. ' ' " Sandy M'Fie wanted jsome rails; and he went into the old working to look- for them, and then he stumbled over something and gave such a shriek and a holloa, and then we all ran and found him [pointing to the body] lying ! on' 1 the ground, with one side of his head crushed in, quite dead we thought ; but Jem—" " He's worth half a dozen dead tins," said Jem aententiously. "dome, Maggie, open t' door for us, us can pet ub on T s bed." Maggie, who in her anxiety concerning Stretton's fate had already found another key to unlock his room door, and so had ascertained beyond a doubt that 'the apartment was empty, now led the way and showed the men where to 'deposit their burden. '• Macintosh made some faint objection, saying that the man was dead, and that he wanted no inquests in his house ; but the girl Bilenced him with a look, before which he shrank, feeling that she 1 knew or suspected too much, and that to thwart her would be dangerous. ' ' " He is not dead," Baid Maggie, giving utterance rather to what she wished than to what she believed. Then her father muttered something about expenses, trouble of nursing, &c. ; but the girl turned quickly upon him. • ' ' The company will pay all the expenses, " she said, " and I will nurse him. Here, Jem, lay him down here, and I'll attend to him." Macintosh made no further opposition, indeed he dare not, for there was that in his daughter's face which told him that she could be dangerous, so he stood on one side and suffered the men to pass him and lay their burden, all defiled with dust and blood, on the narrow couch which Maurice had so recently quitted m all the pride of youth and healthj hope and energy. The body lay motionless, and to all appearance lifeless, and the overseer, watching keenly under his heavy brows, said in Mb heart, ' " He ia dead ! dead !" The miners returned to their work, wondering not a little at their morning's discovery. What could have taken Maurice Stretton into the mine at that' hour, 1 he, who, so far as they knew, had never before shown any desire to enter it at all ? ' And being there what could he have found to interest him in the old working where his body had been discovered ? And lastly, how and by whom had the fatal blow been given ? The mystery deepened as the day wore on. For when Jem Bryce went to his task at the end of the new working he found his pick wet with blood; and, casting his light downward, he saw at his feet a small pool of the same dark fluid, and ere he well knew what he was doing, his hands and clothes were all stained with the fatal crimson. It was possible that Maurice Stretton had been struck down here, and' his body dragged or carried into the ' old working until opportunity should serve for hiding it still more effectually.' Had he made an awkward discovery,/ and paid his life as the forfeit ? Jem's heart sank. He looked nervously around, then with strange haste he gathered together some lumps of coal that were lying near, and with them carefully covered over the tiny pool, and with black coal dust strove to erase the telltale stains from his hands and clothes, but as he did so he shuddered and trembled, and, strong man as he was, felt strangely sick and faint. He had seen death often enough, and hum»ri formi

• Crushed out of all knowledge, but never • until now had his hands been stained ' with the blood of a murdered man, and ' as' he hid the traces of the crime, he felt c ''as if he himself had been guilty of sharr ing it. _ . , _„ {' ' Later in the day ,the Irishman, Fitz'.'patiick, was reported missing. He had ', : . been at work in the mine on the previous /evening, and had remained behind to 'Collect his tools, so much the other men knew, and none had seen him since th»t r '-*iirae : . Those who shared his hut had seen hl nothing of him all night. His blankets :: ' ' 'and swag, his tools and small possessions, c;j #ere all in the usual places, but he himself, had disappeared, leaving no sign. It Vwir natural therefore that suspicion of " having ! murdered or tried to murder the '- 1 young clerk should fall upon him, ° ''although: the absence of motive was 1 moßt « glaring/ still, as' the French proverb so nfi aptly puts' it, " The absent are always in •'^wrqhg." '•*„. er:/, The" mine clerk had been murdered in <;'"the and one of the miners known to be near the spot at the time was "'' mailing. ' Surely the two facts explained k;MoU other. So affirmed with unusual '"/'eagerness the mine overseer ; so thought ' r ' J i\ie police and the Company. ' Ai '"' t But Jem Bryce never went into an unused working without a thrill of fear, and r ~' ah' anxious nervous glance to the right V? and 'to the left, as if 'he expected to see o tr ibmVgh'astly object lying half hidden by the side of the road way, . and Maggie Macintosh declared firmly that nothing • 'liuf thelnshmah's own confession would maice'her believe /him guilty. Still a <- J fie l av# weight of circumstantial evidence iO pointed' 'to. the absent' one, and suspicion which might otherwise have glanced'from ( : v orie to another of his comrade's left them fi »ee, rf andwas entirely centred on him. rftfrt •Fitzpa'trick had disappeared; leaving no gjface/' ;'T [[ '' " X^r.*- '.'OHATERXV. I" ; t ' '- '' t \ , i *,' Out of Death's Mystery." *"" Maurice Stretton did not ; die. Either kJwB ; head waa ma( j e o f unusually hard V' material, or, the . blow struck at it had been: well aimed. Stunned and dis- „, figured L ke certainly was, but not dead; in atthough :for a week or two his , ', ; iflpirjt seemed to hover on ,the confines of land, still in the end,.youth and nature triumphed, and he did not ' y die. . ; V,' Maggie, Macintosh had undertaken to .• '^md him, and she fulfilled her promise ' "to the best of her ability. But all women . (I are not born nurses, although there seems V.'j •"s(>, be a popular superstition to that effect ; certainly had not been intended ",.; Sy for the task, and what nature <V had neglected to do, art, whether, enforced example, was guiltless of aiding. '• ; <' I , j)Bu> the,, girl did, her best. It was ■4,i.soargely>. her-fault if her voice was harsh . ; r6ugh when in its natural, elevation, Vand exasperatingly shtill and penetrating '^'(jjjSe.ft. reduced; to the whisper which she '„, appeared.! , to, consider the correct pitch " tos sick room- ministration. Then, tpo, : it v „was surely,! her misfortune .and; not ,',' f»iilt,|if vcups and glasses had an awkward 2'2 ' fen'ack of slipping, through her fingers-pif „ -.when she crossed the room her, dreßS be..oanie entangled .with the furniture, up- " Beating .ph&irs,,. or, drawing coverlids ' ni a^ay-"if ctoora creaked when she;touched , ! j jbhem, and atmosphere of haste ! '., and r confusion followed, her in and out. "'' ' ' Yet these'things jarred on the patient, , and, when, s he was only half conscious the [! ory t of ?,«'Eyelpe, Eveline," was rarely absent from his lips. ', Maggielistened,andherheartstood still. .'. j" Who was this Eveline," she wondered, f* his ; sister or his sweetheart?" ,Some- . times she, thought the former, sometimes I {he latter ; and as her mind leaned to one supposition or the other her boul was stirred by pity or torn by jealousy. For . surely if the lesser passions increase by ,what, they feed on, this is still more the ' case ffith the master passion, love. Denied, scorned, derided, it still lives on, and even indifference, will not kill, it. • ," He must ilp ve, me, he shall love me," . cried and demoted herself heart >: and .'soul to serve him and wait upon him, ,tp f,watch, ;his moods, to obey his wishes, , rto make, herself necessary to him. : . ' th ] Invain her mother scolded her for ne- ','. 'glept .of her ordinary duties. In vain she ]', fialled her from the sick room, and, 't* isvse& her with her devotion to the sick -"'fjlian,;/ Maggie retorted in kind, meeting ,' , Scolding with, impudence, calls, with deafness,' taunts with taunts. She had no . t ,.more idea of veiling, her feelings than a fl'f 1 ' /ypungjs'avage would have had. , She.loved [^.^aurice ,'Strettoh, and cared not if all the ,7 World, knew it. - r • ;V;And/hM „ . . , „.„ Sleeping and [j waking— in misty uncon- "' fi^ousnesß and wild delirium—his cry was evgrAhie sa,me,7- ' " ! " Eveline, Eveline." . t „j ; In dreams, he visited. the Old Country, • f c' aj)i^, wandi*ed along bowery, lanep,. . ,and /* oyjer greeni pastures, -with Eva by his side ; !,", they; (Played together as children, they , '. . ptrolled together as boy and girl, they sat in the sweet silence of dreaming love. They were united, they were parted. , .JSpmetimes a wide river rolled between \l them," and he battled with the waves that ever drew him from her and sucked him ■down, down to unutterable depths. Some;•'times it was she who was drawn away {■' "ifrom him and engulphed in the treacherous ,! while he stood on the shore power'l'J.i&pit to save or aid. And from such would start up bathed in perWith aweeter dreamo-her hand was in hie,

her lips meeting his, her yielding form bending towards him ; and then he would smile in his sleep, and. repeat in gentle, wooing tones, " Eveline, Eveline." Maggie, standing by his side, would wring her hands and cry, "Oh, if he would only love me as he loves her," and wildly she would pray for tKe gift so madly coveted. Ah ! me ! do we not all weary heaven with our foolish cries, beating against the closed gates, and weeping like spoiled children for that which will profit us not, until sometimes the gift is granted, and is found to be a curse instead of a blessing. " Love me," was the cry of Maggie's heart, and with an hypocrisy of which she herself was unconscious. (Are we not all hypocrites where those we love are concerned ?) She, so brusque, and rough, and unscrupulous, assumed when in his presence, a gentleness and submission that were in themselves the subtilest flattery, and especially dangerous to a man of Maurice's disposition. As he recovered his health and strength, and the short fever and delirium, which had followed his wound, commenced to pass away, he began to watch his nurse as she hovered around his bed, or went to and fro on more active service. He began to live less in the past and more in the present. He thought less of Eveline, and more of Maggie. It was not that he' loved the former less, or the latter more. He was always true in heart ' to his old love, but with returning life came a more vivid sense of the -life' and interests of those around him, and he began to think about Maggie, and to. watch her. "When a young man begins to study a young woman, and vise versa, they tread on dangerous ground. Maurice soon discovered that this young nurse was handsomer than he had previously imagined, that her black eyes were large bright, her hair rich and abundant, and her cheeks, pale with the unwonted confinement, acquired now and again a lovely delicate flush as his glance rested on them. He noted, too, how much gentler she -was in voice and manner, how careful never to use the Scotch patois which he disliked,' how anxious to consult his wishes, and to please him. in all things. But the touch of her hand and the glance of her eye were powerless to quicken one pulse, or stir the. languid circulation to one iota' of added Bpeod. It was Eveline whom he loved. Eveline, and not Maggie. , The memory of the one woman was more powerful to move him than the'living presence of the other. His first inquiry after he recoyered consciousness was "for letters. "There areWne," said Maggie. " IsthesEnglish mail in 1"~ " Yea, but' there is nothing for you. " He sighed wearily and turned away. That night, he was again delirious,-, and raved of "Eveline, Eveline." Maggie watched him, and alternately trembled with pity , and flamed with jealousy _" cruel as the grave." .Cruel, indeed, for as he raved her hand closed more and more tightly over a letter , which lay in her pocket, and at last with a sudden jerk she drew it out and held it to the flame of the candle, turning it and viewing .the flame again and again as it threatened to become extinguished, until nothing remained but a few grey ashes, which the wind, blew hither and thither in careless mockery. On the next day she half repented of her. cruel deed, for again he' asked for letters, and wondered that there was no news from home. " They forget me," he said Badly, " but I cannot forget them." Then Meggie asked — " Have you any sisters, Mr Stretton ?" , ' 'f No, only one brother," he answered, " and I suppose he is too busy to write ; still—" She filled up the silence with the name of Eveline, and no longer regretted the letter which had ■ borne that hated signature. , . ,\"if he thinks, that she has forgotten .him, he will learn to love me," thought the girl, and never did she forget the idea, but worked steadily on towards its fulfilment. - It was a curious circumstance connected with Maurice's convalescence that he appeared to hay c almost entirely forgotten the details connected with his visit to the mine. When Maggie questioned him on the subject, auxioua to discover whether her suspicions were or were not correct, he could' tell her little or nothing. All that had passed in the mine, from the moment •that he entered it until that on .which he jhad b^een struck down senseless, had been like a vision of thenight— " a dream when one wakens." He could remember no details distinctly.' " Were you alone," questioned Maggie. " No, I think not, someone' was with me, but I cannot remember who." "Was it ray father?" " No, I am sure it was not. " " Was it the Irishman, Fitzpatrick ?" "I think not— l don't know— perhaps — I cannot tell — why do you ask ?" and he seemed so excited and confused, that it waa useless to question him further. But her heart burned to know who had struck the blow so nearly fatal 1 Who had been the murderer in intent if not in deed ; whose hand had traced the hideous scar^ still livid and purple, which traversed the young man's brow and cheek, passing i by'the j eighth of an .inch f , that vital spot on • the temple, where, iaocbrding to' the 'doctor's' verdiot, a muoh* lighter stroke wou)d have produced instant death I

Who was the guilty man 1 Not Fitzpatrick, Maggie felt convinced, but then, where was Fitzpatrick, and why did he not appear to answer the doubts and suspicions that were freely cast upon him ? The days lengthened into weeks, and Maurice was slowly recovering. No'letters came for him, and he wrote none. A second home mail was_ delivered bringing him no message, and in the bitterness of his heart, he said that they had forgotten him, and that he, too, would forget. "She is not bound," he said, " she is free, free, and so am I." Maggie watched him furtively as she knitted her stocking. He caught the glance. "Come here little one," he said, and she obeyed. "Maggie," he said as she bent over him, " have all women short memories ? — is it impossible for them to remember I— is it always withthem,{out of sight out of mind V " I do not know," she answered, looking full at him with her bright dark eyes. " Perhaps the ladies you have been used to are too rich and happy to remember, but poor girls like lam never forget." ; "Is that true, I wonder," he answered dreamily. "When I grow well I shall go away from Wai-wai, and then you, too, will forget me." "No," she cried passionately, "No, no. I shall never forget you, if you go away from Wai-wai, I shall go too, I could not live without you." " Hush, hush," he said, "you must not speak so wildly." Slje shrank back shamed, not so much by her own wild confession as by the calm coldness of his rebuking tone. A long silence fell between them. It was broken by the sound of voices outside in earnest conversation. Maurice started up, an eager breathless look in his eyes and on his parted lips. " Maggie," he cried, "that is a strange voice. Who is here ?" " Only some gentleman come to look at the mine," she said, indifferently. " To look at the mine on behalf of the new company. Ah ! now I understand, now I remember. Go, Maggie, go quickly and tell him to come to me. I must see him, I must tell, yes, I must tell him all. Go, bring him here." She hesitated. " The doctor told me that you mußt be kept quiet, and father says — " "Confound your father, he is a bad man jhe tried to kill me. Yes, now I am certain that it was he who struck me. He hated me because I tried to penetrate his secret, and now I know it, and I can defy him. Maggie, if you love me call that man. Ah ! my head I my head !it is gone, all gone again," and with a bitter cry he fell back on his pillow. Maggie sped away on her message, and arrived just in time to see the stranger on horseback disappearing round a curve of the coast. She uttered a loud coo-ec and started on his track. But a rude hand caught her arm, and forcibly detained her. "Let me go, let me go," she cried, struggling wildly. "I must overtake him. Mr Stretton wants him. Here— coo- ec, coo-ee." Another hand was laid upon her mouth, and in Bpite of all her efforts she was held as in a vice until the rider had disappeared over a distant hill, and all hopes of overtaking him were at an end ; and then her father released her, and without one word of explanation or reply to her passionate invectives returned to his place in the mine.

{To be Continued.— Commenced in No. 1424.)