THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 1431, 26 April 1879, Page 25

THE NOVELIST.

A COLONIAL STORY. By Fabian Bbll, Author of " Stella," the " Big Nugget," &c. {Written for the Otago Witness.) Chapter XVI. *' Would you punlah me for my father* sini V Maggie returned slowly to her place in the sick room. She expected a storm of reproaches for the non-fulfilment of her mission ; but Maurice was lying back on his pillow with his eyes closed, looking very pale and exhausted, and did not notice her by word or gesture. She took up her knitting and sat down. After a while he opened his eyes and said simply, "Well?' " The gentleman was gone. t I called to him, but father held me and I could not run. I did mybeßt, indeed I did." "It does not matter. 1 wanted to tell him something, bus I have forgotten what it was. For a moment it all came back to me, and now it is gone, quite gone." You will think of it again come other time," she said, soothingly. " The gentleman is gone now, perhaps he will come I back again, and then you can tell him. .Now, I will fetch your dinner." He assented. It was evident that as yet his memory was far from being restored ; perhaps he would never be able to remember whathadhappened to him in the mine ; for her father's sake, she hoped not. Yes,, and for Maurice's too, for she had a firm conviction that the hand which had dealt one treacherous blow, would, if necessary, repeat it. It would be as well, therefore, if Maurice never remembered or re-dis-covered the mystery of the mine. Maggie knew nothing about it herself, and was content to know nothing ; her feminine curiosity did not turn in that direction ; indeed she took no interest in the mine or anything connected with it. It was to her an ugly dark place, where the men made themselves " grimy as sweeps." Her aspirations were all for a gayer and brighter life where poverty and toil should find no place — the life which she believed to be attainable through the medium of Maurice Stretton. This longing for ease, and plenty, and pleasure, is it not the rock on which so many of our fair sisters are hopelessly wrecked; gaily giving up the peace of humble virtue for a gilded dishonour 1 Maggie yearned for it, recking nothing of the price she might be called upon to pay ; and her love for Maurice was not by any means independent of her desira for the position which she believed his wife would occupy. Maurice's convaleaence was slow and uncertain. I have heard it said that none but very young children recover steadily without relapses; in older persons, the mind and body bo act and re-act upon eaoh other, that nature ia never suffered to do her work unimpeded.

Certainly this was the case witn Maurice — he longed to recover ; he hated the dark dreary little room in which He lay hour after hour, day after day, counting every spot and stain in the rough lining boards, marking the frequent cracks through which the wind rushed in accordance with its own wild pleasure ; Ke wearied of his hard couch ; he loathed his ill-cooked food; and more than fcH He longed with an aching heart for l some word or sign from the loved ones at home, somethiug to assure him that he was still loved and trusted, still longed and waited for ; but no such news reached him. What wonder if his recovery was slow and tedious ! All day and all night the restless ocean beat against the great boulders below ; sleeping or waking, he was conscious of the sullen roar of the great Pacific rolldra as they broke upon the hard rocks of that iron-bound coast, and they^were forever calling him to leave the inhospitable land to which he had come a stranger and an alien, and to return to the home that Ke had left. They called him, but he could not obey them, and out of the great unrest and yearning of his aching body and spirit-he grew to hate the sound, and in later years to shudder and turn pale whenever the " call of the sea" brought back that weary season to his remembrance. He recovered slowly. ( ne of his first acts was to write, bit by bit, a long letter to Ellis. This was entrusted to Maggie to post, but it brought no reply. " It seems that I am forgotten by all," he said with a dreary smile, " like a dead man out of mind." And Maggie, who had heard his words, felt inclined to throw herself at his feet and confess all— and to lose all. No; she dared not risk it, but became, if possible, more devoted and untiring in her ministrations. Maurice was grateful to her. It seemed to him that of all the world this girl was the only person who really loved arid cared for him. Eveline was a "bright particular star," bo far removed.from him, that to reach her, seemed indeed hopeless* A year and more had elapsed since their parting, and during all that time, no hews of or from her had reached him, save one little letter which had been waiting for him when he landed, and which had been kind and friendly : no more. Alas ! what more could Bhe say under the circumstances ; his promise and their half confessed love. She thought that he would read between the lines, that ho would detect the deep true love that lay hid in simple words, the boundless trust and confidence that time and distance could not touch. The pure passion that would live when all meaner things lay round in dust and ashes. And in truth, he had at first seen something of all this, but time and silence had worn away the first impression, and, as he read the letter now he could find nothing but calm friendship, and kind indifference. " She never loved me," he cried in his heart, "she is too pure and cold to love any man, and I am no fit mate for her, too poor indeed to marry at all ; but I love her, I shall always love her. Though probably by this time she has forgotten me, married one of John's friends, and become a rich and respectable matron who looks back on our love episode as the one senseless folly of her youth. But what have I to do with marrying or giving in marriage ! I must make haste and get well, and set to work at digging and delving, wall-making or shepherding, anythiDgto get an honest living, no iifora desk work for me. This first experience of Colonial life has proved eminently unsatisfactory ; let us hope that the second may be more successful. I can't afford to get my head broken at every turn. But J suppose I ought to go to town and see Ellis, and tell him all that I know or suspect ; though why I should make it my particular business, I scarcely know. I have written to him and he pays no heed to my communications ; why should I trouble myself further 1 ' Why, indeed, except that honour demands from us much that is neither pleasant to give nor profitable when given. " I shall gototown to-morrow, Maggie," he said. "To-morrow! it is impossible," Bhe answered, " you could not ride a mile, much less seventy. You would fall off your horse and lie and die on the road. Why, it is only a week since you went out for the first time, and yesterday you almost fainted when climbing that little hill from the beach." " And you came and offered me your strong arm to lean upon. Yes, I am scarcely up to it, 1 suppose, and yet I must go." "Wait a week longer, you will be stronger then ; indeed you must, for how can we get you a horae all in a moment, even if you could stick on, and I am sure you could not." " I could go in the Pretty Jane." " She sailed an hour ago." He smiled. "Ah well, I see that I am to be kept a prisoner against my will. But remember the next time that Captain Jack comes I mean to return with him." , But before the white sails of the little schooner re- appeared in the offiDg, Maurice Stretton had changed his purpose, there was no longer any necessity for him to go to Dunedin. He had received an official communication saying that the " Wai-wai Coal Company" had been, incorporated with that of " the Maori Ben Valley Co." and in future the two would be worked together under the otyte a»4

title of the "North Otago Coal Mining Co." The partners of the Wai-wai Coal Co. had received ample compensation for their property, which they had sold absolutely, together with all Government .-leases, royalties, &c, to the new com- - '. Maurice Stretton dropped the printed paper in utter amazement. , " Can such things be," he thought. If thisjs business, Heaven grant that I may never be a business man." "Oh Mr Strettoß," cried Maggie, run- " ning quickly in. "Is not this good news ? I see you have a paper just like father s, and he's so pleased. He says, that his fortune's made, for you know he had a share in this mine, and now that it is Bold he will get a lot of money, and we shaU-be able to go away and live quite nicely somewhere else. I am so glad. You' will get something too, shan t you i ff * '« NoTMaggie, I shall get nothing, and the .sooner I am out of this, the better pleased I shall be." " And you will go to Dunedin still 1 « JSo I should be too late. The evil that I might have prevented is done; it does not matter where I go or what I do. " Come with us,- then," said the girl, creeping to His side and looking anxiously into his face. , He shuddered. , • "Maggie, I will tell you something, he Baid, "during the last few days my memory has been returning to me. I can recollect now all that passed in the mine. I found,out why they want to sell it, and why I was nDt allowed to enter. The transaction has been a swindle trom first to- last, and your father knows of it. • F'itzpatrick was with me, guiding me . through the mine. At the moment I made the discovery a voice uttered the words, .< Dead men tell no tales," and I was struck' down from behind. The voice was • your father's voice, the blow was from ' vbur father's hand. He would have committed murder to prevent the discovery of 'hi* other crimes. He is a bad man and a dangerous man ; perhaps it is my duty to bring him to justice, I cannot tell : however, for your sake, and because you have striven to undo his evil deeds, 1 mil sDare him, and leave his punishment toother and higher hands, at the same time I desire never more to see him or his " " Would you punish me for my father's faults" cried the girl falling on her knees before him. " la.that right ? is that jut 1 Father, mother, all the world are nothing to me. It is you and you only that I care for. Before you came my life was ail darkness : hard work, hard food, hard blows, and no pleasure of any kind. When you' came you were kind and gentle to me I never lived till then, and now you oast me off, you punish me for my father's sina. . - '' " Get up, Maggie," he said impatiently, "dq you know that you are talking nonsense 1" ' ■ s ' But Maggie* would not move, she clasped his knees and burst into passionate tears. „ . j 0 ' What could Maurice do I ■ Without douW he should have reasoned coldly and firmly with the mis: 'raided girl, and shown her how impos1 Shift it was that they two should ever be more than friends. . - What he did, was what ninety-nine men out of every hundred would have ' °He' lifted the weeping girl, consoled her' with kind and gentle words, and then ' beforehe well knew what he was about he had kissed her lips, and with that kiss his fate was sealed.