A STORY, IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1652, 21 July 1883, Page 25

A STORY, IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.

Chapter IV. O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou bast no name to be known by, let us call thoe—de\ il I . . .To feo now a sensible man, by-and-bye a fool, and presently a bcaat! 0 strango !

>R some months after Mrs Craven's death things went on pretty much as usual. Chrissie, having now more leisure, increased the number of her pupils, and was able to add to the comforts of their scan-tily-furnished little cottage. She tried to make it as bright and home-like as possible, and to give her father all the help and encou-

ragement in her power. For he did try very hard during those months to overcome temptation. The thought that he was now Chrissie's sole protector nerved him. For days together he would not suffer a drop of strong drink to pass his lips, and his mental sufferings at such times used to make his child's heart ache.

At last the torture would become unbearable, and he would break out worse than ever. He had done so the previous day, been taken up by the police, and Chrissie is on her way to the Court this morning to pay the fine, and guard him home. A dreadful place for a young girl to enter, and a dreadful errand ! There was a rick-burning case going on when she arrived, and the prosecutor, a young sheepfarmer, from up-country, was giving his evidence.

Chrissie, her veil closely drawn, sat motionless till- her father's case was called.

It waß about to be the usual " Ten shillings, or forty-eight hours," but the Clerk interfered. " Thiß is the fifth time this year, your Worships," said he, in an aggrieved tone. " Fining is no punishment ; the money don't come out of his pocket. Six months would do him more good — keep him out of temptation." "Oh no ! " cried Chrissie, forgetting her timidity, and stepping forward eagerly. And at the sound of that cultivated voice, with its low tone of agonised entreaty, the young farmer, who had been^ about to leave the Court-house, paused in curiosity. " Oh no !" repeated Chrissie, " he has never been in gaol. Don't send him, bu* — pray do not I I am quite well able to pay the fine. And" — in Budden desperation — " we are going away ; we will leave the town at once." The Justices regarded her pityingly ; they knew her history. "Charles Craven," said one of them, turning to the wretched father, " arc the feelings of a parent utterly dead within you ? In the face of such a spectacle as this, will you still persist in your course of criminal self indulgence ? Time after time have you been brought before us, and given promises of amendment, only to break them. For the sake of your daughter we give you one more chance. You maygo." •' Who are they ? " inquired the young farmer of one of the Justices, whom he happened to know, and who, his duties for the day over, emerged with a sigh of relief into the pure air without. " What a noble-looking old man I It shocked me to see him in suoh a situation."

11 Their name is Craven," replied the Justice. " He held a first-rate position at Home as a barrister, and was noted even in London for his talents and eloquence. Ten years ago, sir— or twelve, was it ? — yes, twelve years ago, in the great will case, Grant v. Grey, I heard that man make one of the finest speeches I ever listened to. I was only a poor clerk in those days, and little dreamt how our positions were to be reversed. It is the old story— drink ! " "He must be a scoundrel," rejoined the young fellow, indignantly ; "it was a thundering shame to see that modest little girl in such a place.

To return to Chrissie. She was at first too much cgitated by her father's narrow escape to think of the rash promises ahe had given. And indeed she had no time, to think, Her father was in one. of

bis gloomiest moods ; she feared to leave him alone for an instant. The Justice's words still rang in his ears. Direct rebukes such as that were rare. However they might plead with him, neither his wife nor his child had ever reproached him. They knew too well the struggled and tortures of that " limed soul." It was upon that knowledge Chrissie founded her hopes of his ultimate salvation. Had he become callous, even her faith would have failed.

*' The feelings of a parent utterly dead within me," he thought bitterly. " They are not ! I love my child, God knows, yet lam a constant source of shame and trouble to her. But for me she might now be enjoying the happy, comfortable home which her aunt offered to her. Would that I had never been born ! I am a curse to myself and all connected with me ! "

And then suddenly a new idea presented itself to the unhappy man. He could not voluntarily quit his hold of a life which, miserable as it was, was at least preferable to that which might await him in the next world. But he could leave Chrissie. Not desert her : that view of the question never occurred to him. He would simply go away and hide himself, that Chrissie might be free from the shame and burden of his presence. He was of no use to her ; she maintained herself and him too, and would undoubtedly be better off without him. It would be hard to leave her — hard to cast away from the one frail plank that upheld him, aud strike out alone, to sink or swim. That he should sink, and that hopelessly, Mr Craven felt ; yet for his child's sake he would — he must go. But where were the means to come from ? He had no money, and it would be useless to apply to Chrissie. She loved him far too well to listen to any such request. And he dared not tell her for what purpose he wanted it.

He was lying on the colonial sofa in their little sitting-room, apparently reading the morning paper, but really taxing his poor weakened brain to form some plan. His eye, wandering mechanically over the printed columns, was presently attracted by an advertisement. The manager of the local theatre wanted half-a-dozen young ladies, and as many men, to assist in the after-piece. Here surely was something that he could do, and a week's engagement might furnish the few shillings necessary for at least the first stage of hia projected journey.

He threw down the paper, and rose with some eagerness. Chrissie looked up from her sewing.

"Would you like a walk, papa dear ? lam so tired of sewing, and the beach looks so inviting." Mr Craven started guiltily. " Yes," he said, with nervous haste, " it is a shame to remain indoors on such a glorious day. Run and get your things on, Pussy." And she obeyed, glad at heart to hear that pet name again, and to see that her father's gloom seemed lifting. She was ready in five minutes, but Mr Craven had vanished. She searched and called in vain ; it was too evident he had given her the slip. Her heart sank within her. She re-entered the house, weeping bitterly. How hard — how well-nigh hopeless her self-imposed task appeared ! But Chrissie knew she waß not fighting this battle unaided : the cause was God's, and He would help her.

Mr Craven hurried to the theatre, the time for making the application having almost expired. But his haste availed nothing. The manager took his measure at a glance, and told him, curtly enough, that the required number were already engaged. Mr Craven did not resent his reception : he was by this time used to being treated with scant courtesy. As he still lingered irresolutely some one came hurrying in, too much engrossed to note the presence of a strangar. " Levison " had levanted — gone off in the mail steamer with one of the actresses — leaving the manager and sundry tradespeople lamenting.

Here was a catastrophe ! The actress's place could be supplied — not so Levison's ; no one in that company could take Lear'B part in the play advertised for that night, and it wus dreadfully late to think of substituting another.

" There is no need," said Mr Craven, coming forward. " Engage me ! I have played that part before now, and with success."

The manager looked both surprised and incredulous.

" You are not of the profession ? " he said. "No ; but I have had experience as an amateur, and before more fastidiously critical audiences than any in this town, ' answered Mr Craven, with a vivid remembrance of bygone timen, when this amusement was one of his favourite relaxations. " All I want is an hour's study, to refresh my memory." " Well," said the manager, " I don't see. but what it's a case of Hobson's choice. There's your part," throwing a pamphlet on the table ; " you can sit here and look it over, while I go and see what arrangements can be made."

And he quitted the room, taking the precaution to lock' the door after him.

" The fellow's sober now," thought he ; " and if I'm to get any good at all out of him, I must keep him so." And there Mr Craven remained till just before the rising of the curtain. He was beginning to think himself forgotten, but felt no indignation at being thus ignominiously kept prisoner. He knew his own weakness too well, and being earnestly bent on accomplishing hiß present task, was glad to be kept from temptation. It had not proved a very difficult task, sj far. The words of this part bad once been as the alphabet to him, and a few readings sufficed to revive his memory.

The manager returning at last, baffled in all his other plans, was secretly delighted with the Bpecimen of his powers which Mr Craven was able to give before the curtain rose, and he redoubled Mb care to keep thiß acquisition in "proper condition." At last the play began. The audience instantly discovered that this was not the actor who had played Lear with such success for the last three nights, and they waited. But soon the applause came, and with every act it grew more emphatic. Mr Craven's voice was still good, and the old spirit seemed to have come upon him that night, even as the old strength came back to the enslaved Samson. And his noble presence, his grand head, with its flowing grey beard and white hair, suited the part admirably. .

Good acting the people thought it, aB they Bat listening to the broken-down, degraded being — " a poor, despised, weak, and infirm old man." But one at least in that audience knew how sadly true those words were. For Chrissie was present. It was years since she had hea< d her father speak in public. Then the applause that followed his utterances had afforded her keen, unalloyed pleasure ; but these noisy demonstrations made Chrissie'a ears tingle and her brow flush with pain. She had not been able to remain long at homo, inactive. The Justuses' threat still sounded in her ears. She must keep her athe'r out oi the Police Court during fas ehoit

time that must elapse before they could leave the place. So she started in search of him, glancing in at the hoteiß as she passed them, and anxiously scanning each group of loungers. But this superficial search proving vain, Chrissie determined to enter the next hotel, and inquire. It was soon reached, and with a sensation of relief she perceived tho barmaid lolling at the door, and no one else near. Timidly she put her question. The barmaid knew Mr Craven very well, and answered not unkindly. No, he was not there — hadn't been there that day. " But I saw him, an hour ago, go in there," Bhe added, pointing to the side entrance of the theatre opposite, " and I have not noticed him come out."

Chrisaie thanked her, and orosaed the street, wondering what could have brought her father here. Whatever had done so was hardly likely to have detained him until now ; but she muat ask.

She appealed to a frowsy, vulgar-looking man, who appeared to be at home there, and who was indeed the only perßon visible. But his answer was so uncivil that Chrißsie shrank back, her eyes smarting with the tears she would not shed.

In her retreat, however, she encountered a more amiable-looking person — none other indeed than tho manager. He thought she had come in answer to that morning's advertisement.

You are too late, my dear," said he ; " all vacancies filled up. You told her so— eh, Short?" '

ain't that at all," growled Short. " She's after her young man, as has deserted her."

And he grinned maliciously. "I am inquiring for my father— Mr Craven," said Chrissie, in a trembling voice. "He was seen to enter here this afternoon."

"A tall old party, in black?" asked the manager. " Yes," said Chrissie, eagerly ; " that is my father."

" And a nice one he is," was the manager's inward comment.

" Well, my dear, he's safe enough," said he reassuringly ; " but you can't see him just now. He's going to play Lear for me this evening, and you would disturb him. But if you like to see the play, and don't mind sitting in the dark for a while, I'll put you into a nice quiet corner at onoe."

And Chrissie, still bewildered, followed him into the dimly-lighted theatre, where he ensconced her in a retired corner, promising at her request to tell Mr Craven, at the end of the evening, that his daughter was waiting for him to take her home.

The manager was kind, though he did call her "my dear" ; and since she must guard her father home, this was the best place in which to wait for him.

The play was considerably abridged in order to leave time for the after- piece (by far the most attractive item in the programme to the majority of the audience), yet to Chrissie it seemed interminable.

At last, however, the curtain dropped, and in the general movement for refreshments Ohrissie slipped out, and down the narrow passage which the manager had told her led behind the scenes.

Her presence there was needed. The manager had had to administer a certain amount of stimulant to his chief actor between each scene, or Mr Craven could not have performed at all. Now the dosos were beginning to take effect. From the brilliant he had passed to the quarrelsome stage, and there were symptoms of a disturbance.

Chrisßie stepped forward. " Papa," she said, in her quiet, firm voice, "it is late ; I want to go home. You will not allow me to go through the streets alone." Even in his worst moods Chrissie seemed to exercise a magnetic influence over her father. He followed her now quietly ; but the strain upon him had been too great, and they had no sooner emerged into the fresh air than he suddenly collapsod, falling into the midst of a knot of young roughs, not one of whom moved to his assistance.

" Oh, pray," cried Chrisaie, shuddering at the jeering laughter, the horrible language, " pray some of you help my father to a cabhe is ill."

The tones of that entreating voice caught the ear of a passer-by ; he had surely heard it once before that day. He pushed through the brutal throng, and then, as he comprehended the scene, dashed them right and left, with words of hot rebuke. A couple of policemen coming up, aided in their dispersal. Chrissie saw the approach of those policemen with terror ; but they had pity on her, and helped her father into a cab without demur. Chrissie followed, and it drove off. When it drew up at her little cottage, she was surprised at being helped out by the young fellow who had so opportunely come to her rescue.

" I thought my assistance might be required to carry your father in," he explained. They laid Mr Craven on his bed ; the cabman was paid and dismissed ; then Chrissie turned to her friendly helper.

" Thank you very much," she said, with gentle dignity ; " you have done me a very great service."

" I'm sure I am glad to have been of any use," returned the young fellow rather awkwardly. " But are you all alone ? Had I not better send a doctor when I go back ? " " No— oh no !it is only That is, papa will be all right in the morning. I always manage best alone."

What a story that last sentence unconsciously disclosed ! The heart of her hearer swelled with indignant pity. But he made no comment — only bade her a kindly good-night, half hesitatingly extending his hand, which Chrissie took frankly.