THIS GOOD ANGEL.

Otago Witness, Issue 1653, 28 July 1883, Page 25

THIS GOOD ANGEL.

{Written for the Otago Witneti.J

Br E. HUDSON. A STORY, IN EIGHT CHAPTERS. Chapter V. Patience ! accomplish thy labour, accomplish thy work of affection : r * Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is God-like. I entreat thee, I implore, Listen no more To the suggestions of an evil spirit. §HRISSIE did not obtain much rest that night. With a prudence and forethought beyond her years she was arranging their future movements. Fortunately she had money in hand— not all that was owing to her, but enough to take them to Christchurch, whither she bad resolved to go. raraticm* t i e .. mm ° ved about, making preStoh« i F ®* ht * for tbe ™ was no

through the form of consulting him on their removal— as much for her own sake as out of consideration for his feelings, for she tried earnestly to think of " papa" as she used to think, and clung to the fiction of his great mental superiority " when he was himself." But Mr Craven was more than usually stupid after the excitement and strain of the previous night. The theatrical manager, whi> had come early, hoping to v make arrangements for his " second appearance," had seen plainly that the attempt would be like trying to strike fire from a once-used match. And the thoughts, the purpose that had animated Mr Craven the day before, were gone from his mind as though they had never been.

He agreed to all his daughter's plans with the docility of a child, but was quite incapable of giving advice. Happily for them both, Chrissie could manage without it. She was in the midst of her preparations when a shadow darkened the open door, and, looking up, she saw her last night's friend.

" Good afternoon," he said, hesitatingly. " I hope you will pardon this intrusion, but I thought— that is, I came to inquire " " I am quite well, thank you," said Chri&Bie, kindly, to lelieve his evident embarrassment ; " and tny father is better," she added, colouring. " Papa, dear, this is the gentleman who was feo kind t > us last night."

Mr Graven, though he had not the Blightest idea to what she referred, rose from the sofa oil which he was reclining, and bade their visitor welcome with something of the old gentlemanly manner that still clung to him in spite of his degradation. " Chrissie, my love, a chair for Mr " " Holt. My name is Graham Holt." " We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Holt. You will excuse our present disorder ; we are on the eve of removal."

" Yes," said their visitor, with seme eagerness, "I knew — that is, I had reason to believe you were; and that is what brings me here."

" Yes," said Chrissie, seeing he appeared at a loss how to proceed. " Well, the fact is I found out I mean," catching himself up, " I understand you are a teacher?"

" I teach music and singing," said Chrissie, wondering. " Just so ; and English, too ° " " I could ; also French and German."

" The very thing ! " said Mr Holt, eagerly. " I came to town on purpose to look up a governess. My aunt, who keeps house for me, wants one for her girls. There are three — nice little things — eldest thirteen — salary £40. What do you say? You would not need to live in the house. There is a little cottage near ; my overseer used to occupy it. You and your father would find it very comfortable. I hope you will agree," went on Mr Holt ; " you would really be doing me a favour. I am needed at home, yet cannot return without a governess, and none of those I have seen are willing to be ' buried alive ' at The Holt Farm. It is fifteen miles from any settlement."

Chrissie's resolve was soon taken. The plan seemed every way desirable. At Christchurch she would have to gather together a new set of pupils — slow, uncertain work ; while there — as here— her father would never be able to stir out without being met on every side by the temptation to which he was so prone. The prospect of being fifteen miles from a hotel would alone have decided Chrissie. As to the duties, she was, and felt herself to be, perfectly competent to discharge them. " What do you think of this proposal, papa ? " she asked, turning to him. "Eh?" said Mr Craven, vacantly. "Do as you like, my dear. Please yourself, and you will please me." " Then we accept your offer gratefully, Mr Holt."

" Thank you —thank you ! The gratitude is all on my side. You don't know how this commission has weighed on my mind. And now, when can you be roady to start ? " " To-morrow morning," " Good !" said he, with increasing admiration of Miss Craven at this instance of busi-nesß-like promptitude. The necessary preliminaries settled, Graham took his departure well contented, as he deserved to be.

This was an act of pure benevolence on hia part.^ Hia aunt really did require a governess ; but it was pity for Chrissie, and a desire to afford her father a chance to reform, that had induced him to engage her. The memory of that noble-looking old man grovelling in the mire, while his daughter stood over him, like a guardian angel, keeping back the embruted throne, haunted Graham Holt ; but it was not till he accidentally heard Miss Craven alluded to as a governess that fa practicable way of helping them both presented itself, and he was delighted with his success. All the more so when, at the end of the first week, his 'aunt told him that, had he searched the Colonies through, he could not have found a more suitable person.

Mrs Holt was a considerate mistress, and the little girls were quick and docile. Chrissie, relieved from the constant anxiety which her father's residence in the midst of temptation had caused, and ready to hope all things of him, began orice more to know happiness. Mr Craven fell into a lingering illness soon after his arrival at the Holt Farm, but it was nothing dangerous, and Chrissie contrived to attend to him without neglecting her new duties. The delight of having her father in his right mind was ample compensation for all her exertions.

So a few months slipped quickly and happily by. But Mr Craven recovered, and with returning strength came the desire for stimulants — increased, as it seemed, tenfold by this temporary abstinence from them. And the craving could not be satisfied. The Holt Farm establishment was not conducted on total abstinence principles, but Graham kept the cellar keys ; and whenever Mr Craven would have borrowed a horse to reach the settlement, an excuse was always ready. So the months went by, and Christmas came round once more. Then the bachelors of the district were busy, for on New Year's Eve they proposed to give an entertainment in the Bcnoolhouse at the settlement. It was to take the form of a substantial tea first, for the benefit of those coming from a distance, and dancing was to follow. Mrs Holt and her eldest daughter were going, and Graham took care that Miss Craven should also receive an invitation. He did not know, until afterwards, the sorrowful anniversary this was to her.

Truly Chriseie had little heart for gaiety. Her father was again causing her great anxiety. The recurrence of this season roused the scorpion of memory within him ; he fell into one of his fits of terrible gloom, out of which not even Chrissie's well-simulated cheerfulness and loving care could charm him. It being holiday time, she could devote herself entirely to him ; but on New Year's Eve her services were required to help Mrs Holt and her daughter prepare for their evening's amusement. She was detained two or three hours, but felt no particular anxiety, as she had left her father writing a letter. , But on her return the little cottage, wag empty, aod

on searching for him she learned, to her dismay, that ho had saddled one of the horFes without leave asked or obtained, and ridden off in the direction of the settlement. Mr Holt was already gone, and Cluissie knew not what to do. She kept hoping against hope that her father would return, but the hours passed, and he did not come. Suddenly, with a shiver of dread, Chrissie recollected the river. There was a bridge, but the ford was nearer. Easy and safe enough to a sober horseman, never a year passed without at least one intoxicated rider finding his grave there. At that thought there was no sitting still.

Chrissie started at once for the ford. It was three miles off, but the track was easy, and a full moon, riding high in the cloudless heavens, flooded the country with a clear mellow light. The child's heart beat as she set off on her long, lonely, midnight walk. The night was still, but not silent. Grasshoppers chirruped at her feet, while the bleat of a lamb, the hoot of moreporks, or the bark of the Bheep dogs, broke from time to time the dreamy hush.

Gradually Chrissie's' nervousness were off — gave place to the bitter, bitter disappointment that filled her heart. She had hoped and prayed so earnestly that her father might not go back to his old life, and now— now he had gone ; now all his past struggles were rendered useless, and the battle would have to be fought all over again. Would it ever be won? the poor child asked herself in despair. As if in answer, these words recurred to her memory — "Be strong, and of a good couiage." " Trust in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desire of thine heart." Yes, she was not alone — she was not unaided. Her troubled heart grew still and calm. And some words her mother had once spoken comforted her now, as they had often done before — " Think how we love your father, and then consider that our love is ■>} nothing to the great love and compassion of his Heavenly Father. Oh, he must be saved ! "

" Yes," repeated Chrissie to herself, " ha must, he will be saved ! " And with that thought she took courage. When Chrissie reached the river, she found, to her vexation, that she had struck it some distance below the bridge, haying missed the track in the deceptive moonlight; and when the bridge was at length reached and crossed, she had still to go some distance up the stream to the ford. Afraid of being too late, Bhe walked on quickly, and was trembling with excitement and fatigue when she arrived at her destination. There was no sign of any travellers, and she sat down on a stone to rest. It was a warm, dewless night — a lovely night. Troubled as she was, Chrissie admired and waa soothed by the beauty of it. She sat there, or walked slowly up and down, for what seemed to her a very long time. Suddenly the tramp of horses' feet, the strains of a tipsy song, broke the silence of the summer night, and in the moonlight Chrissie could plainly discern several horsemen advancing to the ford. She would willingly have concealed herself, but there were no trees near, only some flax bushes, and Christie feared to crouch in them lest she should be overridden b.y some of the reckless group, all of whom wer3 riding as if for dear life.

Chrissie walked quickly down the river bank, hoping thus to escape their observation, but the bright moonlight rendered that hope vain. To her great alarm she was soon surrounded, while rough jokes and compliments were showered upon her. They were all young men, and all more or less " exhilarated " — returning from the soiree, in fact, where they had been dancing and taking refreshments since eight o'clock the previous evening. Chrissie shrank back in terror ; then, suddenly recognising one of her tormentors, she ciied aharply : " Mr Holt ! " Graham was off his horse and at her side instantly. " Miss Craven ! I—lI — I did not know you. What on earth brings you here ? " " I am waiting for my father. The ford is dangerous."

Graham comprehended. The shock of meeting Chrissie thus had half-sobered him. " Your father? I— l— let me see," passing his hand across bis brow. " Oh, a fellow told me he met him on ihe road to town. He won't be home in a hurry. Don't think of waiting here, Miss Craven. Can you ride on this saddle ? The horse is used to a lady." " No," said Chrissie, drawing back, " I will walk, thank you." "Then come along." And Graham drew his horse's bridle over his arm. But Chrissie stood still. " No, Mr Holt ; you must ride on with your friends. I prefer to be alone." Something in the tone of Chrissie's quiet voice, in the glance of her clear eyes, abashed Graham Holt even in his then state. ' He mounted and rode off without another word.

His companions, who had been curiously watching the two from a little distance, began to "chaff" him most unmercifully as they rode along. He bore it in silence for a while, and then said, sharply enough : " Look here, you fellows, stop this humbug ! That is my cousins' governess. She is waiting to guide her drunken father down to the bridge."

Which explanation silenced even the worst of them.

And Chrissie ? For a little while her father was almost forgotten in this new grief. Mechanically she turned homewards. The moon was growing large and dim, its shadows less distinct, and upon the horizon a few rosy clouds appeared. It was morning, but Chrissie heeded not the fresh sweet wonder of the dawn. Tears were blinding her. She liked Mr Holt so much — he had been so very, very kind to her ; and to see those frank eyes clouded, to hear the thick, stupid utterance of that pleasant voice ! Chrissie was grieved to the very heart. The sun was high before she reached home. Utterly weary and worn out, she crept to her bed, and slept long and heavily. Mrs Holt, who had stayed all night at the settlement, returned home the following after noon, accompanied by her host's daughter, a Miss Farmer— the lady whom common rumour assigned as the future mistress of the Holt Farm, she being the belle and heiress of the district, as Graham was the most eligible bachelor.

" Glad to see you safe and sound, Mr Holt," she said laughingly, as that gentleman came forward to assist her to dismount. " There was more wit than discretion amongst your party last night. I think wo must have brewed the tea too strong, or had we too many waltzes in the programme?" Now all morning Graham had been haunted by the grieved, reproachful look in Chrissie's eyes ; and this light speech jarred upon him. even though it proceeded from the pretty lips of Angelina Fanner. An hour or two later, as he was lounging in the garden, and casting impatient glrincim towaids the cottage, wondering when Miss Craven meant to make her appearance, he saw her appioaching, aiu| j,h she drew near it was evident Bhe was in great trouble. She hud, in fact, just discovered under her pillow a note— the very letter she had the day before 6b ooßUßpioioußlydeft her, father writing.

The idea of releasing Christie from her hard duty as his supporter and guardian had returned to Mr Craven's mind svith great force, and, after brooding over it for some time, he had now carried it into effect.

11 1 am lost, my child," he wrote, " but I will not drag you down any further with me. You may well doubt it, but I love you still, Chrissie ; and I tun showing it now by ridding you of my presence — the constant source of shame and sorrow. It is the only fatherly duty I have left myself able to perform. You have a safe, happy, comfortable home with Mrs Holt. Stay with her — she will be a friend to you ; and forget your unhappy father ! " Forget ! as if that were possible. " I must go into town by the coach to morrow morning," said Chrissie. " And, Mr Holt" — she hesitated, colouring painfully — " papa took — borrowed one of your horses, but he says you will find it at Smith's liverystables."

"He was welcome to borrow it. I hope you will not let that matter trouble you for an inBtant, said Graham, earnestly. But it did.

What will you do when you reach town ? " he asked. ' ' Where will you put up ? " I will go to Mrs Brown's ; she was our nearest neighbour on the beach, and very kind to us."

™" It^ 111 ask my aunt to S° iQ witb y° u »" said Mr Holt.

"Oh no ! I could not think of troubling her, exclaimed Chrissie, drawing back sensitively.

But Graham had no such scruples, and got his own way. Next morning, not only Mrs Holt but he himself accompanied Chrissie to town, on the pretext of riding his horse back. He found Juno at the stables, but his claim to her was disputed. The keeper of the stables declared he had bought the horse that very morning from a gentleman who was going on a sea voyage, and wanted to be rid of her. The man had evidently acted in good faith, and though very much disappointed at the loss of his bargain, consented to take his money back.

Mr Holt was greatly annoyed at this instance of flagrant ingratitude in one whom he had so befriended ; but a glance at Cbrissie's face checked his anger. They walked down the Btreet in silence. At last she found voice to say :

" Papa never did such a thing before. Oh, Mr Holt, have pity ! Do not prosecute him ! I will pay you back — every permy — only give me time ! "

"My dear Miss Craven," said Graham warmly, "do not be afraid. I would willingly have lent your father the sum, had he asked me ; and it is not much, after all— not half the value of the animal."

But it was not the amount — though that seemed large enough to her — it was the act that broke Chrissie's heart. Her father a horse-stealer !

" I cannot think he meant to do it," she said ; "it must have been a sudden temptation." l

Graham Holt thought Mr Craven had " meant to do it," but he did not contradict Chrissie. She, however, saw only too plainly how hardly he was judging her father.

" Well," he said, " I suppose we may return to the Farm to-morrow, if my aunt has recovered from her shopping fit." " I cannot," said Chrissie. " I must ask Mrs Holt to find a substitute for me, while she is in town." ■> " Not return ! " said Graham, wheeling round-upon her in amazement. " I must not bury myself up there," explained Chrissie. "If papa comes back, he never would go near the Holjt Farm after what has happened. I must remain in town, that I may be in the way of hearing either of or 'from him." *

" And how will you live ? " "As I did before : by giving musio and singing lessons. Mrs Brown will give me comfortable lodgings. Oh, I shall do very well, never fear— if only I had poor papa back ! "

" Do you mean to sacrifice your whole life to that heartless wretch?" said Graham impetuously. " There— you need not look so fierce 1 I won't abuse him— if I can help it. But it maddens me to think of the life you have lod, and to hear you wishing to renew it. You have done all, and more than all, that duty requires of you. You must come home, Chrissie — home to the Holt Farm, and to me — for, dear, I love you ; I want you to be my wife."

This was quite a sudden inspiration on Graham Holt s part. It was only at the prospect of losing Chrissie that he discoveredfhow dear she had become to him. She was riot at all his ideal, though he no longer thought her plain. No one who knew Chriasie welll ever thought that. Graham had been in no n urry to relinquish his bachelor liberty, but ha had always looked forward to "settling down "at some future time, and had taken it for granted that Angelina Farmer would be the wife be would choose, chiefly because that young! lady possessed what Mr Holt was pleased to' consider an indispensable quality in a wife — beauty. And here he was, proposing to this insignificant little thing, whose head did not reach to his shoulder— and feeling, too, that his happiness hung on her answer. He had admired Chrissie's character from their very first meeting, and sincerely pitied her fate. It was a pleasure to reflect how much he had been able to lighten her burden, and he liked to have her at the Holt Farm— liked the daily meeting and occasional talks with the quiet, well-intormed, self-possessed little lady. But it was only when she spoke of leaving — of going back (if she could) to the wretched life with her drunken father from which he had once rescued her — that Graham Holt awoke to the knowledge that she had become indispensable to his happiness. Chrissie was as much pained as surprised. "I am very sorry," she faltered. " I never thought of this ; I have always had poor papa to think of. And indeed, Mr Holt, I am very sorry, but it cannot be, for I must think only of him still."

" Do not let that interfere," said Graham eagerly, " Let us be married at once ; then we will seek the country through for your father, and when he is found we will bring him home, and I will engage to keep him straight for the future."

For her father's sake Chrissfe hesitated one moment. She felt herself so helpless, and had such unbounded faith in the ability of Graham Holt to accomplish whatever he undertook. But only for a moment. " No," she said, firmly ; "it would be inexcusable of me to accept your offer. You are acting now on a generous impulse, of which, if I were to take advantage ot it, you would very soon repent." In vain Giaham denied that, and urged his suit with momentarily increasing eagerness Chrissie was not to be moved. " Even if I cared for you in that way, Mr Holt," she said at last, looking up at him with her grave, cbild-like eyes, " and if I were quite free, it could not be as you wish. I never will marry anyone who --who is add,ictod to«— — "

In her desire to spare his feelings she hesitated.

" I know what you mean," said Graham, quite humbly. " I have wanted to apologise — you don't know how ashamed I am. It shall never happen again." Chrissie shook her head. She knew — too well — what such promises were worth. " You never can be sure," Bhe said hope- - lessly, " so long as the habit is continued." " Then it shall be given up. . I, will never touch another drop of intoxicating drink." " Promise— promise me that 1" cried' Chrissie eagerly. "9 n m y word and honour," said Graham, half-laughing to hide his earnestness. And they shook hands on it. Even Chrissie hardly knew the good she had done. Some such pledge was fast becoming necessary, if Mr Holt was not to glide into habits of confirmed intemperance,

(To be continued. )