Chapter V. And the Last.

Otago Witness, Issue 1832, 31 December 1886, Page 4

Chapter V. And the Last.

Twelve months bad passed away—slow months for the old ship's carpenter and Mar-, tba in the little cottage on the cliff— months of weary watching and waiting. Martharaldom left the old man cow, and the house with the bay windows was in a dira state ot dust and neglect, for Laurence,after returning from his fruitless search for Pearl, seldom stayed is Timaru more than a day or two at a time, but came and wont restlessly, no one knew ot asked where.

He had returned unexpectedly from one of these reatlesa journeys to-night, and when the old man heard his step he had looked up eagerly, aa he always did, and Martha smilingly, but when Laurence, with weary, patient smile greeted them as usual, they asked no questions, for they were weary of asking : ' Any news ?' And getting for reply : ' No, none.' It was evening again now, and Martha stood trimming the lamp. Laurence bad wandered down to the wharf, A steamer would call in a few hours. Martha stood trimming the lamp, and Ned, looking years and years older than when Pearl last saw him, leaned baok feebly in his chair watching her. ' Three hundred and sixty-five times t lasa !' ho said at last, with a sigh. ' Have you trimmed that lamp and set it in the window, that if bo be my little lass comes home it will shine » welcome for her, and light up the cliff path. Three hundred and sixty-five risings in the mornin' and Baying, "She may coma afera *uight," and three hundred and sixty-five evenings 0! hope deferred* I shan't last through

another three hundred, nor the half on it. Tint man baa played my little lamb false or Bbe'd a been here afore now. - If I could gpt at the villain,' he added, with a tierce light in his eyes, ' I'd grow strong enough to kill him! Pearl, my Pearl! give to me fust from the deep, why don't you come from 16 the S9cond tima to your old granddad ? So she was. Whoa the last tram from Ohristcburch drew tip to tho platform she stepped from a second-clas3 carriage, and Lav rence, always looking for her, passed her by, bo changed was this shrinking, dropping, thin, pale figure from that he knew of old, and carried in hia memory night and day. Hurrying from the station and the town, Pearl almost ran along the quiet beach ringing her bands and crying : 'O j, home 1 Oh, home 1 I se9 your bright light ia the window 1 He is not dead thenhe lives to take me in. 1 . On she stumbled over the stones, and reached at last tho z'gzag path and clambered up the step?, then crapt up softly and looked ia. There were her fl >wers upon the window sill, there was the old clook upon the mantle shelf, • there Btood her piano in the corner, and there in his rous?hly-made, aimohair »at Ned, with piachsd face and whitened hair; and Martha sitting opposite, not smiling as of old, but looking sadly into the firo. All at once Pearl's courage fated her. How to go iv and tell them all 1 They thought her ■ttnad. they thought her false and ungrateful, Waey thought her anything but this. She wspt and throw them ki33ea fron: the darkness. 'Oh, good grey head ; oh, dAar grey head. Oh, Martha, kind and Irue. Blessings apon you both. I am not worthy to coma in and sit beaida you,' and she turned away moaning and sobbing ia the darkness, laying her cheek upon the door, inside of which was all the needed love, pity, oonsolation, light, w&rmtb, food, and rest, outaide of which waa contempt, coldness, dark ness, and death. • Death !' she said despairingly, for she could not go away again and face that cvual world. Not a hand held out to her thare but would geek to drag her into the mud. Her youth waa against her, her beauty w&3 against her —everything— God and man !— or so it Beamed. She was ill and broken or she would not have said bo. She had lost her courage or she would not have sought to die. She was mad, or well nigh, and noaded a friend — 3orely needed a loving frieni. The night was dark and the tide was coming in— tho waves break ing upon the bsach with a dull thunder, creep. up higher and higher. ' I will He' bore,' sha said, 'at tha foot of those Btapa, up and down which my foot so often trippsd iv happier days— here by the side of the old boat whtrj grandfather used to stand and work, and sing ' Lashed to a raft in the wake of our craft thoro floated a little child.' I will lie down hare, and the old, old wave 3 will creep up higher and higher, over the sand, over the etmes, ovor th-3 lowest step, and float the boad, and when tho boat floats it will be all over, and in tha morning they will find me and say sho was corning home but she missed her way ' And she lay down hor arms embracing the lowe3t step. Nearer and nearer crept the hungry waves. The Bands were covered, the rock 3 were covered, little wavelets were lapping round the boat. Every now and again there was a splash against the step, and Laurence, turning from the wharf with a Bigb, stood irro3o'sute for a moment, then Baid to himself, • The tida is coming in, but I will go home by the beach.' And so he found her, after searching so long, bo patiently. So loag thoso moments, and hours, and daya, and months had been that the white threads were many n^w among his hair, and the sweet, rare smile never seen. So patiently that hia wistful, deep grey eye* wero in expression liko the eyes of a loving, f atthfui dog. So he oame upon her in the darknes3 and stooped to lift her, cold and dripping, and claßped her in his armg and oarried her in and laid her down bafore the glowiog firo at the fact of the old man.

4 Grandfather, I am going to paint pictures ia the' 1 fire.'

* Ay, ay, my lass !' ' First I Bee a picture of two yoar3 ago when a young girl, with a light and grateful heart, left the dear old ship's carpenter in the cottage on the cliff and went away to earn, as it was right, the bread for both— loft him in caro of Martha and Martha's brother .' 'And I see,' said tha old man, leaving over Pearl's shoulder, 'I sco them never forgetful of him — always mindful of his comforts — and mindful of the little lass that is away.'

•So good they were,' coutinued Poarl ; ' I see the girl working so glaily, workings so hopefully, till a bad man ee?ks her love, and aafcs her for. her old grandfather's sake to be bis wife. Hoping to benefit that dear old man * she consents to go away. She was innocent of evil, ignorant of the wor d, and so Bhe goes, trusting as she would have trusted to the dear ones at home. When she arrives at Melbourne ■ her lover meets her and next day they are" _ married——.' ' * Married ?' exclaims the old man. -- 'Yes, married, or so ehe thought. How else '- could she be Bitting where she sits, how else i find comfort in the love of her gocd friends ? 1 She was married— and oh, that day 1 how much •;»be thought of them at home that day. Her r husband nad promised to bring her home in 1 ■ three months, and those three months seemed ; ', long, even though her husband was kind to \ her— kind, loving, and indulgent, gratifying 1 every wMso, taking her out and about — doing \ ittiuiiiirpower to please her .' v ■,' The 'door had opened a few minutes since, : ' and Laurence and Martha Btood in the room, bqt 'Pearl had motioned them to stay, and Martha was kneeling now beside the girl, and [. Laurence was leaning over Ned's chair, all four * gazing into the fire. i£ 'But, 1 went on the sweet sad, voica, 'he ! 'Could not please her, for he never spoke of [going home. She yearned for that dear old iinan and those old friends to whom she owed ithe beßt her life contained, and in her luxurious jioom she often Bang—

• And I dreamt that one of that noble host Came forth my hand to claim ; But I also dreamt which pleased me moat .That you loved me still the same.'

r I see a picture of a lovely room, and a young wife, or ao she thought-, seated in it one [evening, Binging that song to the handsome dark man by her side. When the song ia done the wife says ; ' 'Henry, take me homo, I keep you to your promise. I must go home, or write and clear up this mystery, it will break the old man's heart.'

' Pearl, my darling,' he answered, clasping ier in his arms, 'has the past three months iaught you so little love for me that you could leave me?' 'Leave you?' she asked astonished, 'Dearest,' he answered, 'you are Dot my

wife. I was married when but twenty-one to a woman in England. I left her ; she was a fiend : I met you, and I loved you, and I knew enough of you to know unless I hid the truth from you you would never be mine. I dare not take you homo, you are not my lawful wife, I am rich Pearl, very rich, We will write to the old man and send him more monoy than he can ever uso, and tell him unavoidable circumstances compel us to travel, and wa will levee the colonies my love, and I will take you wherever you like to go, and show you all you ever longed to se9 ; for your life is linked with mine my darling and we can never say good bye. Try to forgive me. I must have you, and I saw no other way.' A dead silenoe held the listeners, their eyes were fixed now upon the pale sad face of the girl, who grazed, with clasped hands, ever into the fire. Preaeutly the voice went on :

' The sceno is changed. It; h night, and tha girl oreeps out of her gilded cage wearing the dress she entered its doors in, and wrapped in the shawl which her mother wrapped her in before lashing her to the mast. She runs anywhere in her despair and misery, if only she oan get away and hide from the man who ha 3 robbßd her of her good name. She never gives ona thought to his great wealth. She never giv^s one thought for iovo like his. The picture of future ease and change — tho wonders of unknown landa never for one Ustant stay those flying feet— farther she goes, and farther till she is safe, and then she tries to work ; she is too truthful for the doubting world and when she tells her story she ia despised— laughed at, scoffed at, or at best a miserable, grudging cold charity is thrown out to her. She struggles on ; oao thought ever uppermost, to earn enough money to get homo But it i 3 to hard to eara money, Sho ia ill more than onoe, hungry more than once, for it is not enough that she tries honestly to earn her bread. These oold ladies want a history of her past before they can admit her into their home to teach their little ones. At last, driven to desperation almost, she went into a bar.' ' She did'nt ?' cried her listeners in a braath.

'She did.' What was she to do? Whore else was she to go — she was good enough for that; she never meant to stay— only long enough to earn money to go home.' ' She should have written,' said Lauranca softly. She should not have forgotten the last song her old friend sang for at home : "When coldness or deceit shall slight The beauty now the prize, And deem it but a faded light Whi h beams within your eyes. When hollow In arts shall wear a mask Twill break your h art to see, In such a moment I but ask That you'll remembfir me."

1 And me too,' broke in Martha, kissing and hugging her.' Lord ! As if— had there been no money anywhere elae — as if I could'nt have sold those furs I bought at Greenland's icy mountains, and could'nt wear at India's coral strand !'

' Ddar Martha,' said Pearl, softly stroking her hand and smiling faintly, ' you once warned that girl in the picture down there not to idealize li f e, Thorq is no idealizing the bar. She tried to— to bring softening womanly influences there, but it was always the bar. Those poor girla who are driven there from sheer necessity are to be pitied, Those who leave it pure, and sweet, and womanly are to be honouifad.'

1 If I'd a known my little lass was driv to auch an extremity ! ' exclaimed Ned, with more energy than he bad displayed for long,' 'I'd a sold myself for cash down to bring her homo.'

' Ono day,' continued Pearl, still gazing into the fire, ' the girl we speak of stood at the window looking into the sfcreet watching tho crowd hntrying by, when sho fanced she saw her kind teachir, Laurence, pace, looking, oh, po worn and ill. Out iuto the street shn ran aud called wildly, ' Laurence, Laurence ! ' but tho orowd had hid him, or it was a draam— a vision — it was not he.'

'It was ho ! ' replied Laurance, ' searching restlessly and nover finding, night and day, from town to town, till hopo was well nij;h dead.'

'She got homo at length that girl,' went on Pearl, after a loag Bileaca, ' aud when she reached there becanio mad, or ill, ov frightened, which was it? Perhaps all three. I cannot read the meaning of that picture plaiuly it is in the smoke.'

'Let it pass,' murmured L^urenca. ' Yes, let it pass ! it ia dim and uncertain, but the last picture that I see is bright and beautiful. Look friends, there, in the deep warm glow. It will never fade, never fall into ashes and dust. It is the picture of the old ship's carpenter, the kind Laurence, thd faith ful friend and teacher ; and Martha, so good, bo true, killing fie fatted calf for that wanderer returned, putting the best rob 3 upon her, loving, cheering, comforting, and oh ! the beauty of auch love — the glory of it, with a faith so strong that it nover questioned but accepted all on trust. Teacher,' she added, turning to look into Laurence's beautiful eyes bent down upon her, ' we read together once in the sweet, sad gtory of the loving, but doubting "' Psyche " • The high godf Such love will Faith,'

' There U no love except with Faith, I thank you all. I am proud of such love, embracing as it does such deep charity, such tender pity, Bucb high faith. O, pardon me that I ever wounded it— it does not come to all to be so blessed. The pictures are ended,' she added abruptly, * let the past die and to-mor-row be as to-day ! ' 'Not as to-day,' said Laurence, 'let me speak. Let me too draw pictures in the fire. Look at them, Pearl, with kindly eyes, place your little hand in mine while I kneel here and paint them. In all the pictures of the past I see a lonely man, unloved except by one faithful heart—'

'My dear Laurence,' wept Martha quietly. ' I see every dream of bis youth broken and disappointed, until, more and more, cast upon himself, he beoomes a dreamer ' * Really and truly ho does, with his eyes wide open 1' interrupted Martha, nodding over to Ned through her tears. 1 And seeks in books, and art, and musio that companionship which be craveß for heart and mind, and which he finds not though seeking it in many lands-; — ' 'Oh you never did ! ' broke in Martha excitedly, 'I really do assure you, you never did 1 Such a whirling about ; to say nothing of my matrimonial chances, and leaving at least a dozin different bonnets hanging behind a dozen different doors. Such a loas you know, and milliners' bills aro-well, bub there you never did ! '

' After forty years of ooul poverty he comes across a gem— the old man's pearl from the deep. Trying to awaken the soul of his little Undine, his own wakes up from the dmam of years. He loves her : loves her for what she is, and for what he sees she will be when heart and mind come to perfec growth : loves her as only a man can love, when he haa long thirsted for the love ol a sweet, true woman, Ob, dar-

ling I may I in those eyes read our picture for the future? May I read that you will not break a man's strong heart ? lam no fickle boy craving for a toy. lam a solitary hungryhearted man, turning away from a tried world with the full, deep knowledge that it holds nothiag so precious aa a tender, loyal hoarfced womau.'

'Hurrah!' broke in tha old man excitedly, jumping up, aad with a hand on the shoulder of each, looked over tba heads of Laurence and Pearl into the firo.

'If thi3 oan't tho blosaedeat fire to draw pictors in, I'm dashed, ho here goes. I pee, Lord bles3 her, that little lass a-sayingYes, to which, amen ! and I see what naithor she nor him a3 loves her seed : that is. r that sho's bin a-lovin' him all along. Wusn't it for him she struv ts lam all them amaz3u grand things fust, cause it was born in her to like 'em ; and second, beoause ho liked 'em ! Sartin. Well, then I see a happy home for 'em, A strong, laatin'love and "companionship for 'em, built on mutual faith in one anothor— respect of one anothor. I see the old man's chair sot in their ohimbley corner, and this oli cot fallin' to ruin, and hat of all, and not far off, I Bee the old man's peaceful grave within sound, of tho sea.'

' Really and truly ! ' exclaimed {Martha, jumping to^he o'.d man's aide, 'I nover was a poetic boul— given to poetry and picturs painting, but this occasion positively must not end with the picture of our venerable Mend's funeral — 30 I see down there a picture of a wedding. Oh, I nerot did see a swaeter bride, or a happier, heartier old man giving her away, or a more comical looking bridesmaid, and she— tha pretty bride— has to b3 married with the ohurch door key after all, for the bridegroom haa coins away without the ring, and walked all the way to church without hii hat, It ia a feature iv the picture that he does not mistake the day — a very 'marked feature, I do assure you, as upon no other festive occasion is it on record that he came till the performance was over. And, doar me, I can SBe a bran new house — aid houses really are not clean — in a very old garden — Laurence habps new gardens— somewhere in Ohristchurch, or Dunedin, or Auckland, or hero, it really does matter where — furnished most elegantly, one little room aa much liko this as possible, with a large roughly made arm-chair in it, eneoonsod in which is a venerable gentleman — yes, ten years hence — singing :

' And lashed to a raft in the wake of our craft

There floated a little child.'

Servants are kapt in this establishment, because the nweefc young mistress ia the soul — Ido assure you— of neatness and order. I see the study, its pictures, its books, its musical instruments. I see its occupants — a middleaged man and his tender wife — happy in that room, Oh many, many, many hours reading together, singing together, and talking together ; whilo their proud, loving sister, who positively haa not got a poetic soul, keeps the venerable old man company in his.' ' Why, mum ! ' said old Ned, regarding her with astonishment, ' if this is your first go at picter paintin', then I say your a daboter at it, and my advice to you is make a profession on it. Ido not understand you yet, your too much for me ! '

THE END.