GIVEN BACK. SHORT STORY.

Otago Witness, Issue 2456, 10 April 1901, Page 58

GIVEN BACK.

SHORT STORY.

The evening coach was descending the long, winding road which led to the village of Rustan Sands. The passengers saw a,vouous sea, calm and still, save for the sou, loamy ripples which broke en the brown shore. Beyond the stretch of level, rush-growing land at the foot ot the hill stood the line of white-washed thatched cottages and the one hotel which foimed the village. The hotel was sheltered by a green foreland, and high upon its summit," almost on the edge of the cliff, stood a small white cottage,, surrounded by a sloping garden. The eyes of a passenger who occupied a seat behind the driver were fixed upon this cotrage as the coach approached the village. She had spoken scarcaly a word during the eight-mile drive, ar.d the coiichman had secretly resented her silence. Now she addressed him in a low, sweet vo'cc which had a sad iatonation. "Jt looks a, peaceful place. Are there lodgings to be had m any of those cottages? I do not wish to stay at the hotel."' "Why, yes, madam."' said the coachman, "there are rooms to let in most of those houses that face the and as it is et.rly in the season, you should have no difficulty in uett'ng suited " He looked curiously at her as he spoke, wondering that one so young and delicate in appearance should come alone to lodge at Ruston. Though her lemeanour was

very grave, she could h.irlly b e moie thin thiee-aud-tv enty. Ihe style of hd black chess v.as- neat even t, > seventy Ho- Miiall, close-fitting hat <-et off well her small, uvular features and pale, clear complexion ; but the beauty of her faeo lay in ha Lu^e duik eye' — .yes at once j-oft and brilliant and profoundly sad in their expie-sion. She was a small, slight Monun, yet with a subtle dignity and an air of aloofness ; which made it impossible for the coachman I to jcldicss her otherwise than as madam. ' I "The situation of that cottage on the ehif pleases me best." she said, glancing j again at it. "I should like to stay there jitit is possible." "I am afiaid you* cannot | get rooms there, madam. That is the huii&e I of the doctoi — Dr Rowland."' | "Really!'' said the lady. 'The place 19 so small I should hardly have expected to ii'id a. medical mm resident heie "' "There was none here till about two yeai-, ago," leplied the coachman. "People , had to send for Dr Ycungman, of Daitbridge, when they wanted phy-iemg. They didn't half like when Dr Rowland cam© here a perfect stranger, took that hou«e, and put his name on the door. No one took to him at first, fcr he was a strange, rPflanchoV-lookmg man, and seemed like a foreigner; but he was a good friend to tb.2 poor fisher folk when the winter came. 1 -And its little wonder lie looks melancholy 1 if it's tiue what they say, that he saw his , wife di owned before 'his eyes, and could do j nothing to save her." " Ah ! poor mm," said the stranger, and I a shudder ran through her slight frame. [ I here was a deeper sadness in her eyes I as they icsted on the cliff house. I '' If such a thing Ind happened to me." said the coachman, "it seems to me I should never ha\e wanted to -look on the sea again. But Dr Rowland's different, he .says he can't be happy away 110 m the sea, and on wild, angry nights, when most people aie glad to be indoors, lie wanders about on the beach. If there should be a vessel driven ashore, as occasionally happens in this bay when the storm's from the south-east, there's not a man in the place more keen to risk his life or more clever at saving the wrecked.'' He had not time to say more ere he drew up his horses at the door of the hotel. But when the lady had alighted and w : as paying her fare he gave her a word of advice: "There's a little house at the end of the street, near the Coastguard Station — 'Seabreeze Cottage,' v's ca^ed — v, here M^ Tabb has two rooms to let She's a Widow, and no longer young, but I can ans-v. er for hti house being clean, and she knows how to cook. You might do w T orse than look at th?m." The young lady thanked him. md turned in the direction indicated. The w idow's simple little home pleased her fancy, and she quickly engaged the two small rooms. Sh« was struck by the ■wid. patient look on Mr- Tabb's wain and ckep'i'-hned face "Do you live here alone?'' she asked. "Yes, if I have no ledgers, I bide alone," was the quiet reply. "The sea has taken all belonging to me — first my father, then my two brothers, then my husband, and last of all my only son. The sea is the grave of them all, and I like to keep beside it." "It is tLe grave of my dearest, too," said Ida RohUn. "It took from me my husband, who was dearer to me than my life. He was my all, ard it took him and left me. Was it not cruel?" "The sea was always merciless," said the widow ; "but you are young — you will yet find comfort."' "X°ver," wis the sad reply. "I am not one of those who can forget. It only makes it harder that I am young."' And as the two women looked m each other's eyes they were conscious of a deep bond of sympathy, though so many years divided them Notl-ing could be le-s cruel than the face of the blue sea the following day. Seated in the shelter of a b >-\t unon the shore, Ida listened to the soft, low splash of the wavelets, ard dreamed sadly of the days that were no mure. At the farther end of the bench some ladies and children were b.xthine, but Ida ga\e no heed to them as '■he g)'*?d upon tLe c ea SJ'e took no interest in the life of the little place. She would wander lonely on the shcre, or sit theie for hours at a time, without book cr needlework, absorbed in her own sad thoughts. The other visitors eyed her curiously, and presently it was wlrspered thpt she vai iit.t mute ritjht in her mind. S' c hardly sof-i.^d awaic of the people win, crowed Lev path, her one-absorbing mt( rest wa^ the sea She saw it under various aspects during the first week of her <-tav at Ruston Sands. Xow it na« blue as the Mediterranean, and m the sunshine, and now it was of a }v'_rht. clear green, chinning to purple where t'io clnud shadows fell Oil one day it would be s-till as an inland lake, and on the next full of motion, with foamy crests to tLe waves that rose and foil fo rapidly. Then theie was a sudden change in the" weather, and after a summer d iv of

exquisite beauty, Ida woke early the next morning to nnd a violent wind driving against the house and the sea breaking with a thunderous roar upon the beach.

"You will not go out to-day?" her landlady entreated later. "It is not fit for you, indeed, Mrs Rolhn. Mrs Tabb, like mo^t of the dwellers at Ruston, found a difficulty in mastering strange names. "The wind's enough to blow you over, and it's beginning to rain. You'll bs taking a chill and making woik for Dr Rowland, if jou brave this gale." "Nothing hurts me ; I never take cold," replied Ida. with a sad smile. "1 am not likely to ghe Dr Rowland a patient. He cannot have many, I imagine, for I never see him about."

"He passes here most days, ' said Mrs Tabb, "but you don't happen to have come across him, I suppose. Still, I wonder you have not seen him on the shore, for he is almost as fond of the sea as you are.''

In spite of her landlady's remonstrance Ida put on her waterproof and Tam-o'-Shanter and went dowa^to the beach as usual. The sky was dark w,th storm clouds, the sea of a dull, leaden hue. The mighty waves, stood up like walls ere they broke in yellow suri upon the shore. As Ida stiugglcd towaijs them the wind drove her fiercely backwaiJ, ar.d the spray dreiichsd her face and Lair. Yet the tuigry sea seemed to draw her by a strange fascination. She was talking to herself as she pressed nearer till the waves washed over her feet>

"How strong tho waves are, and how cruel they look! Just so they looked when I saw them sweep o'^er the boat which held my husband. Ah ! bitter fate that he should be taken and I left." S',^- was recalling the terrible shmwrcck off the coa.st of France, w Lich had sundered her from her husband on their honeymoon. "Would God count it an unpardonable sin if I cast myself into the sea" she was asking herself, when «he became awa'e that .she had reached the end of the beach sheltered by the green cl' 3, and tl.it another solitary figure was pacing the stretch of sand beyond the line of rocks.

"It inii't be the doctor."' she thought. and shrinking from his scrutiny, she turned and began to ascend the cliff by a nurow path. The path led her to the doctor's gate. Faint and breathless, she had gained the shelter of the wall, when suddenly she uttered a cry and staggered back, pale as death : for there, upon a plate fixed to the little gate, she read the name which was her own — "Dr Rohlan."

Happily the doctor had seen her ascending the cliff, and had hurried after, thinking that he was needed for a patient. He laid his hand upon her arm as she staggered backwards, and then a great civ broke from' his lips, for he found himself lokmg down on tha fa-ce of the wife he had seen swept away from him by tire relentless sea.

"Ida,!" he cried wildly. "Am I dreaming? Or has the sea give» back its dead ?"

"Ernest ! Ernest !"' It was indeed his wife's voice that murmured his name ere she sank back in his arms insensible.

He bore her into the house, which wms now her home, and with tenderesfc ministry soon succeeded in restoring her to consciousness.

After a while each learned how the other had escaped death. More dead than alive Ida had been washed on to some rocks, and rescued by a fisherman of Sark.

"They said my head must have struck a rock : but I think it was the anguish of loss which deprived me of my reason," she explained. "They were 'very good to me ; but for many months X was bc«ide myself, and had to be carefully guarded. Even now, I wonder if this mcy not be one of the visions in which I used to see your face smiline on me?"

But the warm kisses lie pressed on her lips assured her that this was no vision of a disordered brain. — Egllvton Thor.ve, in The Woman at Home.

"The most ancient and most noble Order of the Thistle" is the smallest ~oi three great orders of knighthood in point of numbers and the longest in point of title It consists of the Sovereign, British Princes. and 1& k&iziit&