THROUGH THE STORM.

Otago Witness, Issue 2523, 23 July 1902, Page 82

THROUGH THE STORM.

By Maky Bradford Whiting.

"Hurrah ! we are in time for the fiveforty," said Maurice Graham as he and •ins friend Kenneth Maynard alighted from their cab.

He hurried along eagerly as he spoke ; !but Kenneth only shrugged his shrilders, pnd made no effort to keep up with his rapid strides. "Make haste !" said Graham, impatiently, es he glanced over his shoulder ; but Kenlieth did not quicken bis pace. "Go on," he said quietly, as his friend (paused a moment to allow him to come up. "I am not going by this train." "Not going by this train?" exclaimed Maurice. "I thought you said you wanted (to get home!" "' "Yes, I know," said Kenneth, hesitating c moment ; then, laying his hand on his ifriend's arms, he said in a low tone: "If I went down by this train, my wife would .think I could always catch it ; I must wait IJor the six- twenty, or " He did not finish his sentence, but turned away to the fcookstall, leaving Maurice to pass through the barrier alone.

Maurice jumped into the just-moving fcrain with a discomfited expression ; but, Jsorry as he felt on Kenneth's account, it ,was of himself that he was thinking most kt that moment. The schoolboy friendship between them had never been broken, and .•when Kenneth married and settled down dn a London suburb, what could be more "natural than that Maurice should take lodgings near them, and what result was more (likely to follow than that he should fail Sn love with Mrs Maynard's sister? Could at be possible that such grievous misunder"standingg should ever arise between Lily 'jand himself? Should he have to wait in c cold, draughty station, tired and hungry, pind longing for home, because he was afraid 'of rousing his wife's unreasonable expectations? The thought made him shudder, fcut he dismissed it quickly. Ernestine playnard might be faulty, but her sister was iperfect, and, in the anticipation of jhe jibrilliant future that lay before him, he Boon lost all recollection of Kenneth's woe*.

Kenneth Maynard, meanwhile con'riemned to ./eary waiting, shivered in the icy wind that crept through every opening Df the station. He had been working hard day at the x>ritish Museum, and was longing to escape from the freezing fog and Blush of London to the glowing comfort jpf his own fireside ; but, though Ernestine loved her husband, she could never rid herself -of a resentful idea that he .was neglectIng her, and if he had come half an hour 'earlier than usual she would have expected fcim to appear at the same time every st.Jpeeding night, on pain of a flood of nrotest < and expostulations. He could not face the prospect, and therefore he preferred to keep his weary vigil i*i the cold.

But this was not all. Had it been all. his thoughts would not have been so sad us he paced to and fro under the gaslights, fl'hat Ernestine should be jealous for him he could have understood and forgiven, but she was also jealous of him ; and herein lay a deeper sting. Three years ago, when he lad met her in all her beauty and grace, it had seemed to him that no earthly lot could be brighter than to have her life jinked with his own ; his literary aork was bringing him in a fair return, and he had something of his own. so that he felt justified in speaking, and to his utter delight he had not spoken in vain. The first year was jone of rapture : Ernestine shared his lore for writing, and was ready to help him in every way, t>o that, instead of finding marriage a hindrance to work, he had never accomplished so much as he did during those happy months.

Then came a change. The birth of their little daughter seemed to Kenneth a cause ">£ added joy. but with her advent troubles began. The company in which his money was invested broke up, and instead of meeting the necessary letrenchments bravely. {Ernestine chose to make them a cause of Jissension. She must have time for her ("Writing, she said, and if their one maid bould not get through all he work, the "Stork must remain undone! Kenneth knew well that his wife's productions weie of Eittle value, but he could not ray so, nor could he interfere in her plans, for at the first word her dark eyes would flash etonnily, and some bitter remaik on the poverty that had fallen union them w ould drive him into his study, w eaiy and heart - Bore.

Kenneth had fondly imagined that the "troubles would die away in time, but instead of this they seemed to grow worse, and he gladly hailed an offer of collaboration in an historical work that was being edited by a well-known man of lettei s : at would necessitate working for some months at the British Museum, and perhaps a daily absence would bring about a better state of things. So far, however, his hopes had not been fulfilled. Ernestine complained bitterly of being left to grapple iwith the cooking and the baby while he levelled undisturbed in books ; she resented it terribly if anything delayed his return, end therefore it was that Kenneth dared Hot take advantage of his early lelease. The train came in at last, and the shoit journey over, he made his way home as fd.se as he could ; a bright fire and a hot meal would be vcrv reviving after his iong liours of (work, and in his pleasurable anticipations he Quite forgot the angry roids pver the coal bill that .had enlivmed the breakfast table.

A wailing cry was the fiist sound that «net his ears as he opened the door, and be sighed impatiently, foi h'> could net 'near his little girl to be urliunu. R» nu up uO the nursery a- s<j.>n j- lip had takm off his hat and en.it. and .is be lifted <h- 1> hv from hu cit he did not v.oinltr ,v Ik i <.onplaint. foi the room was- d-nk .-nd cold. and there was no one to soothe her. •Nestiad iv hex frthfr'g MBifci «ta twa

ceased her crying, and he carried her down with him to the dining room, expecting to find the table set. But the dining room was as desolate as the nursery had been. The fire was out, and the blinds had not been drawn down, and at the writing table in the window sat Ernestine, scribbling at railway speed, with a newspaper wrapped round her shoulders.

"My dear girl, what are you doing?" he exclaimed.

Ernestine affected to be too much absorbed to hear him, although in truth she had only snatched up the newspaper and sat down at the table when she heard him enter the house.

"Did you speak? ' she said, turning her head slowly. "Yes. I did speak,"' said Kenneth with sharpness. 'Why is the fire out in the nursery, and why is dinner not ready?" "You seem to imagine that I am a servant!" said Ernestine haughtily. "I have no time t j see about dinner ; nnd as for the fire, you know what you &aid to me this morning about the coals. I have been shivering all the afternoon !" Well, you might have put a shawl on," said Kenneth, trying to speak pleasantly. "I am sure you have dozens." "I have not dozens, by any means," said Ernestine, "and, as I see no chance of being able to buy any more. I am obliged to save what I have by wearing the newspaper." An angry retort rose to Kenneths lip**. but the touch of the baby fingers restrained him, and, going up to his wife, he laid his hand on her cold, crackling shoulder.

"Come, dear." he said gently. "I have been fagging all day long, and I am cold and tired; let u<s have something to eat, and then sit down and be comfortable."

But Ernestine moved away from him, and drew the paper more closely round her.

"Yes, that is always the way." she said. "You have the whole day for jour work without any disturbance, but as soon as I get an inspiration you think that I ought to throw it aside and act cook and nuisemsid!''

If Kenneth had b p en of sterner mould he would have marched out of she house and left his wife to recover her ' 'mper at her leisuip. but his h<>dit was 100 soft to allow him to treat her with the necessary severity, and. going upstaiis without a word, he'set himself to light the nursery fire and reduce the room to order. Some soit of a meal was set before him in cour c e of time, but he could barely touch it. and as he tossed restlessly on' his bed that nicht it seemed to him that his troubles were becoming heavier than he could b°ar "What is the matter with you?" y-ked Maurice as they met at the station i.ext morning. "You look as if you had all the cares of the world on your shoulders." But Kenneth made an evasive leply and turned the conversation.

Maurice forbore to press him, but he could not forget his look, and that evening he went round to his friend's house to see how things were going. A good fire was burning on the hearth, but otherwise it looked as uncomfortable as it had done on the preceding day. Ernestine was busily writing, with a litter of papers around her. and Kenneth lay upon the sofa rolled up in hi» rug. "He complained of being cold," said Ernestine, carelessly, when Maurice remarked on the sleeping man's look. "I don't think there is much the matter with him."

She glanced at her laanu-aiut impatiently, but Mauiice Mould not take the hint. "

"Is it possible you do not «cc how he is overworking himself':" he said. "Everybody notices how ill he look-, and if you do not take care he will break down altogether."'

" "How am I to take cave?" asked Ernestine coldly. "I am sure I toil haid enough as it is, 'and if Kenneth does not do his work it will merely mean starvation." j "If Kenneth does do his work it will | merely mean extinction :'" returned Maunce. "I shall go and fetch a doctor before he wakes up to make objections," and so saying he went out of the hou«e. Ernestine was moi tally offended by his words and manner, but she was not son.v that he had taken upon himself to fetch the doctor, for, though she would not allow it, she felt some secret alarm when she saw her husband's strangely worn appearance. >She nas not without heait, although her affections, were being slowly but stuely warped by hei long-indulged sclii-hm-ss, and when Kenneth woke up fioin his uneasy sleep, she made him lie down again, and to.d lum with some gentleness that he must submit to see a doctor Kenneth scofted at the idea, but theie was nothing that lie could have refused Ernestine when she a.-ked him in that tone, and when Maurice leappeaied. bunging, the doctor with linn, he allowed himself to be overhauled wnh a bettei giatu linn might have been expected. "You only fetched me just in time,' -aid Dr Merton, as he and Maurice left the house together. "I must take that poor fellow to an oculist, but 1 have seen enough ta show me that his brain is completely overdone and his eyes are giving way. It will be sohie months before he will be fit to open a book." "Well, you will have to break it to Mt« Maynaid, ' said Maunce. "I have s iiu l all I can, but peihaps- your woids will have more weight. She is not an easy per -on to deal with; however, you know her as well as I do, so I need not warn you " Dr Merton did know Mis Maynard. and his knowledge did not make him hopeful ; but duty must be done, and on the next day he "went lound to see hei. Ernestine listened incredulously at first, but when it w -is no longPi possible to doubt the facts set befoie her. -he relapsed into a state of resentful mi-tiy

"It is impossible for him to have a le-t ■it present. "~Mie suul "He lid 1 - promised to <i.) the indexing foi tins hook. .md «t aie dep- .dint; upon the incne\ "lnrbxin.,'' is ab') it the woi-t filing he could do. ' <a d the docloi ; "neither his c%c %I c> noi his b.^iu wi uld -' md it You had k£U*i ik ii, ion kiax* i hu& h&s&L&SAj&L

that you are fond of literary work, and your husband must have a thorough rest, unless you wish him to kill himself."

Her indifference had roused him to an unwonted pitch of indignation, but his plain speaking hardened rather than softened hei. Her perceptions were awakened by it nevertheless, and when Kenneth came home and she saw the change in his looks, a thrill of fear went through her as she realised for the first time w hat it would mean for her to lose the husband whose love she had held so cheap. Her pride forbade her to show her feelings, however, and when Kenneth declared that he must fulfil his engagement before he could obey the doctor's injunctions, she merely lemarked that he was always glad to hinder her from doing anything that she liked.

"But you can't mean that you would Idee indexing?" said Kenneth in astonishment. ' lou have no idea what a lionible grind it is." Ernestine knew very well that he was right. Literary work, "for her, meant writing a little fiction of the lightest description when she was in the mood for it ; of study and application she knew nothing, and they had no attractions for her. She was not goiny to own it, however, and, when Kenneth had been carried off by Dr Merton next day to consult an oculist, she went up to town and laid the matter befoie the editor.

Dr Prendegast was c dry-as-dust scholar, but he had a human heart underneath his .veight of learning, and, when he heard the sad tale and saw the sorrow in Ernestine's beautiful face, he consented to let her try her hand at the work.

"You will have to come here regularly, lie '-aid, "foT it must be done undei my own eye. and it must be complete by a certain date. Can you be here by 10 o'clock every

mormn 0 Ernestine made no objection, and the matter-of-fact -way in which she told hei husband of the plan led him to suppose that she was delighted at getting her emancipation at last. He did not attempt to dissuade her. for he knew ho\x important the remuneration was to them, but he wished that she would have '-xjii'-Effd a little sympathy for him. T3>^ir servant wj's hard-working and trustworthy, but she was ori im-visaged and sour- tempered, and the prospect of being left to her tender mercip.s in his state of weakness and depi'cssion was fir fiom cheering. Cut off from all ihe occupations he loved, he pottered .ih.jiri the house with a shade over his eyes, or wheeled the baby about in her perambulator when it was neither too sunny nor too f*old for him to venture out of doors. Mossl men's patience would have broken down under such a strain, but Kenneth had a fund of quiet strength that did not fail hiir m his need, and each day when Ernestine came home she found everything prepared for her comfort. The work wa<* even more irksome than she had expected, but she would not admit it. and answered her husband's inquiries w itb. a coldness that could not check his watchful consideration.

"I'm so sorry I have forgotten your slippers '." he said one stornn Maicli evening as «he came in, wet and liied, to >cc an aimchair drawn up to the fire and a little tabie heside it ready set for tea. "Come, babj , let's go and fetch them." He groped his way out of the mom as he .-poke, w ith the cuily head, as usual, against his. cheek, and presently .she heard him coming cautiously downstaiis again, warning baby by the way not to drop the slippers that she held clasped in her chubby arms. But when he entered the room the cheerful words died upon his hps. for a strange sound caught his ear, and. putting baby down upon the floor, he came actoss to his wife. "Ernestine." he said anxiously, ""hat is thi matter?" He put his arm round her .i« he -poke. ;>i.d, touching her check, found that it was w-Pt with tear* "I ouirht not to have let you do this woik," he <-v'id. very lemorsefully ; "it is far too much for you! But Dr Meiton was litic to-day. and he gives me good hope that I shall oe -iblc to v-<: my eyes befoie lung; jou must have a tlnnough rest then." "No. no; it is not re-t 1 want." said Ernestine, a« she drew her hu-band's hand down to he. lips ;.nd ki-sed it pa-sionately ; "not re-t, but forgivene-s ! Oh. KenncLh. you have- taught me at la-t wh-t un«elh-h-ne^ mean-. I see how dreadful my life habeei> ! ' Ho ti led to silence her, but she would not hstua t<> him.

"No," -he said, "you inu«t lei me speak; the failure of your eyes has given mine the power to <cc ! I don't thu.k I should evei have realised the wear .md teai of Mich woik .us yours unless I had tiad it, and I ntver knew whnt my work ought to oe until I saw you doing it -o patiently It 1-, all my fault that you broke down, md I don't suppose tint you can evei forgive me "No. you ;.re right there," said Kenneth, as he drew her close.- to his heart "I low jou too well for forgivene-s. I love you so well that there can be nothing to forgive, and if only you will love me 1 1 all have nothing left to wish 'or in thih \wn - 'd "

"It is quite a dream to c e p those two!" said Main ice Grah<,m to lum-elf. a few dus later. ,i- he came away from his fiicnu'" hou-e. "I alway-s hoped that things would work round in tiT.e, foi I knew that Ernestine wu« Lily's sjster, and that theieforr -he n.u-t have -ome good in hei m spite of ill her futilt'-." But thi- opiiimn Mam ice was wi-c enough to leave unuttered, and he contented himself with informing Kenneth *liat his approaching marriage would make him happiei than «uy mn -thve. But Kenneth htaid his assurance m a .--lleiKC that did not mean consent ; an uiuried love may W pine and brilliant as inoniing sunlight, bin love that h;.s pa-sed through cloud and tempest and still enJures is love that need fe.ir nu touch of earthly chance or