MARJORIE VIVIAN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2664, 5 April 1905, Page 82

MARJORIE VIVIAN.

By C. Morton Harvey.

(For the Witness.)

"A volume of grace and beauty."

Guy Heatherfield had been introduced to Marjorie Vivian, and this -was his comment over an after-dinner cigar to liis chum, Gordon Moncrief, on the balcony of their hotel overlooking the sea beach. - '

"What say you, Don, if we stroll down on to the pier andvlisten to the band?"

"That we may meet the lady fair again, and, basking in the light of the glorious eyes, be drawn into the tropical bosom of a wild and perishable hope. Let m,e tell you, Guy, she is a whole bunch of impossible grapes as far as we are concerned. Out of our reach, old man j quite out of our reach,." "•Tfral iflAeS t:he^rpme~^ft-tfas^E[oTe~tas' cinating.

He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small — "Who dares not put it to the touch,

And risk to lose it all. j' "Yes, and what of the aftermath of : wild) regrets?" - -

"Damn the aftermath of wild regrets !" "As you will ; but remember that I have known and) loved her for years. You, who have known her for a few hours only, will learn to love her too — and then?*'

"Pardon me, old chap! I did notknow you had been hard hit, and even now will not offer any sympathy. You always took your fences game, and however hard you clout 'em, there is no fear of your coming a cropper." The long, idle, summer days gave much time andi opportunity for wooing, and Marjorie Vivian never resented the homage paid her by handsome Guy Heatherfield. Gordon Moncrief saw, and with a bitterness of heart akin to hate drifted gradually and imperceptibly apart from them. In the end Guy made a bold and passionate appeal to Marjorie, and, notwithstanding his acknowledged poverty, was accepted. Her father, Morris Vivian, pleaded and raged in turn when asked for his sanction, but without avail.

'-'You are of age, therefore I cannot control your actions, but marry this handsome adventurer, and not one penny of my money wilt* you ever receive. Take the pi-ize I can secure for you, and you will live in ease and splendour for the rest of your life. Now choose!" •

"There is no choice. I have promised to become Guy's wife."

Bosh ! Such love-matches are only consummated in penny novels. You have position and wealth at your dusposal, and would cast them aside- for a romantic whim. A substantial cheque will solace your "

"Stop! You have done nothing to command my obedience or win my affection as a daughter, and now that love has opened its realms, I will enter its portals with a nobler man than you could ever have been. You broke my mother's heart, but you are not going to destroy my life. I shall leave your roof without one regret, and in a few days will be Marjorie Heatherfield !" "You mean it?"

"I dto."

"As you make your bed, lie on it. , Link your future with this penniless jackanapes, but never cross my threshold again.

When the wolf of • poverty howls at your door, don't dare to seek assistance from me. Marry, curse you, marry as you will, and may your wedding dress be your shroud!"

"Thank you ! Little wonder that my mother's heart was broken, and how merciful the ravages of consumption that took her from you." "Silence ."

"No ! I have been silent too long. Go, you shameless craven, to the mistress you keep in luxury within sight of your own horne — marry her for the sake of her two lovely boys, who are morally my half-brothers, yet nameless through your vile sin. Rescue them from the scorn of the world, and the recording angel will place at least one redeeming mark against your black record. You have surrounded nic with luxury, but Guy Heatherfield's strong love has eclipsed all past magnificence, and to possess its glorious protection for the rest oi my life is greater wealth than your riches could ever provided' ~

"Go, you self-willed fool, and in the leisure of poverty remember my curse !" '"Your curse is really the one beautiful thought you ever possessed. With you there is no sacredness for w.ediding gown or shroud ; and I almost pity you when 1 think of your fear and remorse in the solemn hour of the Master's call. I shall i emain under this roof until my wedding dnv, whether you like it or not ; but there will be no necessity to meet or clash in so Kirge an establishment. Circumstances compel me to take a firm stand, for 1 know you would send me out, an object o f pity to my friends, a wealth of scandal to the servants' hall." ''Yon are considerate, Marjorie; of yourself. Such an obedient and thoughtful daughter cannot be other than a paragon wife." ''Save your sarcastic ammunition for a target on which it might make a deeper impression. Nothing can be gained by prolonging this unpleasant interview, so I will retire to my own apartments. When my wedding arrangements are complete, I shall let you know, and if then, for the sake of appearances, you desire to countenance my marriage, you may transfer me at the altar, with regret — that at least will be genuine, — to the keeping of Guy Heatherfield." A few days later Marjorie drove up to the church door in a hired vehicle. Guy met her, and led her up the aisle of the grim grey edifice, and there, before the altar, the verger as sole witness, they were made man and wife. It had been a silent, solemn proceeding, but as they walked down the aisle again, the organ jr.otes pealed out the joyous strains of the wedding march. At the door of the church fresh surprises waited them. The drive to the ga+o was strewn with white flowers and lined on either side by girls in white. "Oh, Guy! what does this all mean? They must be here to wait some other bride." " There is someone down at the gate waving frantically to come on. Bless me, it's Don Moncrieff l y ifoGt old chap, he has planned an agreeable surprise, so let us face the music." As they stepped on to the flower-strewn path, Marjorie recognised some of the girls in her Sunday class. Tears of joy , filled her eyes, but forcing them back ( bravely she smilingly faced the showers oi | good wishes, comfits, and rice. Was there "ever such a transformation scene before in life or theajxe? Don met them at the gate with outstretched hands, and placing them in a laudau drawn by a beautiful : if^F-^^s^' s r~sest-t-h««--eS-- J VTOndering, -jbut they knew not whither. ] " Guy, what a noble fellow Don Mon- I crieff is. I know he has loved me for ( years ; in fact, he asked me once to be his wife ; but I could give him nothing but friendship, so when I told him the truth he bade me forget his proposal and remain chums. I believe he thought at the time that I refused him on account of his want of wealth, but he will recognise the truth now." " Surely ; and do you know that I believe he is masquerading?" " In what way?" "In that his poverty is a myth. He wished to win his wife for love's sweet i sake, not for the market value of his possessions." "Perhaps so. Why, the landau is pulling up at the pier." "By thunder it is, and Don waiting. This is certainly a triumph of pleasant surprises. Don opened the door of the landau, assisted Marjorie to alight, placed her handl in Guy's, and told the happy pair t«> accompany him to the yacht at the end of the pier, but ask no questions. As they crossed the gangway a chorus of happy voices broke into song : I'll be your sweetheart if you will be mine; All my life I'll be your valentine. As they descended the saloon stairs they were greeted wittl wild cheers. All Marjories best friends were there ; the tables laden with a sumptuous wedding feast, j Two of Marjories chums led her" to a [ table set apart from the rest. It was j laden with presents, which Marjorie gazed on in silent wonder. She trembled, and fearing a breakdown her chums hurried her back to the others. Oh, that merry feast! — laughter and jest, toasts and song ; and then the bride was led off in triumph to her cabin. Don took Guy to another cabin. When he closed the door, the two men faced each other in silent eloquence. One long, strong handclasp gave each sufficient time to master their emotions and stay the tell-tale, quivering lips that for the moment refused utterance. "Guy, old chap, bitterness of heart kept me from you till almost the last ; but I have conquered! it, and all that I ask now is to be allowed to share an atom of your happiness in my awn little way. I am wealthy — a fact which I kept to myself for reasons that heed not be explained — and for the sake of an old friendship and the woman we both love am making provision.' for your future. This yacht will be at your disposal for a three months' wedding trip ; thus pur&e contains the needful for current expenses, and there is a sum standing to your credit in the local branch of the O.N. Bank. Forward) your signature to the manager, and you can operate on your account wneni necessary. Tfiere will be an annual allowance placed to your credit for the next five years ; use it wisely, and you will i be amply provided for during your life." "How can I ever thank you, Don?" "By devoting your life to the brave girl you have married. Hej;e are the ! deeds of ' Seaview Cottage.' It is fully furnished, and 1 my wedding present to your wife, but she must know nothing of it till the bows of the Seadrift are cleaving the roving monarchs of the wide Pacific. Now, old mail, let us say one last solemn good-bye, with no prying eyes ' to read our pain.'' It was a silent, eloquent farewell. On© , felt, while the other knew, they would 1 uerer meet a^uin. A few moments lat-ei- '

smiling fares hid the battle of mental agony being fought by two strong men, and welcomed Marjorie, who by this time was in travelling costume. She thanked Don for all that she knew of his noble generosity — she hadi still much to earn,— and she felt instinctively the suffering of his lost hopes. As the skipper gave the command, "Haul in your shoie lines,"' the Seadrift steamed off to "'Auld lang sync," the strains of which have wakened memories in many an aching heart long after the wounds of a farewell have been healed. Two yenrs had passed over the occupants of Seaview. Th-en came two yeais of travel in dry climates, and a battle with the dreaded germs of consumption; the last sad home-coming, and the solemn preparations for the Master's call. Marjorie took her wedding gown to pieces, stitch by stitch. Its reconstruction was her shroud. The last, long journey ! One morning, as the huge ocean waves battered the rugged cliffs and the grey dawn silvered their broken crests, she passed silently away, leaving naught in her husband's arms but the beautiful, frail casket that had) served awhile her white soul. Closely following Marjories burial came the news of her father's d«ath. He had repented at the last, and left her all his wealth. This, of course, passed to Guy, but he n.ever used one penny of it for himself. Two nameless boys received the whole of it, but in such a way that even in after life they might "never know of their mother's shame. Marjories grave is ever a beauty spot, and the silent, grey -haired man who tends it murmurs in the closing twilight .- "Not long now, dear heart. Our bodies will rest side by side once more, and; at the hour of triumph your pure white soul will guide me through the, gathering mists of Doubt. Good-nighty sweet wife, till dawn ; good-night." ,