DOUGLAS GRAHAME.

Otago Witness, Issue 2667, 26 April 1905, Page 78

DOUGLAS GRAHAME.

By E. Gladys Harvey.

(For the Witness.)

The stars shone out from a moonless bky, the wind stirred the leaves in the whit' Ishafted gums, and the night was full of the weird sound of the Australian bubh. A curlew's plaintive wail floated down the river ; on the opposite bank two owls kept up a mournful duet, and close at hand a gray bear wailed and sobbed. To add to the eeriness of the scene two hungry dingoes howled in the distance in quest of food.

Truly it was enough to terrify anyone, and Marion Hurst stood with palpitating heart and over-strung nerves. The darkness appalled her. every rustle of a leaf, every splash in the dark water filled her with a nameless fear.

A horse's quick hoof-beats sounded near her, and a soft whistle was answered by a half-smotheied exclamation from the frightened girl. The rider swung himself off his horse with a careless grace, and tossed the reins over a branch close at hand. The listener never spoke, and the man came forward until he stood beside her. Marion !" She held out her hands, and he caught them in a hard, strong grasp. He pushed his hat back and wiped his forehead before he spoke. "'Marion, what foolery is this? — what has Drought you here?"' "I have come on a quest, and I have come to you for help." - "But think what you are doing — you, tne Hadleys-' governess, are risking a lot in meeting one of the Hadleys' stockmen in this lonely spot, at this hour of the night." "That is like you, Douglas ; your tongue has lost none of its biting cruelty since last we met ; but I have something more than public opinion (o think of. I have come from New Zealand to get speech with you. I have come to Bluff Downs simply because I found out that you were here, and your, mother has sent me to find and to bring her sons home." The man laughed bitterly. '"Her sons ! There is but one that she wants — there is but one here." "Yes, but this one knows where that other is." "I do not." "Douglas, that is not true. Tell me where Colin is?" "Why do 3-011 ask me? Am I my brother's keeper?" "ISTo, you are not. evidently; yet he came not here of his own free will." "On what grounds do you base that accusation?" "Douglas, have done with this parrying. Why do you not give me the truth?" "Why should I tell you where Colin is?" '"There is no reason that you should tell me, but there is every reason that you should tell your mother." "Did she send you upon this quest?" "Your question is unworthy of your manhood!"

"Marion, forgive me ! You do not know what a desperate, maddened man can feel when he keeps a tryst with the woman he loves, and listens to her pleading for knowledge of her lover's whereabouts. Your trust in human nature is supreme, or you know me not."

Marion's heart was beating wildly, but she spoke quietly.

"I think I know you better than you know yourself. I, a woman, lean upon you for support — thence there is bufc one attitude for you : you will stand by me. You will return to Loch Isla with me, and we will take Colin with us."

The man was silent for half a minute : then he burst out as if the words were wrenched from Kirn.

"You cannot take Colin with you — you must not see him '." "Why?." "Because i£ you do so you will hate me more than ever !"

She" put her hand on his wrist.

"Douglas, I must speak very plainly to you. I was down by the boa-tbouse the night; that you left Loch Tsla. I overheard much of your conversation. I spoke to you — called you — but I could not make you Rear. You were excited, and spoke with heat. I heard your proposal to Colin, and then I must have- fainted, for I remember no more until I awoke, cold and sick. The moon had set, and everything was in darkness. You were both gone in the morning, and I have had' no word from either of you from then until now. We traced you to Australia, and there all our efforts seemed futile. Eighteen months ago your mother was very ill ; Her one cry was for her children, and with a sick woman's fancy she put more faith in any woman's wit than in paid detective — although I have had to call in the latder's aid sometimes. So I have left her to wait, while I came here to work for the one result ; and now I hope I am near the end of my task. Jt is a hard one — a bitterly hard one.'

''Oh, Marion, pity me — be merciful, and pity me in my misery. You only know the half of my agony. That quarrel you heard only stained by the lake. We walked on and on, up to the hills where the old shafts were. I was mad — made with passion, mad with jealousy, and when Colin refused to refrain from telling you of his love I struck him ; he reeled, and to my horror disappeared down an old shaft that I had not noticed. He was unconscious ■when I got him up : then one idea took possession of me — viz. . to get away as qnicklv a« possible, and to take my binthor with me. I went back to the stable, hnrnes&ed the pony-, and drove over to the

Warren wharves. I put Colin on board, replaced the horse in his stall, returned to the boat on foot, and bj r daylight Are had stenm up for Australia. In my brutality I forced Colin to tw-ear to hold my pait in the night's tragedy n secret, and I further made him promise to keep our whereabouts unknown to you and my mother. Now, Marion, be very braye — very calm — for I must tell you the worst. To-day Colin is a cripple : he broke his ankle in that fall : it was neglected, and now a cruel limp is the ever-present cuise for my sin.*'

"A cripple ! Oh, Douglas ! Yet, even so, I s-ay bring him home. His flowers need him; the birds, the little children, will fly to him ; and his mother's arms are aching to enfold him to her henrt once more. Be kind, dear Douglas, be kind, and undo the past by brightening a lonely mother's home."

"Girl, you plead like an angel, and you plead not in vain. Six years in Australia have hardened me, intensified my selfishness : but I can refuse yon nothing. I love you to-night as I loved you the night I left Loch Isla ; but I shall never, speak of love to you again. You cam* into ray heart that day ynu arrived from Scotland, a dark-eyed schoolgirl, with peach-bloom cheeks and shy, wondering eyes ; and every year I loved you more ; but — well, never mind, la&sie, I will prove myself worthy of your trust. My love cries out in rebellion to-niajht. I long to hold you in nry arms for once, and to shower hot kisses upon your face ; but the honour that you trust bids me let you go in the darkne&s witlioiit

I sight of the face I have not seen for over live years. You are right : I lied to you 'about Colin. He is a tutor at Dangerfield Station. To-morrow I will send in my resignation to Mr Hadley, and will proceed at once to him. You may make what arrangements you deem best, and I ■promise you we will fall in with them."

The meeting between Colin and Marion was a constrained one. He had changed much: his face was linecl with thought, and his tongue had lost its oldi-time brightness. The girl, reading with love's tuition, divined; how much he had suffered in mind, for to Colin Grahaine physical suffering was a very secondary thing. He was very lame, and moved always with a stick, but she uttered no word of sympathy, and asked for no explanation of his *iong silence, and Colin vouchsafed none.

The sun was sinking behind the giant •crags of Mount Isla, and its shafts shone on a white-haired woman sitting framed* ■with a .trellis of roses, and looking fragile, tut -with th,9 tint of convalescence on her ■wan cheeks and the fire of contentment shining in her true old eyes. Colin sat in an _ easy chair beside her, and from the ■/study window Marion and Douglas ■watched" them. The latter had been strangely subdued ever since his return to Zealand: Marion dreaded an outburst, any day. That, tenseness was only the quiescence of concentrated passion. Toifay the man was unsettled andi his heavy brows were knit, and his dark eyes burned .with subtle fire. Although easy and calm .with his mother and Marion, he avoided Colin, and the two brotEers held little con,v<?rsation.

Both pairs of eyes turned to the pretty picture on the lawn. Douglas Grahams looked Tipon it in silence. He turned round to speak to MatfionT" and a stifled exclamation burst from his lips. As the girl looked round a shadow swept over Iris face, but it instantly vanished and a smile took its place. " Come out" to the others, Marion," he Baid, and she went gladly. The quartet drank their tea and chatted for a brief space. Then Douglas rose, and fcsked Colin to accompany him to tiie study. When the younger man was seated his brother turned/ to him abruptly. " When are you and "Marion to be marTied? '» " JMarried ! Douglas, what do you mean ? I swear to you that I have spoken no word of love to Marion since our return. If she »ver loved me she must have forgotten me long ago-." ""And you? " "You-' should know -by now that it is Hot a Grahame's trait to forget." " God help me, I do. • But, Colin, a life's happiness lies before you yet. Marion ' loves you. She betrayed it to me but half an hour ago. She weighs a man by a different scale to most women. She will ' look below the surface and* worship the i nobility that lies, within your character, j and sue will have, "no eyes to see the j physical blemish that I have wrought. Colin, make her happy ; let there be a .quiet wedding speedily, for my restless days "are drawing near. My soul is crying for peace, and I am longing to get Into the great bush, where I may measure my^insignificance with Nature's grandest and best. I shall ~climb upward, ever upward, until the snows and winds shall cool and calm me, andone day I will return to take up •my work, bravely and manfully. iWTien. I stand beside you anc\ see the •woman' I love- go into your keeping' I shall Siave paid) to God — and to you — the debt of any wrongdoing. On earth or in hell there can be no torture equal to that torture ; yet I beg of you not to deny me this sight, for it will be like- absolution — like a penance performed, — and after it there must come a. lifting of the load. I wish you much happiness, Colin." - ""• Douglas, old man, what can I say to you? I -own to you that I still love Marion, bu£ I. would have you speak to her —woo her as if I had no existence."

" Colin, you do not seem to understand). Marion loves you, not jmg."

* " Then one thing more : Cease to blame yourself for that' old -accident, for I, too, was hasty 'and impatient, and angered you Urilfnlly."" '- - . • "Accident! Is .that what you call it?" "I - do? And believe me, Douglas, I bear "no grudge against you on account of It." / ' . '

"Then go to Marion now, Colin, and afterwards -come and tell me your iplans, for i must give the 1 people, on the estate a gala time, 'and they shall all fee happy and bright on the day of their young mistress's' wedding. Let it be soon though, dear fellow. Don't keep me too long on the rack. Remember, lam only mortal, so plead for an early date."

While the revellers made joy over Marion and" Cdlin's wedding the fblk up at the Jiouse made their adieux quietly and without', demonstration. . The old mother .was happy, yet her eyes , never left Douglas's .face. She looked from Marion to him. ."My iori; is there no other for you? "

"No other, mother ; but my life shall >ot be wasted because of it. Purely I can conquer myself ; surely I can be manly enough to give the woman I love into the Ibseping of a better man than I. I have Siated my brother that he won the peerless gift of her love, and the Cain in me jran not until it strangled every better feeling. In heart I was a murdterer, and my revenge was like red wine to me in my apassionate hat© until Marion bade me come to her side and help her to find Colin. She stole fojjth. to meet me in the dark 'Australian bush, her love and pity for you snaking her brave ; and with nothing but 'lier perfect womanhood as her shield she met me, and wrung from me a promise of assistance. That night in the starlight 1 began to know and to honour Marion Hurst. Her fearlessness yet pathetic helplessness shook my numbed faculties. She spoke, and I forgot the selfishness within me : I forgot my craving to possess her. 'Jealousy of Colin faded from my mind. *nd I remembered only, the little lad I

had lov.ed in his babyhood. Men of mv sort rarely turn to God, yet in that dark ridn home all that was best in me came uppermost. I did not go on my knees and pray for help, but within my breast raged a battle I shall never forget, and under the stars I eiushed out some of the blackness from my heart, and a ray of light entered. j Pray, mother mine, that it may broaden j and grow."'

j Douglas went to the library to say nonchalant adieu to those two who had to thank him for their happiness, and then he rode off, a sombre-faced man, on his bif black hoise. Colin and Marion watched him until he disappeared over the crest of the hill, then the new-made husband , caught his wife's hands and drew her to i him. But there was none of love's rapture in the clasp. Their love was like a kernel all wrapped around with sorrow ' and b,eart soreness for another's pain. Colin looked after his brother and softly said, "After the winter the spring comet h." , In the spring Douglas Grahame returned 1 with- his pain deadened* and his bitterness ! all gone. Girt with a new armour, he . found that life was full of interest, and a '. man's duties manifold ; and so after the h great storm came calmf