THE RIGHT OR THE WRONG?

Otago Witness, Issue 2728, 27 June 1906, Page 89

THE RIGHT OR THE WRONG?

•" By L. Deans Ritchie. (For the Witness.) •They are merely acquaintances, nothing niore. But it is moonlight, so they speak of love. There is. no reason why they shouldn't: both are young and strong — a well-matched pair, gossips would cay, and 6»ying -it would - for once speak the truth. Charlie Finlay is in the local bank, And Ada Clifford' lives with her people ah the same town, but by typing in an office saves them from the tax of keeping her —a tax which they can ill afford to - i>ear. Some day perhaps those' who declaim against women employees in offices "will frame legislation whereby the surplus female population will be supported-by the State, and ' thus let downtrodden man • re- '<• tsume his real sphere behind a typewriter ) - orSi .drapery counters, Finlay • and Ada -met* after a"party, and, strolling in , 4-he -grounds, .find a seat .and use it. ' A man, a woman, a garden; and a scat, •" with a bland full moon for chaperone. " Then Cupid casts an eye upon his quiver. • "Love," says Finlay, "is the call of . Nature. Birds and beasts and human ■ beings all answer it. The last-named have a soul and a tongue, so call it love and -' noble. While the fugitive years glide past wily old Nature chuckles, and scans with cynical gaze the phantasmagoria of human > life, for she but fools us. Under the guise of djyine love she gets this world well peopled." He pauses, and Ada looks at him —a ', look both serious a«d kind, —then queries: "Do you quite mean what you say, Mr - Tinlay? Don't you' think true love is* noble and drrine? When a woman leaves " ( her borne", her mother, and with perfect - ' modesty turns to the man she truly loves, ' the man who longs for her companionship, who gives to her a completeness of respect and love; when together they face the - coming years, and' through them turn to - one another in times of stress or joy, would you not call that love noble? Is it not something more than the mating of ; the beasts or-birds?" - .And Finlay, with' those serious eyes . *till -upon-'him, .answers, "Yes," and with , . ,erery trace,' of sarcasm gone continues: ' • "If a man wins "the- love of a woman . jure and good, let him bend'his knee and tjffefcrthanks, for he has" won the greatest ,'giffc this _ world ■ can bestow. For such love a man should do and brave < anything*— anytfoingj" Ada remembers those words in after years —years in which she and Charlie find and share the.secret of" that perfect love. Still -more years go by, and still they love, but are not" married. Finlay thinks, by what seems a safe investment, to increase his savings, but instead the investment proves a wild cat, and every penny goes, and with it the hope of marrying for years to tome. Ada does not complain. She tries to cheer her lover, and day by day, week by .week, he loves her more, longs the more to have her as his helpmate, his wife. "With passionate caiess and whispered vow he returns her love, her words of encouragement, and swears she is all in all to him. For. her sake would he brave hardship —aye, and if necessary disgrace. To his protestations the devil and Cupid listen, and ihatch ascheme- to* test this lover's amorous vows. Weeks speed by, till Finlay tells his promised bride that through a lucky speculation he has retrieved his losses: he can offer her a' home." JEe does not tell- her. what was his winning coup, and Ada does not ask; but wonders at his silence, for usually lie is quick to speak to her ~ of lit 6 hopes- and fears, his losses and bis gains. - The wedding' day is fixed, but • Charlie is a changed mail. He grows pale ' aid, haggard, .nervous and abrupt, but his ' tenderness towards his fiancee diminishes Hot;~rathor does if grow. The nuptial morn is now scarce a month away. It is evening. Ada and her-lover are together in the .jiark,, Their seat is on the hill- • "side, and; .opposite them is another hill, j and by?md it lies the town; while be- j twee*? the hills is a gully, down which riffles and gurgles a prattling creek. #de by side the lovers sit. Charlie's arm is round her wai6t, her head rests on his shoulder, while a full moon just peeping over the hill flings truant shafts of soft radiance on her face. Suddenly she speaks: . "Charlie, did you hear about Jenkins, of! your bank?" I "No, dear," ho answers; ''what of him?" "Father- met your manager to-night, and ihe said Jenkins had been arrested this tevening on a charge of stealing some j money which went missing a 6hort time ; ago. The loss was noticed at the time, (but for various reasons publicity was avoided." As the girl 6peak6 her lover's arm tighlens round her till she cries out With pain. She looks at him. The moon ss'higher now and brighter. His face shows pallid and ghastly. "What is that you say?" lie almost gasps. "Jenkins arrested for stealing that cursed money, and I " Then he ceases, and a deadly, numbing feeling 'of despair rushes in tumult through the quivering girl. She moves from him, and, rising, stands before her lover, bathed in k moonlight; while he. dazed and distraught, says nothing, and across the hill, from the town which recks not of these two lovers, come the • hum I of. traffic and the echo of its teeming i life. _ . "Tell me," says Ihe girl. "Do you know Anything of this money?" Now he is standing too, and her eyes, ierions and kind as" he remembers them One- other moonlight night, look through Me, and satin to probe bis souL '

T "•Don't ask me, AdaT F.^? God's" sake, don't!" But she questions once again, and this time, with hanging head, 3* answers, "Yes, I took it." Then there was silence, save for that noise of distant life and the sound of the creek which rose to them as it sobbed its way along the gully; and as they , heard it, the lovers' minds searched through their wreck of happiness for some gleam of hope. Then the girl speaks : "Oh, Charlie. Why did you do it?" and her tones are the echo of the despair that fills her mind. "Why did I do it? Don't you know?" he cries in sudden passion. , "I did it for you. Oh, darling, now I want you! — hour by hour, and day by day ! I did it for yon. I did it 'through Love!" His voice breaks into a sob, and the girl runs to him ; her arms cling round his neck, her tears mingle with his. So, for a moment, they stand, joined by love, divided by his impetuous theft. Ada- steps back, and Finlay speaks again. "How I have, suffered," he says. "Each time I took you in my arms it seemed to disgrace you. I — a robber, a thief, — to. -touch you, and, touching, to defile you." Charlie," -sobs the girl. "You did it for me. I can forgive you ; but you must go." '"Go !" he says. "Go where ? Do you mean to cast me off." Then, with a gesture of resignation, "Ah, well, it is only right. lam not fit for such as you." But as he turns away, the girl speaks. "No, I don't mean to ,cast you off. I mean you must go and confess your fault, so that Jenkins may be released." The man looks at her with dumb entreaty in his eyes, and far overhead the stars ' look down and see these grief- , racked lovers. When Finlay speaks again, he says, "I need not confess; they have no evidence to convict him, and they cannot connect me with the crime. Luck was on my side." His tones are pleading, but the girl heeds him not. MU3T go, Charlie. You can't lot Jenkins have his character besmirched. If he gets off just through want of evidence, people will still say he stole the money. Go, my* darling, and make your confession. " /-Quick he answers, "Do you know what 'it means? It means I become a felon; I gain five years in goal." "And after that," whispers the girl, "you gain— me." - ■ ' - "You!' he gasps. "Would.y-ou marry a. gaol bird — one who has c done time' — one who has worn a convict's dress?" Softly the girl says, "I would marry the man I love if he is brave enough to make reparation for the wrong he has committed — brave enough' to sutfer disgrace for my sake.* Then Finlay remembers his passionate vows of months before. " Make your choice : on- the one hand are your freedom and a lifelong load of remorse ; on the other, an easy conscience, and — a wife ! If you love me as you have sworn, you will do this thing for me, and I. — I will wait foi you, faithful through the years of penance."' Finlay looks at her in anguish. Those steadfast eyes return his look even as he cries, '"You don't know wfiat you ask !" and soft is the reply that comes : "Yes, I do : I ask that you should prove your love and be worthy of it, or else leave me for ever. Which will you do? There is the town; make your choke and go." The man looks, and reads love in her eyes"; love — and determination. "Darling," he asks, "can I say good-bye now, and make my- cnoice while I cross the gully, and when you reach the town seek the bank- manager and learn from him if he has seen me or not. Then will you know my choice." Ada hesitates, then opens wide her arms ; he folds her if '»»« embrace, he kisses her again and y, '<;■}. Then she whispers, "Remember, deal, you sinned for me, and if you want it I will love you still the same and be faithful." He kisses her once more, then turns away, but with a sudden cry turns back. Again he kisses* her — one fond, reverent kiss — and, "turning, wik his choice still to make, 6trides down the hill. Even in her moment of tense and bitter sorrow the girl notices the moon is brighter now, some vagant clouds have passed away. She wonders if, perchance, the omen is good; it the clouds that darken her life may pass away and brightness follow. The moon is higher now as well as bi*ighter, and above the opposite hill, but the gully is in shadow, and the slope above it. Tke girl stands and watches the man go down the hill, down, down, till he is swallowed in darkness. She pictures him striding up the opposite slope, making his choice, fighting the battle of honour. She waits — she watches the moonlit crest of the opposite hill; waits to see her lover reach it". He has promised that when he crosses the hill the battle will be won or lost, and 6lle can follow on to seek the manager and learn — what? At last from out the darkness of tlie shadowed slope emerges Finlay. He is almost at the crest, and walks 'with downcast head and slowly. Of a sudden, his head is raised, his step is firm, lie reaches the very crest, and the watching girl sees him_ stand for a moment, silhouetted against the radiant sky beyond — only for a moment, then he is gone?' ; • i