XXVIII. THE COST OF A PROMISE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2732, 18 July 1906, Page 82

XXVIII. THE COST OF A PROMISE.

By Glaucia.

(Specially wntten for Special Subject Wee&fc

Daphne, a little gM who stood watching tho yellow sunlight bathing the far-away hilltops, turned with c. weary sigh to the beside on which lay the form of a once beautiful wnmn. On her well-formed fea<tures disease had traced its ciuel marks, and her one blooming cheeks were aollow and -wan. Her feverish gaze rested lovingly on hec little child. "What can I do for you, mother, dear? How are you now?" and Daphne took the" wasted hands end pressed them to her lips. "My baby." murmured the mother fondly, "how can I leave you and Ronald?" Daphne's heart waa heavy within her. "Mother, dear, you are going to get better soon ; you will not leave us alone." The fading sunlight streaming through the wrndtm- fell en tho woman's wasted features. Sh« slightly raised herself up amongst her pillows, and that drew the child close to her. "Daphne, it is no use hiding the truth from you. The doctor has told me that it is only ft matter of a few hours, and' I have so mush I wish to tell you," and sh» looked fondly at her little child. Daphne was only 10 years old yet. She had always ehown. a strength of character quite uncommon in children of her age, and she had been her mother's constant companion — so much so that the child nature in her had ceasedl to exists and the mother had learnt to look to her little girl for •womanly sympathy. The mother looked out of the window where the sun was shining" on the hills, and the memory of other days came back to hsr. She had been a strong-, healthy girl, and the first years of married life had been very happy for hex. Her husband, Stuart Graham, though always strictly attentive, seemed more wrapped up in his business than ever. His business had carried him very often on long jourtteys, and this evening he ;s; s away on on* of them. Will he return in time? Her ears were strained to catch a sound of hi« familiar footsteps in the hall downstairs, but nothing could be heard except the clock ticking in the hall. Her arm* went tighter round the little girl beside her, and with; an effort ehe spoke. "Daphne, you are my youngest born. Will you pronu»e me that you will ever cling to Ro»aJd? Be unto him as a mother and sister both, and help him, Daphne, to oiow up a worthy man. You will promise xat that you will never, deserti him— -that his

■welfare will Be your first consideration? He is' weak and unlike you. "You will promise ana this, little girl, will you not? It will ease my mind if I know that my boy's future will be cared for, and that someone will be good to him when his mother has gone. Promise, won't you, little girl, and she looked earnestly at the child's ■white face. ------ - /•Mother, oh, mother, I promise that Eonny ■mil never have cause to say that I was not • model sister. But, mother, the doctor knows nothing about it: you are going to Ji»e, and will yet show Konny and I how •o be good." The mother only shook her head, and th« Smile on her lips was painfully faint and forced. Th« nurse's entrance interrupted their conversation, and after pressing the child to her bosom she allowed the nur&e to arrange her pillows. Just as the streaks of daylight were stealing over the hills, the mother's feeble soul took its upward flight— the pure soul had returned to its Maker, and the casket, beautiful in its everlasting sleep, lay on the bed infinitely sweet in death.

Stuart Graham sa-t in his study, his cold, sandsome features wearing a look of stern seventy. Before him on a table was a pile of papers, but it was not on theEe hia eyes rested. A tall, yoong girl entered the study, and- approached the table. Her steps were light and firm. She wa-s a beautiful girl, with features white as jmarble. and luge, full ey«s, which revealed a truthful, yet proud, nature. The curl of the lips showed pride and strength of character. Her brown wavy hair coiled, upon her shaoely head, set a beautiful halo on her features. "Fatht-r, you sent for me?" Stuart Graham looked up, and motioned "hex to a seat. "I gent for you, Daphne, on « matter of the graveet importance. I have this morning received a letter from my bankers intimating thai a. cheque has been passed with my signature attached to it. II is needless to state that this cheque was not signed by me, and it is equally needless lor me to &ay who presented the cheque," *nd he gave her a, significant look. She rose to her feet. "What do you mean, father? Do you mean that " He tossed her a letter, and with burning cheeka she read its contents— read the accusation it contained, and then for the first time she saw that she herself was charged with passing the cheque. It was on her lips to deny the accusation, and to prove that she was not in the neighbourhood on tn* day m question, when the last hours spent -with her mother rose up before her, ana the promise given seemed' to star.d up pointing out to her her duty. She dropped the letter on the table, and her face wns very calm, but white. "What ha.v« you to say to that letter, Daphne?"

"Xothing, father, save what your own Icnowledge muet tell you, that never a child ol yours has been guilty of such an action. ' Her words were proudly uttered. "Theie is no need fox me to say that I am innocent of the charge laid against me."

Then she .waited for tho judgment, which ■waa given without delay, aud carried with it banishment from the home that -had sheltered her, the hoir.e her mother had loved. Oh, could her father believe her guilty of au action so vile — his own child. "Father, you -do not mean that ycu expel jne from home."

In reply ho repeated his words. Sho stood before him, beautiful in her sorrow. "Father -I will go, but a trmo will come when you will think of this hour.. You will think of the child who loved you dearly. I wish that you had been less severe," »nd she walked out of the room., her head held erect and her ateps firm and light. In her room the wept. "Oh, mother, the burden thou h*st laid upon me is gresUer than I can bear," was the cry of her broken heart.

It was neon, and Urs Dale was putting the last finishing touches to her table. Tha little kitchen, where tho sun smiled in so cheerily, wus neat and homely, denoting the cleanliness of ity uustTCcS. Outside in the porch, came the sound of footsteps, snd M>rs Dale approached the tuble with the teapot, «nd commenced pourxng out the tea for her husband. As he did net enter the old lady looked up inquiringly, only to allow her teapot to stay suspended. A tall, girlish figure, enveloped in a travelling coat, stood on the threshold of her doorway — a girl ■whose face was aged with much suffering. Her bonny eyes looked wistfully cut at her; down fell the teapot, and a stream of coloured liquid rushed across the t\ hit-e tablecloth ; but what mattered that to the old dame, who, recovering from her surprise, had rushed -with outstretched arms to the newcomer, a>td folded her in her motherly arms and kissed her. "Daphne, is it really you, come at lat,t to see your old nurse? Ah, holt you havo grown. "Dear auntie, it is like old times to be here with you; it is just like hcrue."

Daphne looked wistlully around her, and * restful feeling stole over her. Sha allowed herself to be placed in the old armchair in the corner. It was like old times to have her old nurse near he-r again. It was not until » cup of tea had been swallowed that Mrs Dale allowed her lo of herself. The girl, looking into the fire with, a vacant gaze, said : "I have conic to you, Mrs IJa-le, because I havo no one else to go to — no one whom I can trust and confide in as I can An you. You belong to that happy part of my life the memory of which •strengthens me for the duties life places upon me. My father and I, Mrs Dale, had » slight difference, and he expelled me from, ■home. He unjustly accepted a cruel accusation against me ia regard to a cheque with. his signature attaciied being presented by mo. In the bitterness of the accus-ation I spoke ■words I have sorely repented, and for which I now suffer." and she bowed her head. It ■waß the old lady who spoke first. She effered no sympathy, for. knowing the nature of her young friend, 'he realised that it •was best not to offer any.

'"Have you an idea, who it -was cashed the cheque?" Daphne sank her head lower, for what sister would betray a brother, no \natter how degraded he may have become. Mrs Dale gueaaed the meaning of th& silence, and «sked, "Where is Ronald now ? Was it he, Daphne? Tell me why you •will bear the burden of all his crimes? "Why will you not let him bear his own punishments? Ever since you were ohil«Eren, who waa it suffered for Ronald's carelessness but you? "Why is it so?" Daphne Icoked up, her face deadly p»le. ''Because, nursie dear, wheu mother spots •with me the laat night before slio died she asked me to promise thnt I would shield him from trouble. I have tried to do my duty, and if I hay« failed it is bccau.se 1 have been too weak."

"As the result of a. promise you sre expelled from home. Oh, Daphne!" Long they talked the matter over, and in the end Daphne felt strong in her determination to face the troubles of life.

Westville was a ciear little neighbourhood, «ad its inha.bita.nt3 were kind aoid sociable.

Daphne had secured a position on, the teach* ing staff of the local school, and she end-eared herself to both hex pupils and their parents. Suffering had taught her to sympathise with her fellow beings. On -the outskirts of the village, basked a beautiful homestead, nestling midst smiling fields and sheltered by tail majestic trees. Its owner, Mr Hugh Ramaay, was a. bachelor, endowed with ft proud and haughty nature. Hda mother kept house for him, and at th© time we make his acquaintance the owner of Westville homestead is entertaining a party of guests. Mrs Ramsay, who has taken » fancy to Daphne, had persuaded her to stay with her and help to entertain her visitors, an arrangement which met with Hugh Ramsay's approval. Not so that of a cousin, who is desirous of winning Hugh's admiration, aoid who looks on with dismay and wonders what she can do to destroy Hugh' 8 good opinion of Daphne. I>ily Johnston, though not naturally of a selfish nature, has girown used to admiration, and she could not brook others forestalling her. She was a beautiful girl, and knew the power of her personal charms. She had thus become a butterfly, who loved the summer hours As she lay on the couch in the library she looked a delicate flower, too fragile for the battle of life— so different from Daphne's strong and graceful personality. While Lily lay idly dreaming on her couch, Daphne was flittaug amongst the flowers in the open air, her every movement followed by a pair of loving eyes. She had disappeared 1 behind an ornamental bush -when the owner of the eyes stepped cut of the house and followed her leisurely. The sound of voices fell on his eaar, and as he stepped from behind the oush he ««■ Daplin© in earn-est conversation with a tall, slightly-built, but handsome young man > f stranger to him. On perceiving Hugh, both fell apart, and the young man left immediately. Hugh noted the look of confusion with which Daphne turned to him, but he made a. passing remark on the beautiful evening, and so allowed her to recover herself This kind thong-h,*fu.lne?9 made Daphne admire him more than ever. It w^s a. few <i»ya later that he broaoh<x! the f-übjecf most dear to his heart and waited for Daphne's reply. It WR3 modestly given, not in words, but in ma/jaenly blushes, ,and it made h?m very •hippy.

Several weeks had passed, and Daphne was back with Mrs Dale once more, carrying on her duties at the school, though much against n»r fiance's wishes. She was happy in her love, too happy to we tbo.t the fu'tuio might nold more pain and suffering fox her. From her home and father she heard nothing but often her heart went.ynt to that father who had banu'hed her from hia side. Ronald still lived under ti»o paternal koins but not aware of what had cau.=&d his sister to leave their home. He had broached the subject to his father once, but be -stonily forbade him to continue the conversation He was a youcg man of * weak a,t\d vacillating character. Notwithstanding this the only crime he had committed so far waa or.-c which he couldn't banish from his -thoughts. He knew where his sister lived, and 1 he had often travelled to &cc he,r. Fiom her he leaiat of her engagement. Hugh Ramsay waa p. devoted lover, and was looking forward to the time he would have Daphne sll to himself. Just on the cv& of their marriage, business called him from home. Whilst he vns away a letter followed biro, imparting •unfaithfulness to Daphne, ard advising him to be ait a certain spot at such a time Though dismissing the thought of unfaithfulness oh Daphne's part, ho couldn't resist the temptation of being at the spot Tnentic-ned in the letter. It was" a quiet liltlo spot, and he -was not many seconds there when 'ho saw a tall, hajidsome young man appTOacn. He ww joined by Daphne, whom he greef ect affeat-ionately. and she citing lovingly to him. Hugh watchir.g from his V>"ace of vantage, saw the handsome features of his rival, a,nd -recognised in him the stranger who ha-d forveerly met Papbne. Next mornin-; We«.tvil'e knew him no more; but the offioT v.-i.ofa duty it wa« to musier men for the contincrorjis for Sou*h A-frica gasped when Hup;h Rimr-ay entered his office and with a grave pet stern face asked, to be- acooptod. _ And Daphne, in her ccttage home, sa-t leading -the la-st of her love dream. The du'l pain in her head was overpowering bufc the world must cot see her baoken heart.

Out on the African veldt stretched the New Zealand contingent. An officer wearing the uniform of a major went down the slopes, w he-re ho could hear the boys suigrng and enjoy ,ng themselves. Hugh Ramsay, for it was he, could stand it r,o longer, but longed for solitude. Wistfully he looked at the western hills, aud tried to trace his native home, when a slight coujh attracted his attention. He turned, and enc-oun-tcred a young- private. "Ycu h-erc? I thought you were in Xew 2ca.'and."

" Major, I beg you not io apeak so sarcastically. I came to South Africa purposcy to t see you, and beg of ycu to rot-u.rn home when possible. Don't say a word till I have finished. My name is "Ronald Graham, and my sister, Di>phn«, is not unknown to you. When, only ten yea*-? old she promised our dying mother '.hat she vrou.d shield me from the storms of life. Our nature? differ. She is the atrongrr; I am a careless, reckless devil, a,nd for all mv misbehaviour ih-e b«-> borne the punishment wi-thor't a murmur. It was she who shielded me from my father's anger and boie the punishment that should have be«u mine. Four years ago I roct with a. beau* if ul gi/rl with the r> attire of a. butterfly, and who is not a s-lranpfr lo yen, as you vi'l kco-w when I tell you hc-r name- is Lily Johnston. I loved her to distraction, and ehe s-aid' that s-lie loved me. We were married secretly bacause my father wou'd bare sent roe off Without a penny had he known. She must havo admiration and she .=oon grew tired of cur humdrum life, and left me, though without a hard word passing my lips to her, for I lm-o her dearer dhau iife itself. In thepe days I was careless and lazy ; perhaps I wag selfish a-lso. In n moment of v/eakn€?s my stepmother cashed a cheque, and -threw the blame on my 'sister, who in her loyalty to me meekly submitted in tho accnsa.tion, jumping to the conclusion that I was the g-ui'ty parson. The result was tbat my father expelled Daphne from home. Sho went io \Ve«tville, and tiiere whilst on a \:--<t to Lily I accidentally met Daphne in ycur garden. You remember that afternoon ? Si>ru-a time afterwa.rds I a-gain visite-d Inly. She is mv wile, and I wished to s&e her, but »be p 1 ended sickness, and sent Daphne m her pace. The vote yo'i sent Djphne told me yen witnessed our met ing that a/terr.oo:i . Liiy baa since confe?sed to having sent you a note anonymously — the nature of its coiit-anta you will len'^mber. Lily ard I have made it up sinco, ard have decided to face the wor l d together. Father has found cut all about the cheque but Daphne -" Ho stopped short, a»id looked on the grourid. Hugh Ram»ay caught his shoulder, and said "What of Daphne? Oh, heavens! v.hat r-eed!e--<5 pain I ha\e cau=ed her through mv ha««Mu-« Tr-H me. Graham, yuc sister ig well' "Why do you look so' Why don't you speak?"

Ronald sat down on the rocky ground. a.ncl groaned. " She is dying, and all through me! Oh. mother, do you know now what that promise Daphne gave you has cost her?" " Don't give way, Graham. You see, we

a.r-0 on sick leave, and can secure a. passage home,' Let us go at once; every moment to me will seem a. life time-."

The sun. is shining round Ivy Cottage, and the flowers in the garden bloom sweet; but within in the cottage cLI is deadly still. liying on a couch is the frail form of a young girL At her bedside are her father and her stepmother. Neither utters a, word, but both look sadly on the wasted- form before them, la the father's heart there struggles some painful memories, and his sorrow is almos£ too great to bear. Daphne's eyes ever eeek tho doorway with an eager, expectant look, and then slowly rest on the father at her side. She puts out her thin hands and says, " Deax old daddie, you must not be so sad; try and smile at me as you; did, oh, years ago." From this she wanders on incoherently, but ever »nd anon her gaze rests on the door. In the midst of her delirium th© sound of firm footsteps falls on her listening- ear. She raises herself with an effort, and the light on her face is glorious. Her father tries tc :oax her to Se down, but she puts up a, hand, as the door opens and a t&ll young man enters ; a.nd the ory that greeted him was like that of a tired child. "Oh, Hugh! at last!" And with his strong arms encircling her frail form, and with tfhe warmth of his kisses on her cheeks, a tired, weary sigh escaped from her lips, as she laid her bead wearily on his bresisrt, and slept peacefully, like a, tired child.

When the doctor came and saw his patient asleep in the arms of a. stranger he was glad, and assured them that the turn for tho better had come. Par into the night "Hugh sat at his pos-t, and when morning dawned she opened her eyes and looked up at him. " Am I dreaming, or is it really you, Hugh, ' dear?" But he wouldn't speak, lesb the exer- f tion might be bad for her. 1

When Daphne had recovered there was a, quiet wedding at Ivy Gofctage, and Hugh Ramsay bore 'his wife away to a warmer climate, and tinder hia oaj-e she- soon , regained her strength. She is so happy in her husband's love and her father's kindness, together with the complete change in Eonald'a character, and she feels th?.t no more will she be cabled upon to sacrifice her own happiness. She h?.d faithfully kept her promise, and was happy at seeing the mutual love existing between hei father and Rona'.d.