KATHLEEN.

Otago Witness, Issue 3111, 29 October 1913, Page 82

KATHLEEN.

Bv Ax<;ki.a Hastings

“Don’t stay 100 long, Kathie," said An bur Pordham. “if you do 1 will tome for you.” . . “ Then perhaps 111 be staying, laughed the girl, her dark blue eyes shining with happiness. “ Dick, ’ she added, turning to her brother, “you’re quite sure my box is ail right?” “ Quite safe, madame. Bestow not another thought upon it.” “Many a thought I shall bestow upon it! Doc.s- it not contain three brand new suits of armour —a blue, a white, a green Arthur looked at her thoughtfully. Ihcy were not formally engaged, but he thought ahe understood. Sometimes it seemed as if her feelings responded to his own, although at others, as though prompted by an imp of mischief, she tantalised him almost beyond endurance. Naturally, he himself was’of a serious disposition,, while she had all the waywardness ‘of a mountain stream. Perhans it was this very waywardness that made her so intensely lovable. “Don’t slay too many victims, Kath,” said Dick; “it isn’t fair.” “ All’s fair in love and war, isn’t it, Arthur?” demanded the girl, in her excitement scarcely knowing what she said. “In war yes, but not in love, Kathie.” “Besides, Kath,” chimed in Dick, “there might be a chink in your armour.” “ You mean someone may thrust his spear into my heart? Hump! I’nj not afraid.” “ The Temuka men little guess how merciless and indomitable is the foe about to appear in their midst,” laughed Dick. “ Arthur, aren’t you glad you’re not one of them?” “Rather, if thev are to he slain and left.” “Oh, well,” conceded Kathleen graciously, “I might bestow my favour upon one of them: you never know.” ‘‘You’ll have to prove to ns his merits,” declared Dick, “or else we’ll have none of him.” “I really believe, Kathic,” said Arthur, with pretended seriousness, “that if you venture to bring back with you any such individual, you must be prepared to hold yotyrself indirectly responsible for his death .” “ Stand clear!” cried the porter. “Good-bye!’ cried Kathie, holding tout her hand to Dick. “And—ah! Good-bye, Arthur!” Slowly the train moved northward. Kathleen waved her handkerchief as long as possible, and then, sinking back in her comfortable seat, looked round the carriage. It was crowded. With the exception of hors, all the double seats werJ fully occupied. The door opened, and a gentleman carrying two leather bags entered. He looked down the carriage doubtfully, and was about to retreat,-when catching sight of ahe vacant seat beside Kathie, he hesitated. She glanced up, and involuntarily moved nearer to the window. “May I sit here?” he asked courteously. Kathie gave a dignified -little affirmative reply. He deposited one bag on the floor until he had placed the other in the rack. The label of the portmanteau on the floor bore in large printed letters the name “Super-Grand Hotel.” Kathic glanced again at the newcomer. He was not altogether a young man. Kathleen classed him as “ a good bit over thirty. ’ His clean-shaven face was strong, his.Jong limbs muscular, his dee]) voice cultured. He was dressed in a wellfitting Norfolk suit of rich brown tweed. Having safely placed the portmanteau in the rack, lie sat down beside Kathleen, and, taking from his pocket the morning Times, offered it to the girl. “Would you sure,to see the paper?” lie asked her. “Thank yon.” said Kathie. inwardly marvelling at the sight of an individual w-lio offered her his paper without having himself first read it. She opened it at the centre, studied both the pages, and then turned over to the personals. “Thank you,” she said again, holding out the Times. “Finished already?” he asked in some surprise. “Do not hurry. I shall have plenty of time to read it later on.” “ I never read more than three things,” said Kathie with a little smile. “ May I ask what they arc?” ho inquired. smiling back at her. “ The deaths and marriages, the personals. and Home Rule.” “The first two I can understand your reading, but why the last?” fihe laughed. “ Because my name’s Kathleen O’Brien.” Ho laughed, too. “Reason enough,” he replied. He was a delightful fellow-traveler. Without, being obtrusive, be was attentive *vnd social*'

“You have told me your name, he said smilingly. 'I am itaymnnd Mai dor. bound for Temuka." ’Why, tlist's where I’m going! cried Kathleen, smiling dazzlingly upon him. How queer!” A coincidence, indeed. Do you know Temuka well?” No, not very. A Hat, dull sort of place what I remember; but the rivers are pretty, especially the Arowhcuua.” ‘‘l hope to do some good fishing. There’s no recreation can equal it.” Kathic pursed her full, red lips. ‘T-uin —perhaps; but I couldn’t bear pulling the hooks out of the fish, and —ugh!— putting on the worms. At Broad Bay we used to use sea-worms —ugly, leggy, nippy creatures. I wouldn't touch them for the world! When i went fishing they had to bait my hooks for me, and my bait was always getting entangled in seaweed or being washed away; they* became rather tired ot my fishing exploits.” ‘‘While in Temuka you must practise, Miss O’Brien, and you will astound them when you return home. I shall be only* too delighted to act as —shall we say your piscatorial tutor!” Kathleen laughed. "It’s gqod of you. Thank you; but you’ll regret- your promise, Mr Naldor. Still, 1 shall he delighted to watch you emptying the rivers. It I fished, too, there wouldn't be enough to keep us going.” “I am willing to risk it, Miss O’Brien.” “I am going to stay with my uncle and aunt. Their name’s Bentley. Uncle’s name’s Silas, but we always call him ; Silence, because lie’s everlastingly talking. It’s really to cheer up dad’s sister Molly I’m going. Her name’s the same us mine —Kathleen Mary O’Brien. She’s been j dreadfully ill with pneumonia.” * “And you’re to be the ministering angel?” “Nobody ever said so before. I go more in the character of Court jester } I fancy. An angel!” She laughed gaily. “You should hear what Arthur and Dick say about me. Just look at that water. Isn't it beautiful?” “Very beautiful indeed. Who are Dick and Arthur, if I may inquire?” “Dick? He’s my brother; and Arthur’s his greatest friend.” “And they are not complimentary?” “I say they’re horribly rude, especially Dick; but they only laugh.” “Brothers never do appreciate their sisters.” “Oh, they don’t mean what they say. I like it, because I know perfectly well they adore me all the same.” “Arthur too?” “Of course. Look at that Maori boy. See, there’s his mother. Aren’t they picturesque ?” “Are you an artist. Miss O’Brien?” “I wish I were.- I try to paint. I know what! I shall paint you fishing!” “Say. Dick, have you heard from Kathi’e lately ?” “No. She’s a most uudutiful sister. I think there must l\e something interesting in Temuka. Perhaps there’ll be a letter this afternoon. If so, I’ll ring you. Walking home to-night?” “Yes.” “Meet you at the corner, as usual. Good-bye,” and Dick hurried down towards his office. When the mail came in he found an envelop addressed in Kathie’s writing. He tore it open eagerly, for he was strongly attached to this only sister, and her long silence had puzzled him. His face clouded as he read: — Dear old Dickie, —I have,,such news for you. I am engaged to he married, provided, of course, mum and dad don’t object. Are you very much surprised? I am writing to mum and dad, and I don’t think they will object, because Uncle Silence and Aunt Minnie both like Raymond. Dickie, there is one thing that troubles me. Do I owe Arthur anything?” “By Jove! niv lady, I should think you do!” cried Dick. I wasn’t really engaged to him, Dick, was I? And if a girl’s not really engaged she’s quite free. Besides, after all, perhaps it’s only mv self-pride that makes me imagine Arthur ever cared for me. Sometimes, Dicky—don’t tell mum or dad—l feel quite miserable, and I’m not a bit sure I care for Raymund at all. But I think he’s ever so rich, and I do love money and heaps of .things. And then he’s really very nice. _ It’s just when I’m not with him I begin to think of Arthur. But there, how silly I am! I’m engaged to him, and I shall marry him. If Arthur cared a bit for me he should have become properly engaged to me, and if I’d had a ring and all that I couldn’t have got engaged to someone else. Raymund wants me to marry him immediately; but I’m not sure about it. I wish I could have a yarn to you about it, Dicky. Raymiind’s so good to me, and, indeed, I like him very much; but do come, Dicky.—Your own sister, Kalhik. “Whew!” Dick O’Brien stretched out his legs beneath the table and tilted back his chair. “Whew!” He rooked gently to and fro. “She is a little donkey! By Jove! I must go up there. Eh! but what about Arthur? Shall I tell him. Hello! here's a postscript: ‘Please tell Arthur, • especially if you think I have treated him ; hadlv.’ That decides it.” O’Brien rang his telephone and got ' connected with Arthur’s office, and made j an appointment for five o’clock. The j friends met at their usual corner, Dick | with the letter like a burning coal in his pocket. They were some distance un the I hil! before either referred to the subject j that was occupying the thoughts of both. “I’ve brought the letter,” said Dick j abrutly. “I always said she was a little. goose; but I never thought she was such : a big one as she is. Read it, Arthur.” | ‘.‘Are you sure?” began Ford ham. “Yes;*read it. She told me to tell you, and this is the easiest way.” Arthur read it slowly, silently, and then, with still no comment, handed it back to Dick. There was a proud, cold look on

Fordham’s face, an expression to which Dick was not accustomed. “Well?” demanded Kathie’s brother, t •'lt is for Kathie to decide whom she will marry, ’ replied Arthur, quietly. “Hang it all.’ Don’t vou care?’ cried Dick. “I always thought—in fact, was dead sure, —Arthur, you’d he my brother-in-law !’’ "Were you?” Fordham was actually smiling. “It is always the unexpected that happens.” “Don’t know how the dickens I came to imagine it, but I did. Anyhow, old chap, seeing things have turned out this way, I’m awfully glad you’re not hurt. I must go to see Kath, though. Can’t help thinking this fellow’s a bounder. I remember in one of her other letters she talked of some English chap, no end of a swell. I fancy, being up there fishing.- I believe this is the fellow.” “Convey my congratulations,” said Arthur. “When will you go?” he inquired with polite interest. “By the second express to-morrow.” In the morning Kathie received her brother’s telegram, and when the afternoon express came panting into the station she stood waiting on the platform. “Kath!” O’Brien scanned his sister’s face anxiously. “Dick! How good it is to see you! cried the girl. “Have you—have you any more luggage?” “No. Just this. I can’t stay long. Say, Kath, you’re rather thin on it, aren’t you? Love germs can’t he healthy, mavourneen.” “I—l’m getting tired of here.” Dick whistled. “ And —and Monsieur Le Beau Ideal ” Kathie blushed. “Hb’s verv well. ’ When both had got into the trap and Kathie took the reins Dick discovered that Kathie was an excellent driver. After they had left the town she allowed the horse to slow down considerably. “Did you,” she asked, looking steadily ahead of her, “did you toll Arthur?” “I did.” “And what did he say?” “Nothing.” “He —he wasn’t hurt or anything?” “No; at least I don’t think you need worry over having done him any harm, Kath. He sent his congratulations.” “Yes?” Then her manner became exceedingly gay. “We have been having such a lovely time, Dicky. Fishing and painting. You should stay a month.” “Wish I could. But this chap, Kath. What’s his name? Raymund what?” “Nalder.” “Who is he?” “An Englishman.” “You mean an English gentleman?” She nodded. “And I suppose you’re terribly in love with him] Kath?” “Of course.” Dick sighed. “I wish it were Arthur. I always thought it would be, Kath.” “Did you? How could it be when he doesn’t care for me?’’ “But I always believed he did. I don’t understand it at all.” “Of course, you silly Dicky, he did care for me, but not in such a way ‘as to wish to marry me.” “And I suppose when you marry this Nalder chap you’ll be a sort of English lady, and go Home and live in style and all that, Kath?” “Well, yes, I suppose so.” “U —um. Is that partly why you’re marrying him, Kath?” “What a question, Dick! Anyway, won’t it be very nice to have a beautiful English home?” “Oh, yes, very. You’re lucky, Kath, but you know, Kath, I always had visions of dropping in to tea with you and Arthur, and spending the jolliest evenings.” “Don’t be absurd,” said Kathleen in an unusually impatient voice. Dick glanced at her and laughed. “ Do you think I don’t appreciate your intended lord and master ? Why, here we are; and there’s Aunt Minnie and Uncle Silence at the gate! And, bless me, Kath, I haven’t even asked after them! How are they ?” “Well,” replied Kathie absently. After tea Dick was to be introduced to Raymond Nalder. O’Brien looked forward to this meeting with reluctance and yet alacrity. He and Kathie were seated on the verandah with the convalescent Aunt Molly, Aunt Minnie, and Unde Silence when the front gate clicked, and up the path came Nalder. As he drew nearer O'Brien stared hard at him. Kathie advanced to meet him shyly, and led him towards her brother. “Dick,” she said, “this is Raymond.” Dick stared as though incredulously at the man before him. “I am charmed to meet you,” said Nalder politely, and O’Brien felt too hot and confused to give a distinct reply. “Caught many fish?” cried Uncle Silence, and in the buzz of conversation Dick’s confusion was hidden. To him the evening was one of prolonged horror. At last Nalder wished them good-night, and lit his cigarette to keep him company, lie said, on the road home. “’May I walk a little way with you?” asked O’Brien. “ I shall be delighted. Good-night all,” called Nalder. “Good-night, Kathie,” and he closed the gate behind Dick. “It is a glorious night,” said Nalder, glancing up at the clear, round moon. “An excellent night for walking.” “Yes,” Dick assented. “What the dickens do you mean by this?” he demanded, turning angrily to his companion. “ I do not understand you. Mr O’Brien,” ‘said Nalder coolly. “Don’t understand me I By heavens, but vou understand me when I go into the Super-Grand to order my dinner! An hotel waiter ! How dare you lead my sister to believe all this trumpery about a Homo estate? Thank heaven I came here in time to stop all this tomfoolery !” Dick spent a most wretched night. In the morning Kathie must be told of the deception, and ho dreaded the task of revealing to b«»r Nalder’a duplicity. After

breakfast he went with her into the garden. Would you care to go fishing, Dicky? Raymund will be going. He will be coining in presently.” ■' I think, Kathie, he will not,” ho said firmly. ' - •She looked at him in alarm. “You didn't quarrel with him, did you, Dicky?” ” I’m no good at preparing people for shocks and all that son of business, Kathie. Nalder will not come here again.” ” Dick, how dare you ” Listen to me, Kathie. Haven’t I looked after you all your life? Didn’t I come here to do so now. Thank goodness I did! Kathie, your English gentleman is an hotel waiter.” “ Dick! Oh, Dicky!” “ I am very furry, Kath. Kath, darling, don’t go all white like that. Sit down. Lean against me. There! Kath, he s a bounder ! Kath, you’re not going to faint, are you?” "No, no,” she said, struggling to sit “P- t ’’ Keep still, Kath. Is your head comfortable, mavourneen?” ; ‘‘Dicky, are vou sure?” ‘‘Quite sure, Kath. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and shivered. Dick put his arms tenderly around her. At last she sat up and faced him. “Dicky,” sue said coftly. “Yes, Kath?” “It doesn’t matter. I really never oared for him at all.” Although her face was white she smiled. “ I don’t cave one brass farthing.” ' • • > i \\ hat a day 1 The heat was almost intolerable, and the dust blew wildly down the Sydney streets. With a sigh of relief Arthur Fordham let the library door swing to behind him, and tvent languidly towards the newspaper room. During his stay in the Australian city he had come every day to read the papers, and to-day he knew there would be fresh New Zealand ones. There it was. The round-faced man, evidently also a New Zealander, had just finished reading it. Artjiur opened the Times eagerly. Like Kathleen, he turned to the centre of the paper. A low exclamation of horror broke from his lips, and he stared as though dazed at a death notice on the page before him. It was the death notice of Kathleen Mary O’Brien, only daughter of John and Margaret O’Brien, of Dunedin. How the few remaining days of his holiday passed he hardly knew. He had but one thought, to go back, to learn how she had died, to visit her grave, to ask her to forgive him for his pride. Why had ho been so foolishly proud? Why had he not gone to her, to offer her his love when deception was discovered ? And now! It was too late. The short voyage seemed interminable. He left the steamer at Wellington, and crossing to Lyttelton, journeyed southward by the expi'ess. The Northern Cemetery, the Times had said. He must go there at once. He inquired of a grave-digger where she was buried, and hurried down across the grass to the place indicated. He reproached himself for not having brought her flowers; but he would come again tomorrow with the choicest he could buy. What'a fool he had been! But then., even if he had not listened to the voice of pride which bade him steel his heart against a girl who had acted as Kathleen had done, even if he had married her, would he not have had the consolation of knowing that in her last hours he had comforted her? Now it was too late. Why is clear vision given us only when Dame Fortune has advanced beyond our reach? It was an old grave, surrounded by a low, concrete wall. Others beside Kathleen rested thei’C. He sat down at the foot of the fresh, yellow mound of clay noon which some of the dead flowers still remained. He closed his eyes, pressed bis hands against Lis forehead as though he would shut out the sight of the slanting sunbeams,. the sound of the birds’ sweet trills, the careless shouts of the schoolboys on the lake, the whole world—everything but his dead Kathleen. Down, down, down, sank the burning sun; but, heedless, Fordham sat beside her grave, absorbed in his intense grief. “0—oh!” Arthur started to his feet, and to his amazement beheld a girl standing at the top end of the grave. She was dressed in a soft white gown, touched here and there with black. She wore no hat. and in her hand 'was a huge bunch of fragrant roses. “Kathleen!” Arthur’s face was white as the girl’s pure frock. “Kathie! God help me! Am I going mad?” He stared at her incredulously. “Arthur! Why! Aro you afraid-of me?” There was quiet laughter in her voice. “Afraid? Kathleen! Kathleen! I believed you deadl” “Ah! And were you —I mean—did you care ” “Care!” He stumbled towards her. “Kathie! When I read that death notice I became half insane! But how was such a mistake permitted?’’ “It was- no mistake. Poor Aunt Molly lies in there. Her name is the same as mine, and tier father’s name the same as dad’s!” “Thank heaven it was not you! Kathie, I always loved you, and when I believed you dead, I realised how impossible it was to live my life without you. I—it was all my foolish pride, Kathie. I thought I could not ask a girl who had preferred another to marry me. But now, Kathie, pity me!” “Hush, Arthur. T was to blame; but —but, truly Arthur I never really cared for him; but then I didn’t think you cared for mo especially when Dick said you didn’t seem to mind when you hoard of my engagement. And—and I was foolish. I thought it would he beautiful to he a groat English lady; but oh, what a silly girl 1 was.”

‘'Perhaps, Kathie, said Arthur gently, “we have both been mistaken. 1 have learned my lesson, and I know how well 1 love you.”