SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3338, 6 March 1918, Page 58

SHORT STORIES.

THE HEART OF HESTER.

By H. R. Fogg. (Copyright.) When Hester Easthoime found herself /atherless and motherless, folks in Gisworth said there »/oudd soon bo a wedding, "soon as ever she's through her mourning." For the gossips concluded that, having lost both parents within a month, a lonely life would soon pall upon her. But, they opined, so sweet and capable a mistress tor the little infants' school would be hard' to come by. Prophetic matchmakers had coupled* her name with that of Frederick Lowburn; others with that of John Whalley. But the former bad left the office of the local lawyer, and gone to the big city, where it was reported he was doing well; and, though Whalley still remained, carrying on his father's quarries, it was evident he was too shy and diffident, people said, to capture the beautilul girl who, it was whispered, could, if she- chose, live upon her literary earnings alone. Hester, indeed, nad no -idea that they discussed her in the places where women congregate. She taught their children, who all loved her, and as*for seeking the towns, she was well content with the bracing air of the Pennines, and the quaint folk with their quaint speech. Her tone was fully occupied, her work was her recreation, and for change she asked no more than to re *ch the local " Beacon hill," where the map of North Lancashire was rolled before the view, from silvery Ribble and her gleaming estuary to the Yorkshire marshes, and from Blackburn's smoky pall in the- south to the lakeland fells northward. On one such day many months before, when she had found her way to this viewpoint, two lads had encountered her, one after the other.

Frederick Lowburn stole a march upon his'slower rival, and so plain-spoken John Whalley arrived second."Promise me, Hester!" urged Lowburn, after lover-like protestations—"promise me that I may come to you with-my success. lam going to work for you, and for you alone. I love you, Hester. 1 want you for my wife." And she replied • calmly—for she had been wont to queen it over _them—-'' Why not win your success first, Frederick? I don't want to be married yet. And see, here is John!" Frederick moved away, biting his lip; end John, seating himself on the heather at her feet, told the story his eyes only too plainly expressed. But though, perhaps, she was more indulgent with him, her reply was much the same. If youi like," she added, "to think I wish you success, and it will help you to work, John, you may l surely do so. But we are young—you and I —and Frederick —to think of marriage!" They left her to herself, and journeyed down the hill together, friendly in speech, but hating each other at heart; and within sight of the ancient keep of Clitheroe,' Hester mused upon the days of chivalry and thought with some self-chiding that she had set knight against knight, and some day must give the guerdon to one—or the other. • The heather died, and one moorland winter after another passed, leaving her motherless and fatherless in their passing, and in the third winter news came of still another bereavement—news through a firm of Manchester solicitors, who added the information that a small fortune now devolved upon her. But though folk noticed that she wore mourning, and heard it was for an uncle, she held her peace about the money, and no one was the wiser, fcr she»lived her life as before. It was not in the mild season of autumn that . Lowburn but when the moors were bleak, their brooks silent, and a north wind blew tha heralded snow. Hester had corresponded fitfullv with him during his stay in the modern Athens, always writing as a sister might, even as she spoke' to Whalley, the plodding etay-at-home. But ever the news of his Increasing success contrasted with the apparent standstill of John's affairs, wbe since that memorable day upon the Beacon lull spoke to her with a reserve that reaembled diffidence. Yet now'Lowburn was coming to Gisworth Hester felt no enthusiasm. "I fear," she thought, "he will expect a welcome that is more than just friendly." She busied herself on the Saturday morning, assisting the middle-aged cousin who had come to live with her, but sought no counsel. The steady progress of the hands of the clock irked her. She even felt a sense of grievance against John Whalley, unreasonably blaming him for the one-sided battle. It had already begun to snow lightly after noon,' and towards sunset, when Lowburn arrived flushed with his walk, his greatcoat flecked with snow, it was strange that, though Susan, their maid, declared him to be "reight handsome," Hester should find fault with Mm for his look, his dark, curled hair, and imposing moustache. "At last, Hester!" he said, taking and rytaining her hand. " This is the moment I have worked for!" His eyes drank in her beauty. The girl he had known had developed into a calm, clear-eyed woman, -with the bloom of natural health, and a voice whose gracious accents thrilled him. Mentally, he concluded that her match did not exist in the circles he had moved in. Tho sheen of her golden hair in the soft lamplight gave the last touch to the picture. In spite of the unexplained diffidence felt lately as to the long-expected meeting, to which she had previously looked forward with an interest she admitted to herself, she now began to feel the influence of his personality.

laded Miss Eleanor Eastholmo, her cousin, responded to his urbane conversation with pleasurablj feelings. Susan, the maid, who managed to be also -a friend, laughed to herself in the kitchen at the jokes she had heard him crack, and judged him, moreover, to be " quite the gentleman." And after tea, tete-a-tete with Hester, he unfolded the story of his doings, reserving for the last the important item that' he was almost immediately to become a partner in his firm. " But, Hester, there is one thing wanted to crown it. 1 want to take you back with me, one day. You would be happy there, in your true element. And I should bo happy with such a wife besiue me; will you trust me with yourself?" He took her hand, not noticing the reluctance with which she allowed him to keep it in his grasp, ana the next moment she leapt up to her feet. " I hear John Whalley's voice!" An expression of annoyance passed over Lowburn's features. Then recovering himself he said, with a chuckle: " fxa! We must see John. Poor old John —stuck in the mud. Not come to propose, too, has he? That little legacy'd be a fine lift fcr John, wouldn't it?" ±jia.e a flash Hester turned. "Legacy — did you know?" " Of course! vVe acted for two of the smaller legatees under your uncle's will." "Oh!" replied Hester simply. And then, quickly again she Eaid, " Don't mention it to Mr Whalley. I have told nobody here," and a moment later Whalley entered the room. "Evening John!" said Lowburn. "Glad to see you."

" Same here," was the reply, " though it's a surprise. I called in to see Hester. Excuse me for a moment, and I shall be going." " It's about the Pilkingtons, Hester. I've just been to see Tom—you've heard he's ill. His wife has her hands full, nursing him, and to-night's the crisis. She'd feel a lot happier, and able to do everything ( if little Lottie could sleep somewhere else safely. I said you'd have her—l felt sure y6u wouic." " Decidedly, John • I'm very glad you said so." Hester was strangely stirred. With the two men before her —the one with the polish and breeding of the town, the other wind-tanned, suggestive of fresh air —she knew instinctively that they differed in every fibre. Frederick Lowburn, obviously, knew what he wanted. He was the sort of man who would always know what he wanted. But John Whalley would always know what others desired; he would always understand what she desired. v "You look bucolic, old man," put in Lowburn, with easy familiarity, at which their hostess flushed. % It was with relief she observed, that John showed no resentment. > "Just so," he replied. "We live in the open air, you know, at Gisworth. No smoky holes in cities for us! Hello! Someone's asking for me!" Two boys, breathless, appeared at the door. "We want Mestur Whalley! Two o' Pilkington's sheep are deawn t' quarry. Me an' my brother's seen 'em. Mrs Pilkington towd us he were here, an' he'd see to it." " That's, bad," said Whalley. "I'd better go. Poor Pilkington can't afford to lose anything just now, and the poor animals may get lamed. Perhaps, Lowburn, you'd like to come and help." "No, thanks!" was the reply. "Not quite my forte, you know. You'll manage all right. You'll be in your element." He spoke without the sarcastic inflexion which he had meant to use. Somehow an intuition had come to him that Hester would not like it. But nevertheless she divined the ironical intention. "Yes, John," she said, "you will be in your element. And it is a man's element." But Whalley was not waiting to argue; he had gone. , Hester followed to the door, and looked out into the moorland night. When she came back into the room she wore her cloak and tam-o'-shanter hat. "I am going to the quarry bank," she said; and was gone. Being a little taken by surprise. Lowburn was slow in setting out, and could not overtake her. He knew the path as well as she, and so arrived in time to see the little drama played out which relegated him to a small part. Up the steep shelving sides of the quarry John Whalley was climbing slowly, thrusting before him a dim shape, which ever and anon bleated plaintively. On the brink stood Hester Eastholme, hands clasped, gazing downward, quite oblivious of the man at her side, or the excited boys who completed the little audience. Oh, John !" she cried. "Take care, take care, for my sake!" Once he almost went backwards, but clutched a bunch of grass—which held, fortunately. And then came the steepest bit up to the summit, and Whalley rested awhile, and the boys held the foolish sheep prisoner. On hands and toe 3 down went Whalley again, and shortly began the upward journey, while the girl at Lowburn's side strained her eyes, and gasped with every perilous step taken by the man below. And when- once more he had safely reached tho top, and in a matter-of-fact way announced his intention of seeing the animals safely folded, Hester, turned, and for the first time knew that Lowburn was there. "It has occurred to me," said he as they crossed the fields, "that I shall be rather in the way. You have this little protege coming. But to-morrow you will give me your answer?" "To-morrow you need not come, Frederick, if it is for an answer." "Not to-morrow? Then when? I want your answer, Hester?" "But the answer you want me to give I can never give." And ho departed with the sound of a boy's voice humming in his brain.

"Mestur Whalley's as brave as a lion. When I'm a mon I want to be a great strong mon like him !"

The night was still young when little Lottie arrived with the man whom her mother said was "summat like a mon." He entered the comfortable room m which Hester awaited him. "Oh> John!" she said. That was all, and, somehow, neither knew how, her- head was on his breast, and they both knew that it belonged there. "John, dear," she said after a while, "I have -never told you, nor anybody, but 1 have a little fortune. I hope it will help you to get success. You won't mind, will you?" He laughed—an easy laugh, for the diffidence had gone from him, and he was Lowburn's match in the matter of coolness. "And I forgot to tell you something. I ought to have told you before I asked you—^again—to be my wife. I've won that success. I've captured three famous contracts —a town hall and two big libraries. But I'm glad you didn't wait to hear that." "Yes, John ! It was you I wanted. And I've only just found out!"