SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3395, 9 April 1919, Page 58

SHORT STORIES.

[All Rights Reserved.]

THE MINIATURE.

and C. Askew

Unity Paston looked at herself in the small, old-fashioned glass that stood on her dressing-table, her little face very set and pale, her blue eyes, painfully defiant in their expression, and though she was dressed in the soft white robes of a bride there was no smile on her lips, and if she trembled it was not from joy. "Good-bye, Unity Paston, she addressed her reflection in the mirror. "This is your wedding morning, my dear, and you are being Gold—do you hear me ?_ S old 1 Your consent has not been asked; you have simply been told by your father that you have got to marry Daniel Ash for the sake of the family honour. You have been bought and sold for a price." The bride stamped her little foot — small hands and. small feet were the birthright of all the Paston women, and Unity was a true Paston, bearing a great resemblance to her lovely great-aunt—-another' Unity Paston, a girl who had bloomed and faded in her spring close on i a hundred years ago. She had died of a broken heart, so the story ran, having loved one of her father's tenants, a young farmer whom she could i not marry owing to the difference in their social stations. The lover—Mark Clouston by name—had left England to push his fortunes abroad, and the New World had . swallowed him up. But as for Unity, she had faded as a flower fades when deprived of fresh air and sunshine, and at the early age of nineteen she had been carried to her grave.. The luckless heroine had always been a subject of the greatest interest to her young descendant. Unity could not understand how her great-aunt could have loved beneath her, for she herself put pride of birth before everything, and was puzzled to account for her great-aunt's infatuation for a mere yeoman. It was true, of course, that Mark Clouston had saved the blue-eyed girl's life on one occasion, yet Unity felt that she could never have loved* a man, however brave he might be, unless he was what she called a gentleman, and she would frown at Great-aunt Unity's portrait—frown reproachfully as at a traitress to her race. But Great-aunt Unity always smiled back softly, a dreamy baffling smile —a "1 smile difficult to understand, and her blue eyes had a wisdom in their depths beyond her years, and Unity realised this, and felt vaguely. annoyed, for why ; should great-aunts affect wisdom?—a silly girl who.had died/for love! And now to be married to a self-made man' herself, a tall, blackbearded, brown-eyed colonial of thirtyfour, and Daniel Ash made it his boast that he was the son of the people, and had earned his bread in the past by the sweat of his brow. -

Ash had only recently • come to live in

Sussex, having purchased Red Hall, a fine estate, whose grounds joined on to the mortgaged property which had belonged to the Paston family for generations. He had made his money at the goldfields, and, though a Canadian by birth, he intended to spend the rest of hia days in England. He had met Unity at the county ball a few months back, and had fallen head over ear 3 in love with the slight, fairhaired girl who had held herself so proudly for &H that she was wearing quite an old gown; but then, Unity was one of the Pasterns of Moor End—and her pride in her family was sublime. She did not know that her father was on the very verge of bankruptcy, and that Moor End was mortgaged up to the hilt, any more than she had the least idea that it lay in the power of a Jewish moneylender to swoop down at any moment on her old home and carry away the furniture and effects in great vans—even the portrait of Great-aunt Unity that <ihung halfway up the wide staircase. Unity's mother was dead, or 6he might have explained the true state of affairs to her daughter; but gentle Mrs Paston had said good-bye to a wearisome world whilst Unity was still in her cradle, and the old aunt who had looked after things at Moor End as Arell as she could since her sister-in-law's death shrank from letting Unity into the secret of the hopeless state of the family fortunes. Thus the shock was all the greater when Nicholas Paston summoned -Unity into his study one fine spring morning, just two months after she had first met Daniel Ash, and told his daughter that Ash had made a formal proposal for her hand, a proposal that met with his entire approval. Unity was aghast.

"I couldn't think of marrying Mr Ash, papa," she exclaimed indignantly. "He is not what I call a gentleman." . She changed her tune half an hour later, however, after her father had made things to her with brutal' frankness—explaining that unless she consented to marry Daniel Ash her family's disgrace and ruin would lie at her door, for her suitor had volunteered to pay off the mortgage on Moor End and to satisfy

Nicholas Paston's most pressing creditors, and also to provide the two young Pastons at Oxford with suitable allowances—if Unity consented to marry him. "And Ash can afford to pay the piper," Mr Paston explained. He is close on being a millionaire. You will be a princess—an absolute princess." "It would be mere truthful to say that I shall be a slave," Unity'retorted bittorlv —a slave purchased for a heavv price." She paused, then added, two red spots of colour showing themselves on her pale cheeks. " Well, if the Paston. honour depends upon this alliance, or, as I

should prefer, to call it, mesalliance, I must marry the man; but do not let Daniel Ash see me alone before our wedding day lest I am tempted to tell him just what I feel about things. Arrange that Aunt Lucy never leaves ua alone together." Air Paston agreed to this condition, and succeeded in persuading Daniel Ash that a chaperon' was a social necessity even with an engaged couple; and as the engagement was to be one of a few weeks Ash raised no objections, and in deference to Mr Paston'e expressed wish he proposed to Unity by letter, receiving a short and very formal note of acceptance. A gentle, hesitating knock sounded at the door of the bride's room, and Unity called out "Come in," turning hurriedly away from the mirror. Miss Lucy Paston entered. She was a pretty old lady with white hair and a pleasant smile. She was very fine to-day m a grey silk gown, for though Unity had pleaded for a quiet wedding, a few friends and relations had been bidden to the ceremony. None of the bridegroom's people would be there, though, for Ash had no relations living in England, and hia father arid mother had been dead for years. - "How sweet you look in your wedding dress, dear," Miss" Lucy observed; " but you are surely very pale?" ' "Can you wonder?" Unity laughed bitterly. "I feel like some victim decked out for sacrifice. I am being handed over to Daniel Ash so that my father's debts can be paid by a rich son-in-law."

""Hush, Unity! . Hush I" Miss Lucy interrupted in scared tones. '.' Do nothing rash at the start of your married life. Do not say things to your husband that ho could never be able to forget or forgive. I honestly believe that Daniel will make you a splendid husband if you will only let him, and he has been wonderfully generous to your father." Unity tossed her little golden head. "H© wanted to marry a Paston —well, he has had to pay for the privilege of alliance with an old family like ours. Go downstairs, Aunt Lucy, there's a dear, and see if papa is ready, and hurry everyone off. Let me have the, house to myself whilst I say good-bye to it." She laughed a little hysterically, and. Miss Lucy hurried out of the room, and Unity drew a deep breath of relief as the door closed behind her aunt, for she wanted to be left alone for a few minutes, so that she could say good-bye to her girlhood. She may have shed a few tears, but her eyes were quite dry when she descended the stairs about a quarter of an hour later, her bridal draperies flowing softly about her, her tulle veil flung lightly behind her. She paused as she was about to pass the portrait of Greataunt Unity, and glanced up at the picture. Great-aunt Unity smiled at the unwilling, rebellious bride, that strange, mystical, haunting .smile which Unity had always found so mysterious and baffling, and her eyes—deep, blue eyes—gazed down on the young girl thoughtfully. Several portraits of the dead and gone Pastons hung on the wall, but Unity took' no notice of her other forebears; it was Great-aunt Unity that claimed her sole attention, the girl she so wonderfully resembled in face and colouring and figure. " Good-bye, Great-aunt Unity," the bride waved her white bouquet at the portrait. " I am sacrificing myself for the sake of the honour of our house, just as surely you did, only the cases 'are reversed. I am marrying beneath me to save Moor End—and you gave up your love because he was of humble birth; and I wonder which deserves most pity—you or me?"

Great-aunt Unity made no reply, but her smile puzzled Unity extremely; it spoke of that of which Unity had no knowing—it revealed an! exaltation of spirit, it breathed of deep and mysterious joy-

" I wonder if I shall ever be able to make out what you are' trying to tell me?" Unity cried, gazing up at the portrait, half in a pet, yet with the profoundest affection. Then she walked down the wide oak stairs, her satin draperies making a soft rustling, her bridal veil flowing in a filmy cloud of tulle over her shoulders, the long, pear-shaped pearls that had been Daniel Ash's wedding present fc> his bride-elect, dangling from her ears. As fair a bride as June sunshine ever shone on, yet a bride without a smile'for her bridegroom; and Great-aunt Unity's eyes seemed to follow the young, silent figure down the long staircase with all the tenderness and yearning love of an elder sister.

"At last, Unity—at last." Daniel Ash turned to his bride of a few hours, the slight, delicate young creature who came to him penniless, yet whom he regarded with all the deference due to a young princess. He moved a little closer to Unity in the motor—the large, white car, which was taking the bride and bridegroom to the fine historical old mansion m the neighbourhood of the New Forest, which Ash had rented for the honeymoon, disliking the publicity of hotel life.. Unity stiffened and drew back, her manner that of a white, frozen rose; and Ash regarded her anxiously. Was she frightened, or merely shy and embarrassed? They were strangers to each other, he and Unity, though their relations had become the closest that can be on God's earth. "Don't turn from me, my dear," he whispered, " you may not feel that you know me very .well, but I want to tell you. something. I have been - in love with you all my life, Unity —ever since I was a little chap of nine or ten; for, see here "

He pulled a small, old-fashioned miniature case from his pocket, and Unity uttered a faint cry as she opened it, for it was her own likeness she was gazing at. No: it was the portrait of Great-aunt Unity, for she had never dressed her hair in ringlets—she~ wore it piled up high on

her forehead. But how had Great-aunt Unity's miniature come into Daniel Ash's possession? Greatly marvelling, Unity turned the miniature over, and on the back, engraved on the dull gold surface, she read the words:

"From Unity'Paston to her very dear and esteemed friend, Mark Clouston." "How did you obtain possession of this?" She addressed Ash rather imperiously; but the big, black-bearded man was glad to see the girl pluck up her courage.

"Ah, there's quite a romance mixed up with that miniature. Close on a hundred years ago Mark Clouston and my grandfather were bosom friends, and when poor Mark was desperately miserable on account of his unhappy love affair with your great-aunt, he joined my grandfather in Canada, and later on he married one of grandfather's sisters. But Jennie, his wife, always knew that though he cared deeply for her and respected her, his heart was buried in Unity Paston's grave, an' 'twas Unity he called on when he was dying — he was the dead girl's lover to the end, you see." "He married another -woman."

"He had to, Unity. He owed a lot to my grandfather, and Jennie fell crazily In love with him; but. he never really wavered in his devotion to Unity's memory. He kept the anniversary of the day of her death as a solemn fast day to the very end of his life; and this miniature—her parting gift—well, it ought by rights to have been buried with him, for they found it hanging round his neck when the -women came to dress him for the grave; but, thinking it a shame to put anything so fine an' dainty under the earth—an' ' maybe jealous—who knows?—Jennie handed the miniature over to her brother, and so it came down to my father." Daniel Ash paused for a second, then in the dusky twilight his hand sought, but failed to find, Unity's hand. "That miniature hung over our mantelpiece in our parlour out home," he con'tinued, "the big parlour of a Canadian farmhouse,' an' I fell in love with Unity Paston, anl it seemed sometimes as if she smiled at me. She taught me to hold all -women in reverence; she spurred me to go out into the world an' make a % fine fortune to lay at another Unity Paston's feet. She told me that I,would find you Here in England, my dearie, an', fanciful though you may think me, I do believe at times that I am Mark Clouston come back to earth again; that his restless soul has taken on human flesh; and what if you were Unity herself?" A little shiver ran through the bride's body her blue eyes dilated, she breathed hard, and, looking at Daniel in the dim light, she realised that.it would have been easy to fall in love with hirn had he only been in her own rank of life. But as things were, she hardened her heart. "Do you really expect me to believe that we are tlie reincarnations of those who died nearly a hundred years ago?" Her voice was icy, but something stirred in , Unity's, breast —something fluttered faintly. "We might be, Unity. Consider how I loved you at first sight, dearie; an' you didn't take long to care for me. Yet, it wasn't natural that a rough fellow like myself should take your fancy so quickly ; but if you were the dead girl come to life again—ah, Unity—Unity, that would explain much." He stretched out his big, hungry arms; but Unity shrank away, uttering a faint cry. " When we reach Clowes I want to talk to you for a few minutes*" she said slowly. "I have something to tell you, something you ought to hear." "Will it please me, dearie?" A note of apprehension suddenly crept into Ash's voice, but Unity made no answer. She was shivering again, for all the warmjth of a perfect June afternoon, and aware -that somebody sat by her side who would be wonderfully good and kind, loving, and tender if she would only let hiim But her fatal pride forbade her to think of her husband in any other light than that of a purchaser. Left to herself she would never have married Ash, and he must be told this to-night; then he could kiss her if it pleased him to, but he would be kissing a slave —the slave he had bought for a price. She shuddered violently and closed her eyes, and Ash sat quite quietly in his corner, doubtful as to what he had better do or say. Whilst bride and bridegroom kept up this frozen silence the great white motor tore along—speeding down green lanes overshadowed by the purple haze of twilight. The scent of honeysuckle was in the air, mingling with the smell of newmown hay and other pleasant woodland odours. Once or twice rooks could be heard cawing in the distance. A sense of soft mystery born of the twilight hour overhung everything, and began to affect Unity strangely. She was sensible at last of a red glare in the sky—the sound of excited voices, and all at once the motor stopped suddenly and sharply, and the chauffeur sprang from his seat and made his way to the door of the car.

" Please, sir, there's- a cottage on fire right in front of us—seems to have just caught alight. Shall, I drive on." " Why, certainly—and as quickly as ever you can. Drive at top speed," Ash thundered. "We may he of use."

Unity sat up erect in her seat. She liked the ring of command in her husband's vojce. He spoke as one who must be obeyed; besides, the prospect of viewing a fire at close range excited her, and she forgot that human, lives might be in danger. The scene of the fire was reached in a few moments. A small cottage with a thatched roof was alight, and a little crowd—principally composed of women and children, for the men were all at work in the fields—had hastily gathered round the blazing building. There seemed to be no one in authority about, nor was

the least attempt being made by the scared women to put out the flames. Water was only to .be obtained from a well, it appeared, and as all the occupants of the cottage had got out in good time, the fire must just be allowed to burn itself down to ash, so the women explained volubly, all talking at once. Ash would not allow Unity to leave the car, so she sat and watched the big man as he made his way straight up to the burning cottage, and she noticed his determined tread and how the little crowd parted before him, acknowledging the presence of a superior—a master. The scene was striking from the pictorial point of view, the bright flames shooting up out of the cottage cast a red gJa,re over the excited faces of the spectators, and as no one's life was in danger, Unity watched the progress of the fire with interest, till a woman's frightened shriek drew attention to the sudden appearance of a child at one of the bedroom windows.

A little lad of about eight, a sturdy little flaxen-haired youngster, who clasped a white kitten in his arms, and cried out fearfully for his mother. Unity realised at once what had happened. The boy had been taken out of the cottage before it was well alight, but he had stolen back unnoticed amongst the general stir and confusion in search of his pet kitten, and now the dear little fellow would be burnt alive, for who would plunge into the blazing cottage to his rescue? The staircase was doubtless well alight, and the whole of the flooring pretty -well destroyed. A deep groan burst from the spectators. A woman, the child's mother, tried to run to his rescue, but was held back, and Unity closer her eyes, opening them a second later—for -what did the awful silence mean—the strange hush that had come over the crowd? It meant that a man had determined to risk his life for a child's sake—a man who had everything to lose and nothing to gain, for Daniel Ash had suddenly rushed boldly into the blazing cottage, snatching a large shawl off an old woman's shoulders as he ran past her, and enveloping his head and shoulders in its dusky heavy-folds. Unity gave a startled shriek as she watched Ash disappear into the burning building, and she knew that the man she had married that morning was a hero and one of God's gentlemen—as Mark Clouston had been a hundred years ago when he saved the life of Great-aunt Unity. She leapt from the car and stood in the road. The child was screaming desperately from the casement -window, the roar of the flames was deafening, . smoke belched out furiously—the seconds seemed like hours. .

"He'll never get up them stairs alive—'tain't possible!" A woman shrieked the words put, and Unity's soul sickened within her, and she crouched down shuddering into the of the highway, covering her face with her hands, deadly faintness overcoming her, and so she missed witnessing a sight not easily forgotten. She did not see her husband—all singed and blackened with smoke and grime—appear at the window and snatch up child and kitten in his powerful arms, and then dash back through the Toaring flames again—leaping for very life down a staircase that crashed and became mere blackened tinder as Daniel Ash took his last flying jump and escaped from a cottage that was lit up by naked flame and fast crumbling into ash. A cheer that was something like a cheer greeted Daniel Ash and the child he had rescued—and even the kitten came in for applause; —but Ash, after restoring the child to his mother, brushed past the eager crowd, picked up his wife, and huried into his car, telling the chauffeur to drive away quickly. Unity turned faintly to her husband as the car glided on. She was aware that Daniel's hands were badly scorched, his beard and eyebrows horribly singed, and that his clothes smelt of flame and smoke. But he was alive and practically uninjured, and thank God for God!

"Daniel," she whispered, "how splendid of you—how fine!" " To run into a smoking cottage and save a poor little child?, Why, I'd have thought shame of myself had I hesitated." " Your hands are hurt."

"A bit scorched. I'll see to them when "we get to Clowes Hall." He paused—and a long, halting note came into his voice. "Dearie, what have you to tell me when we get to our journey's end? It's rather hard on a man having to wait." Unity hesitated for a second, and all the pride melted about her heart, and-her eyes were as the eyes of a bride—tender, glowing. " I have" thi3 to tell you, Daniel: I—l find I love you." Daniel Ash gazed at his bride exultantly —the bride of his dreams, —and his heart surged within him. " You might be your Great-aunt Unity herself to see you now. Are you so sure you are not Unity—come back?" "If that's so—you are Mark Clouston," she whispered. "Oh, isn't love a wonderful thing? It comes to one in a flash, and the whole world changes. I—l understand all that she felt now—Great-aunt Unity.'

" You've got her smile." They mused silently, tenderly, conscious that they were completing in themselves the love story of lovers long since dead.