COMPLETE SHORT STORY.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 37, 15 May 1917, Page 7

COMPLETE SHORT STORY.

AN OLD EViAID’S ROMANCE

The damp fog of dull November made everything miserable. The trees dripped almost as though rain was falling, and the faint light of the street lamps—failing to’ penetrate the gloom—only intensified the desolation of the reeking world. Within a neatlykept house, one of the unending villa stamp so common in the suburbs, an old lady sat gazing ■ into the fire, and thinking. Ah, the pain of memory ! Yet would any one forego the pleasure in order to escape the anguish ? Drip, drip, fell the damp from the oak tree which stood without, in fearful monotony, as the fog gathered in thicker as night approached. But the old lady’s thoughts were not hindered by the depressing state of the outside world ; on the contrary, the dismal surroundings seemed to aid her reflections, which were not of the most cheerful nature.

At times her eyes filled with tears, and she closed her lips resolutely to repress the grief that surged within her bosom. She plucked nervously with her long, white thin fingu'sHSt the lace mittens which formed an inseparable part of her toilet.

In other days Harriet Nesbitt must have been a beautiful woman, but sixty,-five yeais cannot pass without leaving an indelible brand to bear witness to the sorrows and cares which have pressed with burning fingers upon heart and hrow. The old lady plucked at her apron, and the ready tears welled up, as a sad—the saddest—incident in her history came before her with such gainful vividness that she almost lost the mastery over her emotions which long, stern, self-discipline had 1 acquired. A deep sigh escaped from her heaving breast, and she sat for some moments lost in a flood of bitter reflections.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a knock at the front door. Then in a short time, her nephew was announced by the old servant. “Dear Aunt Harry,” cried the young man, as he pressed his lips to her cheek, "I’ve come to ask for your congratulations. But, why, dear, you have been crying !” "No, no,” she replied, hastily rubbing her cheeks with her handkerchief "But, Edgar, what am I to congratulate you upon ?” “Why, aunt, what do you think ?”

"I am sure I cannot guess, EJddie. I never could understand' riddles,” “Now, prepare yourself for a great surprise, for I’ve found the best girl in the world, and she has promised to be my, wife. So, now, won’t you give me your best wishes ?” The old. lady rose without speaking and pressed her lips to tno young man’s affectionately.

"Dearest,” she said at length, "I do, indeed, give you my best wishes, and I give you more than that, you shall have your old auntie’s earnest prayers for your happiness.” "Thank you, Aunt Harry. I knew you would he glad to hear, so I came to tell you at once ; and I’ve brought her photograph with me.” As he spoke he drew a cabinet likeness frojn his pocket and passed it to the old lady. She examined it closely by the candle light, and then looked questioningly from the photograph to her nephew’s face and back to the likeness again. “She has a sweet face,” remarked the old lady, in measured tones, “and should make you a good wife. What is her name, dear ?”

"Why, I never told you !" Edgar dried. "My brains are wool-gather-ing. Father knew her father very well. Her name is Clarice Bell." Edgar was too much occupied by his own joys to notice the effect this name had upon his aunt. She staggered and turned faint, so that she was obliged to support herself against the chimneypiece. "She is pretty, too,” continued Miss Nesbitt, controlling her emotions by a wonderful effort. "But are you quite sure that you love her with your whole heart ?” "Quite certain,” replied Edgar, with decision.

"And, dear boy, are you sure that She will always be first in your thoughts ?” “As sure as I am that you are good and true to me, and "have always been so,” said Edgar. Miss Nesbitt resumed her study of the likeness in silence, and stood looking at the girl there pictured, oblivious of all else for the time.

What strange fatality had brought all the associations which were awakened by the mention of her name ? How could she judge the girl without a feeling of prejudice ? "Edgar,” she said, quietly, “you will think me a cruel old maid to even doubt your devotion.” "Now, Aunt Harry,” interposed the young man, “you know that I don’t.’ “But, dear, even an old maid has secrets ; and one of these I will telt you that you may learn to be true to the woman of your choice,” resumed Miss Nesbitb. "Once, long ago —it sounds like a fairy tale, but it is a true incident —a young girl was wooed by a man to whom she gave her heart in perfect trust, and without question. They were so happy for some time that life wore another aspect. She had never dreamed of such happiness, and all the world was full of hope and promise to her eyes. Her heart was as full of joy as is that girl’s, and I pray that hers may never he as heavy, as the woman’s is of whom we are speaking.”

Edgar began to feel that his aunt was telling him her own life-story, and he felt deeply touched by the pathetic narration.

“Do you see that blue cup up there, Edgar ?” she continued, pointing to

a gbms-doored cabinet. "Will you band it to me ? Gently, mind ; it’s fragile.” The young man obeyed. She held it to the candle and showed him how carefully it was patched together. •, "That cup, dear, is a symbol of a woman’s life ; it is only held together by artificial means, for its unity is gone.” _ N She spoke in a pained voice as she resumed her recital.

"A cruel letter shattered heart and cup at one blow ; for all that, the cup still holds together and the heart still beats. Perhaps you may be able to supply the woman’s name, and perhaps—l pray that it may be soyou will learn a lesson from my story. Never, dear, have a woman’s broken heart upon your conscience.” When Edgar departed he kissed his aunt with more tenderness than ever. His sympathy was awakened by the pathetic story which she bad told him, and his heart was touched by the quiet courage with which she bore her burden, so that nobody heard her moan.

The fog still dripped l from the trees, and the fire still blazed in the j;rate. The outer world had not changed, but there was a wonderful change in Harriet Nesbitt's feelings. “His child !” she murmured, as she gazed into the fire. “How strange are the fates of man, and how cruel are the world’s stings !” Janet came - in to light the lamp, and found her mistress sitting before the fire, still thinking of all the happy days long past.