MARION’S MISTAKE.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 39, 22 May 1917, Page 7

MARION’S MISTAKE.

COMPLETE SHORT STORY.

It was a strange wooing, that of Nelson Ellis. Perhaps' its very strangeness won Marion Reynolds into assent. She had been so accustomed to see men at her feet, to Lave them smile at her bidding and obey her slightest whim, that there wr.i a simgular fascination in knowing her momentary caprices had no p o »rr to sway the current of one mnn'c: will, that what he thought ’ri s l.t he held to, even should it subJjsjct him to her displeasure, i His wooing had not been very de- ■ raonstrative. In a few i straightforward words he told her of his love, |and asked her to be his wife ; but iwhen 9116 had as quietly answered |him, in silent wonderment at her own I submission, he drew her to Mm and 'pressed a single kiss upon her forehead, and for one moment, as she lay in his arms, a look came into his face as of a man who hard won a grand race, whose triumph all the world must exult in. | Women l smiled when the engagement was announced. A dangerous rival was removed from their pathway. Men frowned. Who was this Jrnan who had. outstripped them in the ranks ? They, had not even recognised him ns a competitor, and, lo ! fcc had borne away the prize. But of i»ll this outward conjecture the lovers h»«iAl little. Once Nelson said to her a? he bade her good night after returning from an evening of gaiety at some fashionable ball : j "I shall be so glad, Marion, when all this Is over, when society will be to M us drop from its roll ■and rotifK oar own quiet home •life.”

i "Oh, b»t, Nelson,” she answered, ( "BOCiety iS not going to give us up •simply because we are married. I ex(ipect to make quite & sensation, I asimiro you, cs Mrs. Ellis.’’ i "A sensat.on ! My wife a sensa!ti<* 1 T trust not. Wives, Marion, (have other duties, which I hope the 'girl I lo". c will find greater pleasures •than any otr-iety can offer. I am not a jealous mn, Marion—at least, not 'consciously so ; but to see you as I have R3ca you to-night, giving your Smiles, your glances to other men, has shown me how little I could tolerate in a wife. But I will atone lor all you give up, dear, by devoting my life to you, and making your ‘happiness my, own.” i It was hours after he left her before Marion fell asleep. She could have yielded'society with all its glitter without a' pang, but what he had Jaaid ha-1 grated on her. He had askied, j'Ot as a something yielded for hia soke, but taken it as a simple :maU«i of course. He seemed to. ignore that it might to her be sacriifica Le yield that which had really Igivro her keen enjoyment. Suppose [the light in the crowded ballrooms Vrwj artificial, it was none the less pWjwaflt to her young eyes ; if tjie whrhßWid nothings in her ears were smbtlo fletteries, they were so delioat.rty that they fell softly «»d jarred not. It had grown part of her life, and simply because her life was to bo merged with bis must she Issto behind her all the pleasant follies of her youth ? When be next met her Nelson missled something. Her greeting had lost none of its warmth, her smile none of its sweetness, But there was now land then an absent look in her eyes Jw:

Mch haunted hhn long after he had left ber.

klt was at tW* time that Allen Pane came cm the tweae. He and Marion had/ bean friends when children. He had carried with him all years the pictured, memory, of ber face, and when he returned to (find its radiant beauty *U undimmed iths first gladnoca was met with the absolute shock of finding, another its possessor. He had not been conscious of his dreams until he was, rudely awakened from them, as one walking peacefully in his sleep upon an unguarded parapet suddenly is aroused' jtb » sense of his great danger. MaIrion ’ met him with a warmth which forougnt a ray of hope into the darkness. He might yet retrieve his late return, and subtly, quietly, he laid the snares which were to entrap her feet.

"I suppose it would be hard enough to''give, you up, Marion, to any one,” he said to her one evening when her lover was absent, “Notwithstanding

my own love is hopeless, I cannot make a secret of its existence to you. I could not hide it, [ if I would ; hut to see you give yourself to a Iman who prizes your loveliness only as a Turk h'is slave, who will possess it only that he may. hide it from the world, who will doom your young life to be spent only for his own selfish ends, is intolerable to me.” “You do Mr. Ellis great injustice, Allen, fiftt even did I think him so selfish as you portray him, I certainly .would not discuss his faults with any one, so long as I' looked upon him as my promised husband.”

But when again and again her betrothed urged her to appoint a day when he might call her really his, Allen Fane’s words came to her mind, linked to her own unexpressed thought which had rankled so long and sowed the first seedi of doubt, she shrajnk at the idea of taking the ■ step from which there was no withdrawal. &

“Why are you so anxious, Nelson ? Think of the long years we arc to spend together. Absolutely it is appalling. You will get tired of me Boon enough !”

"Tired of you, darling ! Docs one tire of ttie sunlight, -or voluntarily seek the shadow ? It seems to me jfllnco I have met you that I have only for the first time realised what L a great boon life may prove. I have

waited long and patiently, dear. Give me the promise I ask to-night. Let the June roses blossom for my bride, and the robin’s song echo our happiness.” , "Where shall we spend the summer, Nelson 1 "I have chosen a little cottage far away from tbs noise and bustle of the world. It is perfect in its every appointment, and we can spend the long summer days in forgetfulness that there exists the seething, surging current of human life, from which we have separated our o wn - Bo you wonder I am impatient, dear ?” "Oh, but, Nelson, I hate cottage life, and I am sure our society would become mutually unbearable in such monotony.”

"What do you mean, Marion ?’’ and Nelson Ellis’s lips grew white. "Do you, who have promised to spend your whole life with me, talk of it already as beyond forbearance? Is this the fond picture I have painted of my homo ? Pause, Marian. Think while yet on the threshold. If your life is mine, it belongs not to the world ; if it is the world’s, then in it I have no claim. I offer you, darling, all I have. I ask of you only yourself, hut I ask it as a free boon, and one which is placed willingly in my keeping. You must decide Marion, for yourself. I had hoped your decision long since irrevocable, but cncs' more I place the choice in your hands.”

“You say you ask of one only myself. Is it not all I have to give ? I cannot give up the world to lead the life of a recluse, even though you so selfishly make the. demand. One would suppose I was a child, to be dictated to at will. It has all been, a mistake, Mr. Ellis, and wc may truly congratulate ourselves that our eyes have been opened in time to redeem an otherwise fatal error. We part as friends, I hope 7” “Friends ? Who has been at work ? Whose hand may I thank for having laid this network of v,«'ldliness and suspicion in the mind of a girl who, a few short months ago, harboured no such thought ? You could not trust me, then, with your beauty ? You fear I would guard it beyond the reach of other eyes ? True, I might have held it as a sacred shrine, but its liloom, its radiance would have been undimmed till death robbed me of both. You give me up, then ? So be it. Go back to your world. Glory in it, revel in it, and teach ihen the lesson you have given me, that the brighter the- eye, the fairer the cheek, the falser the heart. Good evening, Miss Reynolds and with a low bow, Nelson Ellis went out from the light into the shadow. Marion stood.,as in a stupor. She had spoken her own thoughts for the first time, for the first time expressed the feeling which so long had rankled. Mow cold, how heartless and worldly it had sounded even to her ears! What was the selfishness of which she had accused her lover but the reflex of her own ? Had the world really grown so dear to her that she could not yield it up, even in the first flush of wifehood by a husband’s side ? How inviting the picture had been ! She had not really meant what she had said. She had not dreamed Nelson would so accept her at her word, and wordless despair was in the beautiful eyes as the hot tears welled up and dropped one by one, faster and faster, until she buried her head in her hands and sobbed as a child. But there was one who heard of the ruptured engagement with keen exultation, and a suppressed look of triumph was on Allen Fane’s face when next he saw the woman he had determined' to win for his own.

“You did splendidly, Marlon,” he said to her. “Have I not told you from the first how selfish he was, even in his love, that he never appreciated you ? But now, darling, that you are free to be won and I to woo, will you not let me prove that a man may be generous ? I could have given you up to any other if I thought your happiness was at stake, hut not to one I read so well.” “Hush, Allen, hush ! It seems to me desecration to listen to such words. If he were selfish, then is such selfishness glorious. You call it splendid to show a man who has placed his whole noble heart at a woman’s feet how frivolous, worldly and beneath him is that for which he sues. I have thrown away the highest prize life’s lottery will ever ofier me. I have listened to the subtle words which have first borne seeds of distrust ; but now that all is over, and I Lave with my own hand plucked the unblossomed fruit, I can at least do him justice, a nd tell you my heart is his, his only, though he may never know it.”

Baffled only for the moment, Allen determined to let time work its cure, and sooner or later achieve the end on which his mind was bent.

It was a great benefit. The opera house was crowded, and many turned ere the curtain rose, to look at the last new-comers, who had just entered their box. None who looked on that fair young girl dreamed that she wore beneath that outward show a heart saddened and weary, to which were ever added the pangs of remorse. Allen Fane is by her side to-night, hopeful, exultant as of old. For six months he has played his role without faltering. Soon he must meet his rewardi. The curtain rises, and falls to rise again. The house is enthusiastic. Flowers fall like rain upon the stage. But when the evening is but half over and the strains of the lovely songstress seem to rise sweeter and clearer every moment, a tongue bf.flame leaps out from behind the scenes. The song dies on the singer’s lips, tumult gives place to awed silence, and on the air is borne the cry of “Fire !” Men act like madmen, women faint

and are trampled to dsatn bj crowd. Pale, but silent, Marion turns to the man at her side. He is no longer there. Save her he could not, but for himself lay one desperate chance, ; which he seized as a drowning man a stray/. She was alone —alone and helpless, deserted by him*v/ho had told her of that other’s selfishness."Keep calm, Marion. Our only hope lies in decided action without excitement. I will save you or die with you,” whispered a voice in her car ; and., turning, she saw the man who had fought his way, not to life and air, but to her side to bear her with him into safety or share her peril. "I am not worthy, Nelson. Save yourself, and when you think of me, remember that my folly was for the moment, that. I have met its just reward, for I loved you through it all.”

"Flush, darling, hush, even though your words nerve me to' fresh courage. Marion, will it be my wife with whom I live or die ?” “Your wife, if you will take her, Nelson. Happier to meet death at your side, than live apart from you.”

But death was not to have his prey. And though Nelson bears on his handsome brow a cruel scar, in his wife’s loving eyes it is new beauty, 'since it ever tells her of the noble struggle ’ r hich gave her life and hap inesa—a life which met its rich fulfilment when crowned by. Nelson Ellis’s love. THE END.