THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5009, 17 May 1889, Page 4

THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER.

LITERATURE

It is quite a mistaken idea that whistling is necessarily a manifestation of joy or contentment. Some men often whistle with the persistency of a plough boy o’er the lea when worried and perplexed with trouble. I have no intention nor desire, nor probably ability—though no one knows what he can do until he tries—to write a disquisition on whistling. I merely wish that the reader may not imbibe the erroneous impression that Algernon Warriner was light-hearted or lightheaded, when 1 state that this gallant and smart young officer was whistling a subdued accompaniment to his lootsteps as he strode across the dazzling parade-ground at Flomna in,Malta on a certain morning some weeks after his arrival at ‘ the iittle military hothouse.’ There was probably not a more miserable man in Malta. He was tortured with suspense and worried with unpleasant conjectures. Not a letter had he received from Florence in reply to the numerous ones he had written to her. Then, too, he bad lately become a prey to an uncomfortable suspicion that his sudden appointment and removal in hot haste to Malta, for the purpose of performing work well within the ability ol any ordinary captain or subaltern in the garrison, was merely, through the agency of his mother’s interest at the Horse Guards’, an artifice of hers to separate him from the girl he loved. ‘lf I could only be certain of that, muttered Warriner to himself, as he continued his walk towards the harbour, where a garrison boat was waiting to take him off to a transport, ‘ I’d throw up my appointment and go straight home by the next steamer.’ He was just turning this over in his mind, when some way down the street he descried a portly form clad in civilian’s clothes, the proprietor of which was apparently asking his way from an orderly. The effect of the spectacle on Warriner was out of all proportion toils commonplace character; for he stopped short, muttered, ‘ No, it can’t be ! ’ rubbed his eyes, said, ‘ Yes, it is ; added in the same breath, * No, it isn’t! ’ stepped out into the road to get a better view, ejaculating at the same time, ‘lmpossible!’ then finally, with the exclamation, ‘ By Jove, it is ! ’ bore down with full speed on the old gentleman. • ‘ Mrßolitho! what brings you hereP’ exclaimed Warriner, seizing his old friend and admirer by the hand and shaking it heartily, while pleasure, surprise, and fear rose to bis mind. The last feeling was uppermost, tor the conspicuous absence of old Bolitho s usual jollity and frankness of manner filled the questioner with a dread that something was wrong. ‘ Look here, Warriner,’ returned the old gentleman, ‘l’m a bad hand at beating about the bush. It is the blundering nature of the animal always to crash through it, brambles and all. Are you the truest-hearted bravest youngster that ever lived, as I used to think you were, or are you an unmitigated villain ? ’ ‘I hope I am as little of the latter as I believe myself to be of the former,’ was the manly reply. ‘ But look here, Mr Bolitho, I am as bad at heating aboui the bush as you are. What news of Florry P All my letters to her are unanswered. Tell me what is the meaning of it.’

As Warriner put this last question, he seized Mr Bolitho’s arm with a fierce grip and gazed eagerly into his face.

‘ Do you really mean to say you have written to her?’ asked Mr Bolitho, the clouds gradually clearing away from his countenance.

‘ Yes, ol course —wrote to her before I left England, again when we touched at Gibraltar, directly we landed here, and by every succeeding opportunity up to the present. But not a line have I received from her. I also wrote you a letter imploring you to write and let me know what was the matter, but you and it must have crossed each other.’

‘My dear boy, I believe you, every word, and I'm ‘delighted to find you’re not a villain, after all,’ exclaimed old Bolitho, his face beaming with joy and affection, as he fairly hugged Warrmer. ‘ Yes, but what about Elorry ? Is she ill ? ’

‘ No, no, she’s all right ; at least, she will be, when she hears that you’re not the scoundrel you’ve been reported to be on the very best authority ; and that you have written to her, and that you’ve not deserted her,’ ■* Deserted her ! I should as soon think of deserting the colours in the face of the enemy. Come along,’ added Warriner, seizing Mr Bolitho by the arm and dragging him off. ‘ I see a long story is required to clear up this nmtery, and this is not the place to tell it. Come along. Luckily the club is close by, and we’ll go in there.’ In.a few moments Mr Bolitho, very hot, very excited, and very much out of breath, was puffing and blowing in a comfortable chair in a secluded corner of the club smoking-room, while Warriner sat opposite to him, anxiously awaiting the abatement of these emotions to that point when articulation would become possible. ‘ Dear, dear,’ gasped Mr Bolitho, I to think now that I shall be the dove bearing hack the olive-branch, telling her that the sea ot trouble which was overwhelming her has subsided, and that ’

‘ Come, come, Mr Bolitho, never mimi figures of speech,’ said Warriner, with a good-natured smile, for an eighteen-stone dove was rather rough on Allegory. ‘ Tell me the plain unvarnished tale.’

* Yes, yes, to be sure, "Well, a couple of mornings or so after you left Puddleton, Florry came to me brokenhearted to tell me she had received a letter from her dearest friend, denouncing you as the most out and out scoundrel that ever breathed, and imploring JTlorry to shun you as she would shun

the deadliest poison. Florry would have treated the communication with the most profound contempt had it not come from a friend in whose truth and affection she had the deepest trust. ‘ And who was the girl ? ’ ‘Agatha Madingley, Florence told me her name was. The,, two were what girls call “ bosom-friends at school.’ ■ ’ ‘ Agatha Madingley ! And from what source did she obtain this wonderful knowledge of my iniquitous character ? ‘ From the very best source, she said —her own father, who had known you from childhood,’ ‘ Old Sir Tripton 7 Well, I knew he had false teeth, but I did not know be had a heart and tongue to match. And his motives for traducing me m this way utterly defy even guess-work on my part. However, this is not the settling day with Lira. That will come in due course. Pray go on, Mr Bolitho.’

* Well, there’s not much more now. One true loving letter from you would have cleansed poor Florry’s breaking heart of the poison this vile calumny had poured into it 5 but she waited in vain for that antidote, and your silence, taken together with this letter and jour abrupt departure, all made out a very black case against you.’ ‘ But why didn’t she write to me 7 ’ ‘ My dear boy, if Florry has no false pride she has true modesty ; and would it have been truly modest in her to have followed, even through the medium of pea and ink, the man who was running away from her ? No, no ; Ben Jonson didn’t know what a true English maiden was if he thought he was describing her when he said, “ Leave her alone, she will court vou,” ’ ‘ Well, but what became of all my letters 7 ’ ‘Ah, that I can’t tell. There you bring me to the end of my tether,’ (To he Coniinued. 1