Storyette

Southern Cross, Volume 4, Issue 2, 11 April 1896, Page 3

Storyette

HIS LIFE FOR MY HONOUR. (From Photos and Sketches.) When a man disregards the wisdom of God, to what depth of folly may he not drift ? bounding the exclusive, pitiless depths of his sombre soul, Jasper Garsett saw his past, his present, his future, naked and deformed as it was, and he shuddered. He had egregiously sinned against God, and he had wronged himself. The golden argosy of hope was wrecked upon the shore of his life, and the forlorn beds of desnair were tolling on his ear. He glanced at his father, who sat, immutable and stern, beside the open grate, with his grey head bent in shame upon his hands. ‘Tomorrow,’ said he, slowly, ‘it will be gossiped about at the clubs, in wine shops, in drawing rooms everywhere.’ His voice, hollow and cold, pierced the apathetic silence that enveloped the old man and made him start nervously. ‘Yes, to-morrow it will be gossiped about everywhere,’ he said, vaguel}, as one awakened from a confused dream. ‘ And,’ continued Jasper, unless there is a speedy escape, the law must take its course, rnd I shall go to prison. ‘Yes—yes, to prison! Oh, my God ! A Garsett a felon! It is horrible !’ cried the father, aroused by the sting in the word prison. He shivered, then said deliberately: ‘ There is one escape.’ ‘lt is ’ ‘ Death !’ ‘Yes, death !’ Jasper drew a deep breath of relief. His father had suggested that which he had dared not dwell upon, and he felt counselled to the inevitable. He crossed the room and extended his hand toward his father. His attitude was touching. Said he ; ‘I have wronged you, sir. I have taken from you an unsullied name. The world shall never know. I will spare you the pain of any public disclosures.’ His hand fell untouched by his side. Turning hastily, with quivering lips but unfaltering steps, he walked from the room without having won so much as a glance fiom his father. Until midnight the elder Garsett sat immovable dead to outside things. He saw clearly, in the hours that followed, his own error, folly and failures He had shaped with his selfish love his son’s career. He bad been indulgent and proud ; now he was regretful and implacable. He had, by his own example, led his son, step by step, into wild dissipations and extravagances, until they had resulted in a dishonourable disregard of another’s trust. He had loved the boy, but now he hated him. The clock struck twelve. He arose wearily and stirred the ashes in the grate. As he did so his glance fell upon his white aristocratic hands. A swift, quivering chill penetrated to his bones.

Meanwhile Jasper had retired to his chamber. Going to a cabinet he drew therefrom a pistol which he eyed critically. ‘ Better still,’ he said, * this will serve me,’ and he dropped into a little half-filled drinking glass a white powder. He looked at it once then drank off the liquid. A piece of note paper lay white and unblemished before him. He sat down and wrote, ‘ My soul for our honour,’ and directed the envelope into which he folded it to his father. This accomplished, he lay down upon a couch and closed his eyes to think. For a seemingly interminable length of time he lay there without so much 1 as,the quivering of eyelids, and then slept. The midnight hour struck in the adjoining room, and as the last stroke vibrated on the air the door noiselessly opened and a white, fixed face was projected into the apartment.

The figure on the sofa did not stir. The intruder entered more boldly. It was the father. He softly approached his son. , ‘ Coward !’ he hissed ; ‘he is too weak. He has reserved it for me to do!’ His eyes wandered to the pistol. He grasped it firmly. ‘ His life for my honour !’ he said tersely. There was a quick flash, a sharp report, and a fountain of blood spurted from the young man’s breast. Instantly the father rang the bell. ‘ Summon help !’ said be authoritatively, ‘my son has shot himself !’