A Brief Infatuation.

Southland Times, Issue 15171, 15 February 1902, Page 2 (Supplement)

A Brief Infatuation.

1 bad never seen anch a woman— l never hope to look upon her equal again. Sea'ed opposite her, in a first-class compartment of the train that, leaving Berne rapidly bshind ui, puffed its way towards Bale, I could only g»ze at her in silent rapture. We had not exchanged a word ; my unknown divinity bad been absorbed in a novel, and had only raised her glorious, velvet brown eyes once or twice to scan the uninteresting landscape. She, too, was a mnscian, a bond of naion between us that I bad been charmed to observe, for she kept beiide her, and guarded it with jealoua care, a violin case. Mine reposed in the tack. Suddenly my beautiful vis-a-vis dropped her book. Hastily I stooped and gave it to her, and she thanked me with a smile that revealed purest white, rather' large teeth. 'Shall we soon arrive at Bale? she asked, and I thought what an exquisite contralto voice •he poseemed; ' lam so tired.' She poshed back the loose waves of rnddy golden hair that fell in profusion round her lovely face. I think it was the hair, which looked a mass of living gold when the June sunshine felt upon it* Ibat had first attracted my atten tios. „ , • We have four hours before we reach Bale,' I answered, determiued, now char the ice was brok en.no t to lee the flow of conver ■ation freew into silence. 'You have had a long journey already? » Yes, and I have a weary time before me; I am going on to London. • So,' I said, eagerly, * hava L I am going to Borne. I -I am a musician— a profesjionsL You play the violin, too.' * Yes,' she answered; • yes, I play, I love my instrument.'. A strange smile parted the beantiful, •though rather heavily moulded lips, as she looked down at the violin case. I wished the would smile at me in snob a manner, and .1 felt jealous of anything, even insensate wood, that took her attention from me. Doubtless I betrayed in my expression the admiration that I felo, for she coloured faintly beneath my ardent gaze, but, to my relief, she did not appear annoyed; in fact, abe smiled almost too broadly to please me, «nd I began to fear that she was laughing at ate. Perhaps I looked a little hurt, for sbe composed her features instantly, assuming her former expression of mournful Badness, *nd seemed inclined to resume ber book*. * The soenery isn't much to boasc about ben,' I observed quickly; 'but that's a rather pretty chalet, isn't it V * Yec,' she agreed; I should rather like to live in a house of that description. So peaceful, so quiet; far removed from the roar of the world.' She sighed deeply, and X instantly fell to coojeoturing what shadow of sorrow bad darkened that young life. I noticed that when we stopped at a Btation she betrayed Bome uneasiness, and seemed glad when the train started once more. I came, therefore, to the conclusion that she was afraid of "being pursued, and I grew quite excited, aod determined to defend her *t any cost. ... . , ' Madame,' I said, rather losing my head, « pardon me if I tell you that I can Bee yon «rein trouble— that something is causing ' you up— jnmt Believe me when I say that £ only long to help you; that you may comnand my services in any capacity/ I spoke thus, for we were slowing down, and 1 eawa restless righ «»»!» the rosy lips. She started at my words, and lookea at me '"""would you really help me *'*he asked in those lew, rich tones that acted on my nervous system like musio. •Ah ! I need a friend.' ♦Then Geoffrey Wflmot is at your service,* I crtai enthusiastically. • Command me to do^nytbing, and it shall be done ,.' • Thank you,' she said, with a sigh, holding oat her hand, which I took and kmed, <We are nearing :> «« we not I

• Yes,' I said, a3 the train steamed into an ngly Hi tie station. ' I wonder,' she said, ' if you would mind gettng me a glass of water. I'm so thirs' y.' Delighted to obey her slightest wish.l fi^w to the buffet, and was absent but a short time. When I returned my compmion thanked m« very sweetly, but barely touched the water. ' There's a commotion here,' I said cheerfully. 'There are some policemen looking for a thief, I hear, who is supposed to be escaping.' At my words my companion tank bs.ek against tbe cushions. •It is ail 9ver with me,' Bhe murmured. •Mr Wilmot, you said you would be my friend. The time has come for you to prove it if you meant what you «aid.' 4 What — what do you mean ?' I asked, aghast. 'Good heavecs, you are not a thief.'

1 Thief, no,'' she answered rapidly, 'and it is no thief that is b ing searched for. lam a politic »1 refugee— l am escaping to England, the land of the free. If lam eaugit now, death — and wo^ae— will be my portion. Oh, save me from a fate I dare not contemplate ! S*ve me now, and I will bless you for evermore.'

Her agonised dark eyes gazsd straight into mine, her hands clasped tnine, as she poured forth the above confused tale. 1 felt that at that moment that I would have faced a legion of Coßsacks for her sake— aye, and fought them, too — deeming it gain to lose my life for her sweet sake. I "said something to that effect, and she smiled.

1 BaL what is it I ana to do ?' I asked anxiously. • Tell me and I will do it.'

• You must only say when the men come that I a<n your sister,' s*e said quickly; ' that) will disarm all suspicion.' It was with feeling* of miogled anxiety and excitement that I waited the advent of the gendarmes. They came — an official, aweinspiring quarteit — and thrust in befeathered heada, looking ar us with severe eyes. • Your names,' said the leader, authoritatively. • Geoffrey and Margaret Wilmot, brother and sister,' I answered readily. 'Incognita,' glanced at me gratefully. She bad shaken the flowing, golden lock* about her faca, and they but a t light glimpse of its beauty. ' We must search the carriage,' ssidthe official*, and, accordingly they dil 60 n.oa' thoronghly, even going to tho leDgth of insisting on my Gladstone bag bung opened, and examining my collar-box, as though they imagined that the object of their pursuit wonid take refuge there. • Evidently he is not here,' said one cf the policemen. 'Come, we must goon.' • Did you hearf I asked excitedly, as tbe intruders laboriously descended to the platform, where aa interested crowd watched the proceedings; * the man spoke of h<\' •Y. 8, yes, I heard,' my companion answered hastily. ' Have you aoy brandy? I— l feel as though I should hint.' In great alarm I hunted for my flask and gave to her. I must contra it was rather a shock to me when I eaw the amount she poured out into the little cup, and drank without demur. • There,' she said, with a sigh, ' I feel better new, and, thank heaven, the train ii moving on. I shall never forget your kindness, Mr Wilmot— never.' She leaned toward me, so that her loose flowing hair altnoßfc brushed my face. A'most involuntarily I oarried a curl to my lips and kissed ic.

• Such lovely bair,' I said in apology, reddening. * Forgive me, Miss ' 1 I will, perhaps, send you a little bit as a keeptakr — as * memento of yuur great kinriDess to mp.my companion said.bewitchingly. 4 No, I will Dot tell you my name now. Give me your address in Rome, and I will write to yon from London.' I complied with her rtqu-ißt, inwardly resolved fcHat I would not allow the friendship thus begun bo lapse. ' How,' I s&M to her with a sigh, as we steamed into Bale, • how I wish I were going to Calais. You will be quite safe, you think ?' • Qnite, now,' she answered brightly. « (Shall I ever forget yon f • Shall I ever forges you ?' I retorted, warmly; ' never.' She was in the act of tenderly raising her violin case, bat she turned and looked at me with an od i smile, a smile I could not understand, that I scarcely liked; it seemed inclined to tremble into a sneer.

•I don'b suppose,' she said slowly, 'you ever will '

She said no more, bat descended from the carrriage, I following her, thinking bow wonderfully she carried off her great height. • We will part now,' she Baid, paußine at the entrance to the waitiDg-room. • Your train starts soon. Good-bye, Mr Wiltnot.' * Yon will not forget your promise,' I B*id entreatiogly, ' eo— to write to me, to — lo Bend me '

I lo' ked at her beantiful hair; she laughed and nodded ber bead.

• You shall have it,' the said softly; ' do

no' fear.'

And thus we parted, and I suddenly felt that the world had grown very dark and drear.

I could scarcely wsit for that promised letter from my beautiful unknown, of whose name even I was ignorant; but one day there came a parcel from London — rather a bulky one — addressed in a bold hand. I removed fold after fold of tissue paper, till at length the object of such careful packing lay bsfore me, and I started in utter stupid amazement and bewilderment at— a golden wig of the loveliest hair imaginable, and pinned to the scalp was a letter addressed to me. It read as folio W8 :—

' Yon see I am keeping my word as regards sending you a lock of hair with great generoaity, for I em sending you the whole blooming concern. I don't know when I enjoyed anything more than tboße few hours with yon, roy impressionable young friend ! You were of graat service to me 1 I was afraid that I should be nabbed to a certainty, for my violin case f I may as well tell you, contained jewels, the proceeds of a long and enjoyable tour among European, hotels thia winter, that were not exaotly my property, though possession is, we know, nine points of the law. You swallowed my hastily concocted tale as a fieh does a fly, and yon claiming me as a sister put those police off the track instantly. I may as well confess that while yon were fetching me a glass of water I saw the policemen, and instantly changed violin cases with you, so that had there been a search the onus would have fallen on you.— Jack Allanson. — The Traveller.

'You advertise to cure consumption, don'b yon fPr Quack— Yep, sir. I never fa/1 when instructions are followed ' Indignant Patron— My son took your medicine for a year and then died.' Dr. Quack— My Instructions were not followed, I told him to take it for two yean.'