* SUBJECT TO THE LIW OF CHANGE.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLVIII, Issue 11727, 20 January 1900, Page 2 (Supplement)

SUBJECT TO THE LAW OF CHANGE.

By Winifred Graham.

u l Temember," said Nancy, " when I ■was quite a little girl, I remember that Richard was a cruel boy." The old man on the sofa moved tm- i easily, and Bighed. Then ho took the ■' girl's hand between bis two thin ones j and patted it softly. " Well," he said feebly, " well V Uaney's fingers tightened over his. ** I was thinking to day. Uncle Charles, of something that happened years ago, a very foolibh little incident, as far as common sense ia concerned, Irat rather seriou3 for the rats."

" The rats ! My dear girl, what do J , ■you mean ?" " I will tell you. I was a very sensitive child, and things affected me deeply. One day Richard and another boy caught two rats in my father's stables. I used to see the traps set "«'very night, for the rats came after tLe corn, but I never knew if they wern c»ught or not. But that morning I ' met Richard and his friend, each with a caged victim, forcing its thin nose through the wires. " * What are yon going to do ?' I Asked. ■" For answer Richard whistled to a terrier. I guessed his meaning, and flinging myself on the ground, caught the dog in my arras. «' » Oh, don't let him bill them !' I " implored, the tears starting to my eyes. . ♦' Richard laughed, and told me that Tats were vermin, and must be destroyed. All the time the little sharp faces were peering at me with terror in their eyes, and one rat gave a sharp squeak as Richard poked it with a Btck. " The thought of their approaching doom horrified me. I flung myself into a paroxysm of grief ; I cried, I begged, I half choked with sobbing, till my nurse came out and told the boys they would throw me into a fit, which they very nearly did." *« And were the rats killed after all?" '- No, I made such a fuss that at last Richard said their lives should be spared, and consoled me by promising to let them go 'scot free," as ho ex- • pressed it, with jost enough tar on their hacks to frighten the other rats away from the place. I was assured that a coating of tar was quite harmless and tminle^s, so the wretched animals were -'let ont, to become a misery to themselves and a horror to their fellow creatures. A feW days later they cfawled into the open to di<% and I found them, I— who had been the innocent'cause of their prolonged wretchedDess." " They had better bavp been killed at once," replied the old man ; " but ivfay do you think of this to-day 7" " You may well ask, it is strange, and perhaps 'silly, such a trivial incident, and one that happened so many, many years ago. You see I wa9 thinking of it in connection with Richard. I little guessed then that the boy would grow into so hendsome and attractive a man, that he would win my heart, my lovp, that I should be engaged to him — to Rir-bard !" " And are you happy ?" " No." The girl drew away her hand and 'brushed it across her eyes. " It is the old story of the ratß over again, only lam the rat this time. He -won't kill rn6 out right, so he has tarred me instead, that I may die by slow degrees. lam not talking of the death ■of the body, but the death of every tender feeling— of all that makes for "happiness — for peace ! It is crnel to kill, so Richard will not tell me the truth. He cannot bring himself to say, * I am tired of my role of lover ; I am tired of you.' "He would rather prevaricate and t let me discover myself deserted by degrees, like those poor loathsome | animals. Then at last, I too shall I ' come ent into the opan and die, bnt "Richard will not be responsible — not Bicbard, but the tar from bis brush I" Nancy spoke quickly, almost bitterly. Her uncle sat up, letting bis cushions fall to the ground, and, despite the look of ill-health on hia feature?, a alight flush gave him the momentary semblance of a strong man. He loved his neice dearly, and her words angered lim against Richard. " It cannot be true," he Raid, excitedly. " You are mistaken, Nan. No man could be such a cvr — he must love you !" She shook' her head despondently. " When we wera first engaged," she replied, " I told Richard that I was a penniless orphan, living upon your charity, but he did not care. He used lo say he was glad 1 was poor, so that he could work for me. We would plan all eorts of little economies ; the

thought of poverty > had nojt fears; for rither of as. Then, after we had been i engaged some months,' 1 noticed a gradual change. Richard spoke" of ■ small houses by the unpoetical term of ; 'pig-holes V :- v ' \ ' " He talked more' of his ambUjqn, ' and les3 of love. He seemed aerfabsorbod. and occasionally' lost his; '< temper. This I bore uncomplainingly, with the hundred tender excuses that a foolish woman can make for the man ' Bb.e idealizes. But when he spoke of our affection as a dream of unsubstantial delight, from which a rude and practical sense of worldly wisdom ma&t | soon awake us, then I 'first began' to, doubt his sincerity, to see that he waj seeking an excuse. " He would draw horrible pictures of poverty, and the misery'of marriage, unless means were ample, declaring that' the thought of dragging me down was weighing on his) mind. He wouldj question his own responsibility in this matter, and try his best to persuade me that the step we contemplated was a fatal and degrading one. Bnt I mado no reply. I could not. I was too numb, too frozen ! But now 1 have had time to think it out, and I see that his love f>r me was only a passing fancy, and that we could never be happy, together. He cares too much for money and for the fat things of life." " Then,'* said her uncle, still with the red flush standing out on his sunken cheeks, "he is not worthy of you, and the sooner you break with him the better." •' A broken engagement is. always a slur on a girl," replied Nancy, " but that is only a little of the tar that kills ; it cannot hold weight with broken illusions and outraged faith." l 'No ; you're right, my poor Nancy!" he said. As ha spoke a servant announced that Mr Doremus was below, waiting to see Miss Waller. " 1 will go to him, Uncle Charlesj" she whispered. "It is time that the farce ended ; I must face facts.*' . Then she went quietly 'down to Richard, with a sense of assured control. She pitied herself with the 1 sympathy of an outsider, for her heart was dead, and she did not suffer foi thp moment : she did not feel the pain. " I was surprised you came," she said, refusing his proffered hand, "after the way you talked last night. Your ' views of life — or I should say of poverty — were very distiessing to me, ' and. so, as I am poor, don't you think it would be better " Nancy could not get any further. She felt a choking in her throat, and was obliged to poke the fire to cover hei confusion. "Dearest," he whispered, with feigntd passion so different to the fire of lii» early wooing, " it was for your sake I ; spoke. But you are right, Nancy, and though it breaks my heart, it 'is better 1 that we " " Your heart won't break," she 1 answered, rather fiharply. " Well, it is over, I suppose. Good-bye !" She held out her hand. He pressed it to his lips. 1 "As you will, my darling. If you 1 command " ' But Nancy tore her hand away, and j left him alone with the unfinished sentence halting on his lips. *It is settled, uacle/' she said, rdshing breathlessly to the invalid's couch, " and lam glad — so glad. 1 j never thought that Richard was a ! hypocrite, but I know now, and I onld ' not love him again if I tried — not if I ' were as rich as Croesns 1" 1 The old man smiled rather sadly at [ her. r " Richard will bo sorry some, day," * he said, but Nancy did not understand , J his meaning. ' A week later and the old man .was » dead. For the last year he had been suffering from an incurable disease, and now that the end had come,' his 7 numerous nephews and neices waited ] expectantly for the reading of the will. 1 Their amazement and consternation k knew no bounds when it was made \ public that the wholo bulk of Charles Hollis 1 property had been left to Nancy. In her grief at the loss of her uncle, 3 she could give no thought to the 3 wonderful news, and it seemed to her * quite natural that Richard's first act [ should be a visit of condolence to the * woman he had practically jilted. He was tender and solicitous as in past days, he gradually crept back step by step — at lea9t, he thought so — till ' at last he was clasping her hands, and fc whispering words of love with an ardor she had missed in the past months. " You will let it be tlia same again c now, dear," he said. " Your uncle is 1 dead, so I must take care of you." I l% Yes," she answered, hor eyes dronps t in Sa " And you will marry me T* c " Yes," she said.

( For a moment his joy was too great for words. , -, .',' My angel I How* happy you have made me !" . Nancy Was silent for a moment, then ■*he asked 1( : f ' (Did yon isee' Uncle Cbarlea'wil'r?" 1 No ; but how can you suspect me 'of such base motive," reading the look in her eyes. ** Of course, I know he left' yon his 1 money, but after all — what is money ?" ' 11 You don't care for it then so much as you pretended ?" ' " No,'' be said, emphatically. ' " I am $0 glad, fiichard, dear, because uncle made it a stipulation that if I married you all the money should go to his other nephews and neices, so it Js only fair to them." , "'Bat Ifancy brofee off as she watched his face, and for the first time since her 'utijble'9 death she smiled, glorying in his' discomfiture. ' 1 " They' will be so grateful." she said; "and as you do not really care for money, that stipulation will not matter.' " You noble woman !" he cried, "to contemplate sacrificing yourselE for me. Do yon think I would be bo selfish as to let you give up your fortune tor the sake oft my love ? No, I would sooner bury ,'.my .grief in far— off lands — hide my despair acro3S the seas — than rob you of your rights. My conscience would never rest were I guilty of such u'nmanliness." A look of triumphant scorn came over Nancy's face as she sarcastically applauded his sentiments in bidding him farewell. ' '.