SERIAL STORY.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 12868, 2 January 1906, Page 2

SERIAL STORY.

I (By Margaret Ghearwood.)

THE COMING OF THE TIDE .

The beauty of autumn deepened over ipea and land as the September days went swiftly, by. ( Through these long .days of dream, when ' tofcthfdreamed with her, her eyes were dim •with happiness, broken only by the fear that joy had woven about her too potent 4 spell, and that nothing could. break- it henceforward, not the call of htimah. suffer,'ing nor. the old quick sense of human n«tod. Then the mood passed; her own heart and the wide horizon Hne bore witness to the larger life that was rippling within her own. . , / -She was much alone in.these' days, .except when Paul Warren or his mother was with ler, for she shunned the Bevanne household, fearing to meet Alec Bevanne. The scene on the-rocks at Tern Island was too vivid and too terrible for her to wish a repetition, and the young man's face, wrought out of its old semblance .by overmastering passion, haunted her dreams. The few occasions on which she had seen- hiiu since that day brought her no relief; to be sure, the flame had died out of his face, but the darkened eyes and sullen mouth filled her with remorse for the wrong she had unwittingly done him. .''■■■ She grieved that she ' must meet Alice Bevanne less and less, and grieved the mote because she saw the record of fresh trouble written in the girl's eyes. Longing to question her, but not daring, she stood aloof, fancying at times that Alice was aware of her brother's stoiy; at these moments her friend's expression became to her but the visible picture of the anxietv in her own mind. Again she realised that this could be to the Jfew England girl but one strand in the dark web which fate had woven about her, and remorse changed back to pity. They were walking side by side along the quiet shore one evening, for Alice had come in the old fashion to the Inn, and they were watching the faint, last flush of day fade into twilight over dim water and dusky shore. Suddenly the mystical charm of the moment was broken, and Frances' Wilmot felt her,-friend's hand quiver on her arm. Following the glance of her. straining- Byes, she saw, ahead, on the rocks which lay bare in the moonlight, a swift, shadow moving close, too close, to the water; a man's •white hat gleamed out by the edge of the cliff,- then disappeared. Alice Bevanne broke from her side, ran, fleet of foot, to the rocks', climbed .hastily. up, and the sound of voices came bijck to the Southern girl, who stood alone ontlie white "sand, her heart throbbing with a nameless-fear. Presently Alice'came back, and "was silent, as before. ' What is it?" demanded Frances Wilmot. " Nothing," answered the girl hastily. " I was. afraid for.a minute, but it is all right." I will not be put off in this way," said Frances. It is only Alec," said the other reluctantly, averting her face. "He has not seemed like himself lately—something has troubled him; we are afraid of melancholia, and I am watching him a little." "Jtfhat caused it?" asked Frances, a quiver in her voice. Nothing that could be helped," answered Alice quietly; then, she turned her face,- and her friend saw that she knew. " Ah !" cried Frances piteouslv, " vou have so. much .to vex you ! Why* should I be seut to make lire-harder in so many ways!" " H^ish!' said ■ AHce, 'laying a finger on ; her friend's, lips. "You have done nothing, nothing, do you„ understand, that- has been your fault. To me you hare been sheer blessing." . Later, from a clump of birches near the top of the cliff, Frances, watched brother , and .sister going home together along the grass-grown road across the moorland ; and she itiarveled at. the growth of a soul where all that makes existence sweet had been denied. Achievement was already written on this girl's face, in delicate pencilihgs, and soft shadows at temple and' eye. •- It. was one that could never show faded, beauty, immortal meanings being written there. As September lingered by the ehore. the .iur was full of the breathlessnes of coming change; then, out of the silence across the sea, _came a great autumn storm. It began with a day of 'darkened sky and of ominous stillness; the slow waves seemed thrilling with some deep sense of stir at the : depths of things. - Frances ..Wilmot was vaguely troubled. This sea" was strange to her who had known and loved it in so many phases—its stillest, most silvery look, its endlessly paling and deepening blue, and its swift, brief summer storms. Now, under the low, dull purple clouds, came a sullen, lashing wind, bringing gusts of blinding rain. All things far were blotted from sight; from the window could be seen only blackened sky and sea, against which gleamed streaks- of livid foam. • The dismal boom- ]*}£_ the waves on the rocks sounded through day, and night-, shaking the Inn to its foundations, crashing in the branches ! of trees, and tarrying the moan of the se % io very heart of the forest. Ihrce days and nights the furv of the ga.e 'lasted; higher and higher rose tiie sea. Dark and incrediblv great came the strong racers of ocean, their high crests Breaking i n green curves, the green foaming into white. To Frances Wilmot. in her wonder and awe. it seemed as if lines •oi mountain had suddenly broken into quick' movement, and were coming on in an awful march of terror and of beautv, of roar and thunder, of colour and shadow foaui. C, I fc ' vaß t'ncle Peter who carried to Aleo JJevanne the-news concerning the happiness that had come upon the Warren household —a_ chastened, quiet Uncle Peter, whose manperiijjdJost something of its airy assur-ance.-He-had come, out in driving wind, to-day, though ordinarily.the savage aspects, of nature appealed to him but slightly,, to tvnt-ch tlie greut- waves ,rolling f n a darkened sky.. The storm which had vsuiv fr° m . the upper air seemed to . have, itself * to ; the . -veTy heart .of the <«eft, -irtid /to. be' raging/there, secret, unajv peasable. The mountain waves of vester}vere gone, yet more awful- ,was. the. jjaiglitv Stirqhi Ofj the depths. ; On- the spiivy-daJshed rocks he found A!ec Bevanne. standing idly with hi? hands in his pockets and his felt hat pulled I<jw over his ayes, defected Vparfcakuig of the mood of moaning wiud and sullen sea. Ho

hardly' glanced at Uncle Peter, but stood apart, and the look in his b'.ue eyes, was . that of one so withdrawn in his inner trouble that the' beating craves of human i life could' not break 'entrance there. .It ■ grieved Uncle Peter, who could not -bear the sight of suffering, nor a cold look, from one who had been his friend; and, drawing i near, he held out his withered old hand in _ greeting. The other shook it mechanically, with a look that suggested blank uncon--1? sciousness that any one was there rather x than'"active desire -that he should go away. r With a wish to comfort and to cheer, Uncle (. Peter, mysteriously touching the lapel of I- the young'man's coat, said in a ha/f whis- . per:*;— ' . " You look as if a bit of good news would ; j do you good. In confidence I can toll yon j that our . charming Miss Wilmot has conf serited.to become one of our of the Warren family, in fact, to become Paul's -wife." . ' Genuine gladness sounded in Uncle Peter's voice ; romance, in any forin he loved : —it need not. be his -own. In this, mood \ of exhilaration he entirely-forgot the jpasI sion of his young neighbour for Miss Wilmot, forgot until he saw his face, and » then' was frightened by the pallor that * crept over cheek and forehead, and by the > tightening of the lips and the cords of 1 the neck. It was too late to do anyT thing to repair hu mistake, and Uncle Pe--3 ter wisely resolved to go. He did so, 1 tripping hastily over wet rock and slip- • pery stone, for he felt that he was old f and no longer strong of arm, and he had seen the sudden clenching of Alec Bei valine's fists, with full realization that he a had before him a man beside himself with » rage. - " There have been two cases of insanity , in that family," said Uncle Peter' breath- [ lessly to himself, r (To be continued.)