SERIAL STORY.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 12870, 4 January 1906, Page 2

SERIAL STORY.

THE COMING OF THE TIDE

(By Margaret Shearwood.)

XXIV. "But where is Paul?" asked Mrs Warren anxiously of Uncle Peter, as the old ' man brought her her letters at breakfast. "I don't know," said Uncle Peter. "In bed, I presume:" " No, he must have gone out very early, for I stopped at his room just now to speak to him. I did not 6ee him last night." "He must be in the city," suggesled Uncle-Peter. , . . " Bufc he never goes'without- telling me." "Where's Robin Hood?" demanded Unde Peter, suddenly. | To •gether they waited, lingering long at the table in the hope that Paul might join tiiem,' but he did not come. Aunt Belinda appeared as often as possible from the kit'chen, torn between a desire to comfort away the worried look from Mrs Warren's face, and a determination not to recognise its cause. Uncle Peter chattered amiably of everything he could think of, his nervous cheerfulness increasing the mother's agitation at every worda=cd then searched the house and garden and nearer shore with an incidental air, as if ordered by his doctor to take a zigzag" constitutional in every direction.. Alone, at the window or on the veranda, stood Mrs Warren, booking out over the water, now clearing after the storm It was a day of no gentleness of mood, but of, pitiless beauty and of shrill, unheeding wind. ;;The Sea Gull was riding up and down unhurt upon the waves; the dorv was

p.uLLed. high and dry "upon tho sand*. Of that bold journey out over the storm-tossed sea of yesterday no traces remained. ;-v.l neither Mrs Warren uor Uncle i'eter know of it. Aunt Belinda, however. iad w .itch id from, the kitchen window the l.v'nr-hing of the dory and the strange return nit'i the Southern girl, vho hart net- goie f r -rt'i w Ih the other fcw>. and she -cepc her turn c>n<i:<-e!, with much inarticulate among her pots an! pans, awr-v wj;h fine animal sen.v.u v*-e « of her : ar.<. ..f u.cunspoken trouble in .the air. The three waited in vain for note or telegram which would explain for them Paul's absence; but none came", and with every passing-minute of the day the current of foreholding grew mqre 6trong. As the afternoon wore on. the colour died out of the sea, the life died out vt : the air, and sky and water stretched away, a dull gray, laden waste. Ij&te in the day the third, Andrew Lane, dsK-er at the Emerson Inn. strolled down tlie'road and paused at bis grandfather's li6use. where the old man sat smoking in a splint-bottomed chair tipped comfortab'v back. •V Folks all rightasked young Andrew. Old Andrew grunted assent, ajid silently lield out his pipe to give the visitor a light. They had puffed on speechlessly for several minutes before young Andrew ventured further remark. "I see young Warren up the shore this morDin7*"and I thought he looked kind of queer." Old Andrew listened sharpy, aifd the wreaths of smoke ceased coming from his mouth. " Acted like lie was half crazy," ventured young Andrew, who was suffering more agitation tkan\ he was willing to express,— " vr''.' r.wd bthind the rocks and lookir."-;over. t;:a edge as if in'd lost somethiaV • '-FishißV 'likely," said tho grandfather, nor could the bearer of ill tidings get any further expression of opinion from the old man. who asked a singi« question in regard to his young master's whereabouts and then lapsed into smoky silence. It was not until young Andrew had gone home that old Andrew picked up his battered straw hat, refilled his pipe, and ambled down to the Warren house, where he had a long conference with Aunt Belinda. Another morning on sea and shore with a pallor that was not light: Paul Warren had come home at midnight, ■waii,: distraught, and speechless. At the first •g'immer in the east he was up again anS xnriiy :on his search, returning later for a morsel of food, but going out again immediately -without explaining his strange conduct. The next day, Mrs Warren, unable to endure longer* the look of silent •misery on her sons face, begged Alice Be- ■ vanne to tell Frances Wilmot of this mysterious'trouble. and she performed her* task as she did all others, unflinchingly. The Southern girl listened -with a face grown pale as the morning; then the two gazed at each other in silence, eyes and hearts full of the memory of that terrible moment when the avenger had stood upright in the dory and the head, of Alec Bevanne ha.l sunk under the waves. "Your brother?" asked Frances, with lips that feared the answer. '"He is much better, said Alice. " only -still very stiff and bruised; but- of course I cou'd not explain'to Mrs Warren, and Mr. Warren, who does not kuow that Alec came safeiy home is, sot to be found. He must have been searching farther up the coast when Alec was brought to 5 hoi e by the waves." Courage had come back to the heart «if j Frances. ! " I wHI rirui ssiii >iniii V ; " i.v f :v M>:ue\viu-::*:<• iy.." | Siit rnst j' ;>«.! in 'Uf t s'.e Aikt suv»,i • htr'ns .-he went'. lor tin the iy !»..»«{» ,u;4 j she-h'.id walked. '.'C" " I'.cr. ey«: and c.ir vro:c s-?r.lined. li;i< »:so <iid n«»t tl:.d him. F.»r nr 1 iwar. !i:c inutmirr 01' jiw? ix-fia <• »n;c J«» he-. lamUUie answering tntirmur of the wind in : : i>;vics wiiii iiKtiisaorid I She went an. swrclisnj; by r~- sy j aiul sliellereil cove, the fog inclcfii'S iter. | a.> {lie failing o! a veil. The old pit;:,* w«rt - £»oi;o: f.unilinr 'iriinnrks. nf nr.,; of | ccd.tr Mere wipc-i sway »» liy : aii't !•[;•„* *ti>|>|>ct ,1 ' .'MW tfeililitM. *':>;■ wjil t aisd is; : c.i : s»«;aie*.vi;cic he ti*,n • >5 |hat her smmmhw pence«. ' | S«:i:iP»vl:crc he wa.< listening for her v«»irc ■v. i'o m. lnvj;-; her vi-i'o ;; d 1 Isi''.. .V ross •:v." iuisS >:>o *-<*;?; i*. ?he jvr.v.j iv.". < r cC",' «er.<c «m »i;v- itir.- -j> s! :i,:*' ! "f tiw Hw.-r.rii in«l l!jo

—a————— strife and sin, and he waited, the notes falling on his ear as cool drops of rain fall on parched lips dying of thirst. She found him at last exhausted by his fruitless search, with the white quiet of despair on his face. As she came toward him with outstretched hands, her song died on her lips, for her shrank .away. " Don't touch me," he said sternly... She paid no heed, but with her old smile drew him to a seat on the rocks, and halt fearfully touched the disordered hair on his forehead. ' " Frances, I have sent a man to his death," lie said brokenly. "Mr lievaune canie saielv home," she whispered. Something like % sob broke from him. "I am unspeakably glad for Alice asd 'for her mother, but it does not alter what I did, or tried to do." She broke into-her song.again, and the man at her side, with closed eyes, drank it thirstily, in; then, watching the changing expression on his face, she seized her moment and said cooxingly : " Come home I What do you. mean by frightening us a'.l nearly to death? I have been waiting and waiting for you." '■ I did not realize—anything." he said hoarsely. '' I was searching, at first, for Bevanne. Frances, it is all true, all t'ae old fear that darkened my boyhood, of hands waiting in the dark, clutching you out of the past, making you do their will." '• It is not true," said the woman bravely, and. drawing nearer, she kissed his eyes and his brow with indescribable tenderness. " That passion like that could master one unaware!" She broke the tragic measure of his voice

with a little light joyous laugh. "All that yoti needed to roako tou perfect was a little primitive passion fie stretched out a warning hand to ward her off, and paused, gazing at her with steady eyes. " I shall never claim you. beloved, for I am not fit. There is nothing in human lifo but failure and misery and despair. It is only a pitfall set for our feet." Her soft hand lay across his eyes as she whispered: " There is nothing anywhere but love!" " Ah, but you were afraid before," lie said. " That was long ago," she whispered, "before I knew." " But you don't understand," said the man's voice, br&ikiug. "In that moment I -did not know what I was doing, and I committed a crime. Think how awful the possibilities of things are! To all intents I killed that man. and, dear, it might be you." With a sudden fierce sense of pity of possession she drew his head to her bosom. "Then 1 should say, as Sir (Jawaine paid of Lancelot. ' Of a more nobler man might I not be slain."" (The End.)