SHADOWS ON THE SNOW.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 13014, 29 June 1906, Page 2

SHADOWS ON THE SNOW.

(Continued.) "Child," \vhb>jjeteu Stephen, bending low, "if Wiiiiaau. Jeairtietd loved yon, yoa would be happy." "'Do not o: it, father," sobbed Alice, "it c.i- c., never be! Love caunu: bo bought. "But it can lw wcu and lost," he mattered, iu a tone so Jaw that his words did not jeach ber ears. "If it can be proved to a that the woman he loves is false! " He stepped & few paces from his daughter, ana closed the door to preveut interruption. "My girl's happiness may haog upon the discovery I have made to-night. Shall I let the opportunity slip from me? It was destiny that led me from the house an hour -ago, to see—what? To sea this immaculate, spotless woman who is l engaged to marry William Fairfield' in the anus of armtW man, and to hear her make an appointment with him at midnight. At midnight, by the Lord! when no third person is nigh to witness her disgrace!'* A low scornful laugh floated oa the air, unheard by the weeping girl. " This fair creature, so outwardly honest, this paragon of modesty and virtue, is like the rest of her shameless ser—ialse, false to the backbone. Qh, my ladies ! shame upon you! Not for me, whose life has been blasted by your treachery, not for me to spare you! I would whip your false bodies with whips made of your own delicate hair—ay, „ every mother's daughter of you!" There was a bitter, biting ring in the man's muttered tones, inspired, by memories which it was torture to recall.

But for my daughter," >he .continued, with a glance at the bowed. distorted form, "he should marry this paragon, and discover her treachery when it was too late. It would be a piece with the rest, and would add one to the many. But my child him! Oh, God! grant her some compensation, for her life's torture—give her a recompense for her long misery»" Despite his unpitying mood, the prayer came from his heart.

' You are suffering for my sake," said Alice, raising her head, and noting the signs of trouble in her father's face. " I will strive far the future to bear my pain alone. But I hoped this night was to be so happy " t

It may be yet, child. I love you, I love ycu!" And he pressed her passionately to his breast. "I would lose my soul for you ! " Hush, father!" she cried, putting her hand to his lips. "I would, as truly as I live, to secure your happiness! We win not go home yet; we will wait another hour." As they entered the passage, they saw Laura pass swiftly from the house, with tears in her eyes, and William Fairfield looking after her with an expression of annoyance. Stephen was about to address hint, but checking himself for a moment,, allowed Alice to enter the room where the company was assembled. Then he said: I "You don't seem over well-pleased, William Fairfield."

"What business may that be of yours!" returned William, in an ungracious tone. Attend to your own matters, and leave me to mine"

"Hard words these, lad, upon Christmas Eve," said Stephen, with no show" of anger; "but perhaps I was-in the'wrong. I beg your pardon." . Humbleness did not sit we*! upon the man, but it was so unusual an exhibition in bhn that it stung William into remorse. "It is I who should beg pardon,'. Mr Winkworth. There is my hand. Do not refuse it."

Not likely I should refuse your hand, my lad, though many another man's I i might." He paid no heed to the look of surprise with which William received this I expression of goodwill. "Can you spare me a few minutes? I have that to say to you it may be well for you to hear. No wi w*?® witt PTmg eyes about! yy uat I liave to say to you is private Come into the open air." led , tj» and in silent wonder YY 11-iam followed him. The snow-fall had ,ceased, and had left a thick, soft carpet mo °n was shining forth, and the heavens were bright ard pure m the light of the glorious prLiS beheath them. As far as eye cSd whife eVe Thf J S T! S mantled in wmte. The tall trees stood like white gntinels of the night, erect and watcliSLn J Pmg sloped- whitely down to the eaves, and the chinmev-pots heads .,whitdy to the skies, ,' e U P°° them resembling the praver of whito monfc s bending in

Ibe r-olems peacefulness of tie beautiful night impressed its loving lesson upon both men, and for a little while thev were silent. William Fairfield was the tu>t to speak. "Do you wish to speak to me about my farm! J

. "No, lad. Of something of far greater importance to your welfare. Though, for the matter of that, I am ready at any momeut to fulfil my share of the batgain. If you go to the lawyers* to-mor-row, you will find the money ready for y°«- You have but to sign your name." ifr Wymer has told me so -a dozen. ufc I have no intention now of my land. You must be a well-to-co man. Mr Winkworth, to allow sixteen .hundred pounds to lie idle for so long a time. I should not mind being in your shoes."

"So far as regards money?" " Yes; not in any other way -particnhirlv."

" I am better than well-to-do; I am a i ich num. H you, with your youth, and strength, and talent, had my money, > you ,could hold -up .your. head, with the! best .in. the county. My inherit every penny I possess. Inherit!' It is hers now,, while I- *-_.6bft, 'wiilJ bring a; rich dower to the -man her." , ■ - "" "' "I ttust she will marry one worthy of, ber." said -William, with a sharp look! at Stephen. - \ i " My .child will bring what is.better lieauty to hhn who wins,her love; - -With riches, she will bring_a faithful—heart-; with riches, she will_ .bring a soul jstainr le-« as' an; angel's." : --."J'- . There was no mistaking the meaning Stephen intended to convey, 'and William Fairfield paused long before he could comnviud himself sufficiently to speak with! coolness. J

" This is not the first time to-day that y"u have uttered words <to which I should not- Us ten. What do vou mean l>y them?" . "

'* Fair and softly, my lad. It is your inic-re.-t I have at heart." " Speak plainly, then."

" I will. Would you—would ai;y man w-t.h his eyes open—marry a woman who is playing a double game—a shameless u'ench " " Bv heaven !"

*" Hold off your hands, and - listen to iv T could be your father. William F-'rHeM. fur the years I bear. Be still. n:-T hear n<e out. From the depths of :>.;v own life I have that to sav which.

if you are not utterly blind, will prove to you low false fair things may be. When I have done, you can judge for yourself." His stern impressiveness made its mark. William Fairfield did not reply, but stood with his back against- a tree, clenching his hands, and beating his foot impatiently against its trunk. They had wandered some little distance from the house, and the notes of merriment from within fell but faintly upon their ears. Otherwise, not a sound but that of their own voices broke the stillness of, the, nig&t. . ■ ... " You know what I am," Stephen said; "you know the estimation in which I am held. If "any man, woman, or child, iu - all - Devonshire were asked who in all Devonshire was most disliked, most hated, most shunned, the reply would be, — Stephen Winkworth. If any dumb animal in Devonshire desired to show its dislike to one person more than all others,. it would be to Stephen Winkworth. ChildTen turn from him; beggars avoid him; not a human being has a smile of welcome for him. Were he to be deprived <of his wealth, • and were he lying parched and starving by the roadside, no one out of love would, for his sake, give him a cup of milk—no one out of compassion would offer him a , bed of straw to lie upon. Were Stephen < Wrnkworthi to die to-morrow, no one but the undertaker would attend his funeral, and even he would be glad when -the job was done. Not a tear but thoe shed by his daughter would fall upon his grave." The picture he had drawn was true. He spoke in his usual bitter tone, with a full consciousness,that it would be futile to endeavour, to avoid the penalty he had earned and /invited.

"Such is my fate," he cor.t : nued. . "I do not complain. I lave brought; it. upon myselt, and I must bear It. But it was not always thus with me, William Fairfield."

"It* was always thus within my remembrance,". said William, resentfully. "You speak the truth,..lad. Yet I once had a happy home —I once had friends. Friends!" he echoed fiercely. " Had Imy will, I would send the word to hell to burn out its false meaning! It was one of these friends—rvultures-r-lies ! —call them what you wi'.l, who made me what I am!" He took off his hat and bared his head to the cold wind. In. this man's heart was raging a tragic fire, the fury of which time was powerless to dim. The memory of an eaxly wrong was burning within him as fiercely as when it was first perpetrated. For years had he been huggiag it close, fanning it into a-blaze which death alone could extinguish. - "Years have passed over me, like the rest .of men,, and- left their- upon my frame. But fresh within me, as in the hour it was done, burns the wrong which set. me against my fellow-men for ever and for- ever. - -Whea l forget it, may a palsy strike me dead!"

He • stooped.' and took up a handful -of snow, with which he batned his fevered head. No sign of Nature sympathised' with him. The white-orbed maiden shed: her pure -light upon his form; the sofe, white snow enveloped his feet; graceful devices in tree and hedge met his eyes whichever way he turned. He stood alone, in antagonism, with the symbols of ioveUness. and. purity by which he - vras surrounded. . • . ■'/.? ; •• •.. "You, in the heyday of youth—you, with the dream of-life spread before' yoii, -wovSn. in bright I colours, .as ft onca ; sj>read liefpre me—you'love. , All men-doy-at some time in. their efluiy 'youth- .y time; sees a*, woman whomVhe sets "before him as an idol,"and falls down and wor-. ships, poor blind fool! as though she were heaven born. This woman to this man is a( saint; angelic virtues dwell in her; she is clothed in a celestial annour of innocence, truth and simplicity. I-in my youth came within this influence!. -I in my youth set np Tritliin my soul a painted sham, a beautiful lie, and worshipped it with all the of my mamhood. I have read books wherein woman's love is described as a divine emanation wherein a nich.o in a .woman's heart is said to sanctify a man's life, and make him better and fitter for the life to come. Woman's love! What woman loves as a man too often, loves! Her nature is too petty to comprehend the infinite tenderness of a man's- devotion. .The nutn sees upon the face of the ; ; Woman he loves a smile which Nature. ,gaye her t ai smile of heavenly sweetness which "intensifies the adoration in his soul; and this trick of the .features, his absence a hundred-times a*dny,*hecbelieves to be a heartTwelcome to ,himy ; < ; andi for him alone. I, who before my marriage went courting as you have done tonight, and. Ay heart would- laugh-within my breast as the sunshine of her eyes fell upon me. This .smile, thought;!, is the< outcome of her love for me and me alotoe ;V. the tenderness which I r behold in; it; :is the soul of love, and 1 it is I 1 wlio have given it birth. - Thus, I • interpreted' the; magia s silence of her greeting, and endowed it with spiritual life;" < ' ;-. Beneath the spell of this better remembrance, his voice- grew- softer. . " - "She wa? all in all to me; she was my life, my hope, my prize in'-the world's lottery—the richest, dearest prize that ever fell to man's lot. I wjs' always a' scheming, mooey-making inan; but after I knew, her I did not yearn for wealth! for' my-*-self—l yearned, for it for her. v Every fresh success I gained was doubly'good because she would share it. I my hands gladly,-and thank God I succeeded, for her sake . I whispered her name for luck if I entered into new speculation. With her image in my heart, every step I mounted in the ladder of life brought me nearer to heaven. I took this piece "of clay, this image of dust, and I fashioned it,-, and painted it, and beautified it. I . filled her face^^^h,-i^pcen<3«^ t with love, her heart with faitmtiihess." My "devotion gave music to her voice, sanctity jo her.touchy And I jier.-I loved 'ner, as man -h'eVer" loved before!""" !

■ There was such a depth of tenderness m the man's voice and action that William! Fairfield, forgetting for. a . time his own unhappiness, impulsively moved close to him, and would have taken his hand in pity; but Stephen repulsed him, and continped :- ,;,r s Qyy 0 > " We were married. There is a heaven U P°?, earfc h for some men at one period of life.—Many-of -remember f&iv weeks or months which shine put from the past as, though^.'they to and a: happiet Jifri. T-look' back to' the first months of my. wedded. vel at myself.- - • It is not often that I to emotion; .but think of the glory of happiness which was mine during that brief space, and look at my ®e_ as it is now—shunned, deserted, cold and joyless—l am lost in. { miserqble;;Wohaer. I had a smile-for .all ay. even for one the very thought of Tphom driv-es my blood from its inatural cbahnefe, and everlastings revenge!" . ■ ; . fo passion he raLsed his . hand , and struck the tree, as he have struck enemy he stood before hifn. He was niv friend. lie at my hearth -ike my Brother. He was niv friend.

and was a witness of my loreand happiness. He was my friend, and I lauded him to my wife and sang his praised in her ear in our moments of confidence!' He was my friend, and he betrayed me. Curse his soul, for ever and ever!" (To be continued.)