SHADOWS ON THE SNOW.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 13015, 30 June 1906, Page 2

SHADOWS ON THE SNOW.

(Continued.) Ag ■!.• he struck the tree, and waved his t.ltii.-Jy muni defiantly to the beautiful cluut-.s. ~ •' • ■ " 1 will hunt that man through all the wori-i.-. Waatever may be the life we live uueu this is done -with—in whatever spheie or shape I meet "him—he shall expiate ihc bjght he cast upon me and mine! 1 pi ay that the power may be given me! I have p:ayed for it on my knees! But for that thirsting hope, 1 should not believe in immortality!" The crimson '-blood dropping from his wounded hand "upon the snow seemed to William Fairfield a. fateful witness to the curse of the wronged man. Gazing "upon it in iaacination, a lurid light floated before his eyes, distorting his outward and inward sense of sight.

"My wife bore me a child, a daughter, perfect in form and feature, beautiful as the day. This lovely and.wondrous creature opened out to me a new world of which I had hitherto : no conception. Higher and holier thought than that by which I had hitherto been animated began to stir within me; a spiritual sunrise dawned upon my soul. I declare that I never returned home and saw my darling in her mother's lap asleep, or 1 drawing nourishment from her bosom, without being impe'led to bless God for His goodness. Even as her little fairy fingers would entwine themselves round one of mine, so did my love for her entwine and grow abont the roots of my heart. You would scarcely believe, William Fairfield, were it not for my assurance, that this exquisite baby beauty—straight limbed, bright eyed, tosy cheeked—and my daughter Alice are one*. 'lt is' I," her father, who made her what she/.is, who have deprived her of life's seasons, and who, if love's light do not shine upon -her, have condemned her through all her; days to a cold and cheerless winter. Let me recall the fatal day which led td my act of madness. I had left my home oh a- matter of business, and was to be absent only twenty-four <hours. It was the first night I had passed out of my house since my marriage. Why did .not my horse fall down with me and kill me, - instead of bringing me safely back to the home I had left, honoured and happy? But what some men call fate,-others chance, others destiny, ordained that I should' live' and grapple with my misery. For when my journey was over, and I reached my house, with my heart, pulsing with tender anticipation, I found that my wife had fled—had fled with him I • called my friend. • I learned that she 'whom I loved faithfully and truly had betrayed me; that he whom I trusted with my whole soul had played the Judas. No letter was writtem to guide me to this conclusion; My wife had gone, and that was enough; my friend was gone, and that was enough. I had nob been in my house five minutes; before the truth flashed upon me,' as might a picture suddenly" revealed. For -a moment I was dazed and'stunned; then-came thedespairr ing reality. The past years spread - out before me like a map, and every glance and word that had passed between us came to me with a new signification. < Her love had been a simulation/a cheat; her heart had never been mine. She had been to me a living lie, and all a woman's artifice had been- employed to conceal' the truth. Too. well had she succeeded. What would you have done, William Fairfield, had you been'stricken with such a blow? What would.you have done had you found your life's happiness thus suddenly burnt to ashes -upon your household hearth" He did not wait for but went on:

y>The thoughts and memories which clung about me during those few moments would make an epic. ' Amidst them all, one picture struggled to the foreground. I saw in my fancy the face of my wife lying upon the pillow in the early morning—a face of child-like, angelic beauty—a face which, could an artist paint, and' call it Innocence, would immortalise his name through all ages. She had fallen asleep in my arms but a few hours before, with words of love upon her lips. I gazed upon her with a heart full of worship. I saw her face, and it was heaven to me. But her inner life was hidden from, me; aid now that it was .laid bare in all its naked deformity, faith, love, religion, belief .in human goodness, fled from me affrightd. Iwns as on suddenly and unnaturally maddened. Infuriated, I looked around and saw her- child lying in her cot—her child! She opened her eyes and smiled upon me, and as in that innocent smile I caught the. reflex of her false mother's beauty, I raised her in my arms, an'd dashed her. to the ground!" The memory of the terrible act raised thick beads of perspiration upon his face; and again, in a wild, reckless maimer, he scooped up a handful of. snow, and scattered it over his head.

" I scarcely remembered what followed j I do not know whether I or drank, qrslept; I only know that. X'fled-from the house, with the intention of pursuing them day and oiight. From that moment my life was compassed byMjnt one maddening desire—to overtake , and kill them. I was soon upon.their acnld I flung money about like a, madman, but still, with an rostinctive method in my .madness. I followed them from place'tb place/ through out of England into for-' eign countries, and back again. Hearing that I. was, in pursuit, they schemed andbaffled me. I was'always a day top late";'-" I reached, every spot in-which &ey~tarn«din.time to hear of their -from-it.-But.they could not for ever-escape me;"sl' knew it—l felt it—Fate-was^onany- side,, and would bring them.i'as as* Jl l6^^ 3 * a i-Every sigfr that miide itself. vi6il)lfc;tc<OT^in?,ifanan; ™*m& m..pry BfehifceioraSS wWlve3„for. me tntf plains as I dashed ; pa*fc fiitmht trin ori carnage-m the, frdljranljghfcasnV gleamed? on : clear waters-m s^iafes^b. a? - which nnaged false wife and friend cnmch'SL " 'Sr- ■'? 6es ß***& and diinonota 'ood was in the air, in the fields William Fairfield shuddered at the vemiagmed <! T:ng through the mi tv/, I came n P° n them. When Lr?„ f wT 106 of them..and-was standing in doubt as to which way to turn, theuvfaces flashed upon me one nightat a railway station. Despite aU warning cnes, I jumped with a triumphant laugh npon the step of a carriaee as the train was moving away. I did not think of *ry own danger as I was -whirled alohgrand that I must get to them, if -1 had to .fight my way through a hundred deaths. T only thought that they were there, The window through which I had caught r.iqrht of their' face* v was far in ',' fi-ont of me, and\ with • fKMitic ' impatience; I. worked my way" along the side'* of "the

traiu. How I escaped being dashed to pieces was a mystery which seme persons would call a providence, but which I recognised as the working out of a sure retribution. It was not long before I reached the window :pf the carriage in which they sat, and, peering ia, 1 saw them nestling side by side! Xever could I forget the moment when in the glance came mutual recognition. I tore at the door like a wild anim»U, but" it was, locked, and. all my strength was powerless to open it. * I .shouted—l- raved—l was truly mad; "and all. the while, their white faces—they were alone in the carriage—glared at me, convulsed with fear. Even at that dread time the beauty of my wife stabbed me, and I-groaned as though a poisoned dagger had been thrust into my heart. It infuriated me the more, and I renewed my efforts to tear open the door—in vain. The engine was before me, and almost on the thought I found,; myself upon it, struggling with the engineer, who strove to prevent my mad purpose. I remember mothing more. A sudden crash—an upheaving "that, heralded the violent ending of the world. —the flying of a myriad fiery particles, in the air—and then, oblivion. When" I recovered my senses I heard that a terrible accident, inexplicable to all but me; had occurred, and that my wife and her paramour were killed, with a score of other persons. Upon earth I was never to see. their faces again." At this moment William, looking towards the, house, eaw.for the third time the mysterious shadow on the 6now. In some -unaccountable way, it inspired him with unreasonable resentoftient, and noth ing but the strong interest he .took in> (•Stephen's story- would have "deterred iim from pursuing it.:.\-■-■;.•. ."•,.:,.' . "When I arose from'my bed. of sickness I was a changed- man.". "-I had' tasted the. sweetness |of life, and,it had; poisoned my blood. L' closed mj floor upon all my former friends and\ass6ciates; I.closed my heart upon all humanity; The shadow of death was hanging, over smv.-house—-for, oh, William Fairfield! when in mydespair I had ■ dashed my baby beauty to the^ killed her,, but; I had maimed; Ideformed'her" beyiohd all mortal cure, and she grew into what you see her now. She does not know ithat it is I who inflicted this bitter grief upon her. Mercifully it is hidden' from her, as it has been hidden .from all others until this njght. It was supposed:. that Si& met with an accident;for which-no human hand was accountable; but I, her father' made her what she is. .I, her father, wrecked her : young life upon the rock of my despair—and I, her father, hour after hour, day after day, bear within me the seeds of a remorse so strong, and agonising that I would tear myself linfb from limb could I atone for the blight I have brought upon..my child."' The night, had..grown .very still; no sound of merriment 'floated from the ■house. i The shadow, had.disappeared. As -William noted this;- : .there: 7 stole into his heart a suspicion which made him shud-/ der. ~;.('■• ■ ■'.-', • . •/ "Do you wonder now. that I am morose, sullen, uncharitable?: Do you wonder now that I shun my fellow-men—-that I hate them all, scorn/ distrust them all? But not to : excuse:myself have I spoken. > Take warning that you are not as I was betrayed. It- is the soul, not the face, of a woman that constitutes the happiness of : man.- If you ask why I -have told you my story, I may .in part truly; answer that it is; to saveyou froina fate similar to that which, fell to my -unhappy lot" ""To save T me!" exclaimed William. " Ay," returned Stephen; " you love Laura Harrild's face as I loved the face of my wife. She is fair and beautiful; —as was my wife:--' Learn from me, that every I ffairr r Trafiftjl is alike in thk—that she so thirsts for admiration, that the love of one man will not'suffice iher." ',

"You wrong?them, you wrong them," murmured William. -

" Believe so, and dream your dream Ctill it is too late.; 1 This woman that .you admire plays love and devotion to you' when you are together; gives you honeyed words 'when you:and she are alone;- smiles upon: you, presses your hand; and yet to-night " . -;' V:< -;■: "To-nigbt!" echoed WiHiam, looking around with a bewildered air. "This very night," said Stephen;: in\ a J tone hushed perhaps in compassion for; the- ! .misery r depicted \4n theryoupng}man's face, " thjs very . ought I saw: her clasped' in another man's arms—" •.;.-;.

"You lie!" cried William,"in, an agonised voice. "You;lie - ! 'As there: is light in Heaven!" " ." .

•-*' "jl speak the truth. By my child's life, I swear it!"

It was a solemn oath solemnly uttered, and it'was accepted :as. direct testimony the younger man. ; He 1 held up his hand mechanically 'in a pitiable .appeaUfor silence, -and Stephen obeyed. 5 ! the vmotioni In the few>* ; briefv^pmefl ( aU 'the glory/ Wimam Fairfield'g.; loei, nt^---brightn^ss, i - ; ''Jhe--:cl6uds '-'theaj' b i ea ; n^ < the snow itsfpumy./ vV Stephen's-whispered defilement E?d%@led|* the place r and seal son:' ; Yet Katrvtof bis manho^^ first hei'-'wpuld;' >ao}akW ."sure'.| 'had mistaken the purport 1 of : Stephen's accusation. ... :'..■... \ ■', ~'^\''y set 'dogged t»l|Le,' '■''sod"briefly,what* you vhive aheady |#id ■concerning Laura ffaiiml<L M * ' ''■'"''"' }-;" Two. hours since, I saw her yonder," :j*id Stephen, in. measured tones, point'jhe shadow, "pressing a man to ier heart with as fond affection woman can show. You can 1 best say whether that £nan was t ' -..."ft was true, ifchen. He had not misjtaken the meaningj-.of *j|nt, jprp - hours sfflcefe r, Wjiafe ~wi#;&ft > rdonag 'atithatTtimeT latWitiliaW eflort he coltftOß he had •pn, the. snow, and had caUes Laura's alx Mention to it— iadr implored; him to -go. him •fori fully half an , what pur^. =ISP ? "Had*not Stephen seen them.?i, This man, whom "all the.-world condemnedf and looked upon with aversion, had, proved Inst truest his: memory was the pledge he had 'given, to the > m<maix i of iMfi> to a severer at yoTlwitt-fterfect trustfulness, as I' do mow, lovmg you, believing in you,, though." aU 'ihe7,':wdr3£ wefe^againsfc l you r? He- looked va«ißiSry3ii]!^^ "Have you anythmg more to tell_me?" "Yon will not;'be pleasislSi to beaV' it;* but you should;, know;,, for it' may lead you to evidence that cannot be : shaken." ''Say it, then." "I heard your (make an appointment to meet. her,, man an hour after midnight, behind the house." ' ;\ - (To be. continued,) ..-'■'

Are 7 You a You disturb everybody in th© house. Why not stop coughing? You make a terrible noise. As for sleeping, no one can get 'a bit of rest. If you do not care for yourself, then for the sake of the others take Chamberlain's Cough~Eemedy. You will make everybody happy, and that includes yourself, for the first thing you know you will not have any cough.. For sale bv J. C. Oddie.— (Adyt.) ■ ■■'f'Ui ■■■ ■ ;t,=":'rv7.-^--vv^