The Undying Past.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIC, Issue 13880, 17 April 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Undying Past.

*. She was. the prettiest of maids, in the daintiest of sunbonnets; but his eyes were fixed on the little white gate. He approached it with reverential steps. It was here they had met, it was here they had parted. That summer .of;' 88, .never had there been such another summer. He felt himself senilej prehistoric. Involuntarily his shoulders bowed, his Xice grew creased with wrinkles. . It was not until he raised his eyes and saw himself observed by the lady that he regained his youth. Though startled, be lost nothing of his customary grace. . "] crave your pardon,"„ he mifrranred, doffing a hat which disclosed no grizzled locks. She granted it with a gracious bow; and then, as he still lingered, raised inquiring, almost protesting, eyebrows. Was she not a woman —would she not sympathise with his pilgrimage! He resolved to confide in her. . "1 am revisiting," -he said accordingly, "the scenes of my boyhood." "Indeed." she said.' "It was some time ago?" ." Twenty ..years," he sighed, "by the calendar; by memory, yesterday." "You see," he explained—diffuseness was not one of his''failings—"she was my first love." "How romantic. Do you remember her name?" "I shall never forget it. Her name" —he groped in the recesses of his memory—"her name was Mabel." "Mabel," echoed'..the young lady, her lip between her teeth. " Tt was here " — L he laid his hand affectionately upon the gate—"we first met." " Tt's wet," she warned hi"i. Hp withdrew his hand hastily. " Ifc had iiist been r>ainted," he mentioned as a strange coincidence, "nil that unforgetable day. She had on a white frock, but I wore a red blazer; I went to bed withoirfc tea that night. At the time it struck me as a hardship,' but now, to feel again that divine thrill, I would gladly suffer such martvrdom." ■ " Twenty years." he roused. "Time is' a curious whirlgig. Everything is gone, but. the old 'gate remains." She shook, a regretful head. ""It's, the third I remember; it was put up onlv yesterday." The girl hesitated and elanced at a snot sorrip yards lower down, but being unwilling, perhaps, to shatter another illusion, held her peace. ','j feel," mentioned the young man, '' as though I. were again seven." "Was it exactly twenty years ago?" " This very month," he assured her. "You.were not then born." She admitted the fact. "And you eame,".she suggested, "to visit her —her shrine?" "Her tomb," he corrected. "My little, sweetheart slumbers beneath the sods of twenty years. Her only monument is doubtless a stout matron, and her epitaph ' Mrs Somebody.' And yet I am probably her only mourner." " Your constancy is remarkable." "Ibis so easy," he murmured, "to be constant to a memory. It's not until one's ideal materialises that the

strain comes." "She may not be stout," remarked the girl, seeking to cheer him. "After •all,-twenty years. ". . . "It was hereditary," be said sndly. "The fear haunted me even then." He glanced at the house. "That was her window," he indicated. . "Oh," said the girl; "oh, really." " Every morning I would come and whistle beneath it; and she' would pull the curtains on one side and smile down at me. We would go out together and awaken the larks to emulation I taught her to cycle." "To cycle," half' protested his listener: " twenty years ago-" "It was early "in the •morning," he reminded her. half reproachfully, "and we saw no harm in it. The bicycle w ; as much taller than we were, which made mounting difficult, and dismounting less difficult, perhaps, but even more dangerous." "You were on a holiday!" "A month. How we wept at parting—here, at this self-same gate, or, rather, what was the gate then. I broke a sixpence in half, I remember, as a keepsake." He smiled reminiscently and glanced at his hand. "I have the scar still." " And to think that you should be living here." \ ' The girl gazed at him with puckered brows, "and eyes which hinted at secret amusement. " Somebody must live here," she remarked. ""Well, yes," he admitted; "on" cannot expect constancy of a house." The remark drew a scornful smile to her lips. ' . "Had you found her here you would have been sorry." "You think so? Yon have seen her: she is much chanced ?" "She is my sister," said the girl Ca,nU . V - I xxl V X x The young man gazed at the distant trees in silence for a moment * when his eyes came back to her she saw they were* full of a strange wonder. '• Her sister," lie repeated, and his voice had taken on a now tone; "and —she " , , "She has not forgotten yon, she said' "ravelv. Her voice shook a little as"she added: "And she is notmarried." . ..yjjg j s ?>> H IS questioning crlance travelled to the house. " The girl shook her head, and her eves sought his as if they would read his most secret thoughts. "She returns-to-morrow. 11 >on still care—to meet her, you may come *„'{ have tea with us. If not-I shall sav nothing of this meeting. "Thank you," he said, quietly; 1 chall be here." But she, as his footsteps- .died away down the road, shook her head doubtingly. _

\s' a footstep sounded on the* gravel p-i'th the girl looked up with a start P I'Yoir?" she cried, almost in dismav. ~ c ,, -You didnt. cxpec t me. .. \„ »• she admitted. The table seemed'to bear out her statement, or, it Sors had been exacted .but sparse provision had been made ior tlioin. 1 "Your sister has not arrivedr She nodded assent, and her eyes sought the tip of a restless shoo "T'm so sorry," she murmured, after a slight pause. He smiled consohnyly. After twentv. vears.»Jie said, cheerlully, '" "fdon'frnean' that," she hesitated and flushed. " I-I haven t a £ist6Her eyes row met Iris bravely. "?kno7" I told a lie.' Her voire wis firm, though the effort was appar-ent-the tone of a sinner who. nwaits punishment, white-taced, but -Tl2 I thought, you were telling n. .tr.rv Don't internipt, please 1 s,id the girl was my sister to fnehten you. I never dreamed you would come this afternoon."

Her white hand ([iiivered as it lay on the table; and she bent her head before him. "I. thought you made up the. story as an excuse to speak to nie." The young man's lips twitched. ' Don't reproach vou'rsell," he said, softly; "I did."—F, Harris Deans, m the Sketch. . .;...._