LTTERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3944, 8 December 1880, Page 4

LTTERATURE.

POOR GENTLEMAN STEPHENS.

(From the Argosy.) (Continued.) A desperate Btrength rose up .'n Stephen's soul, the excitement of competition acting on him with a tonic power. If only to be avenged on his former life he must win Mary. He would bring good out of evil, turn the ill consequences of the paat into friendly agents, if only he might take this girl,- good and pure as she was bright and beautif v 3, to his heart and hearth. Oh, fche thoughts that arose in Stephen's heart aa he sat on sumuier nights outside his cottage, the purification that came out of the yearning, the noblo aspirations that sprang from his love ! Only those who have fallen can know the joy of an uprising, or what it is, in retracing painfully past errors, to find with glad surpriso the road of repentance opening suddenly on Jreen pastures and fair new beginnings. The acob's ladder of hia dreams joined earth to heaven in a way that the assurance of his best Belf told him was no romantic or impossible fancy, and, if William was to be sacrified, he could not accept the notion that Mary's love could be to that careless young fellow the thing of moment and salvation it had become to himself. But days passed on, and Stephen was not wholly satisfied with the result. When othera were by, Mary would laugh _»-id chaff with him, if be challenged her, as much as ever, but he could rarely secure her for a tete-a-tete. When he aid, she was shy and silent, and eager to escape : whereas he had surprised her more than once Btrolling through the lanes with William in tranquil talk, or leaning againat the ricks with him in some undisturbed nook, or lingering by the stiles, left behind by others going home.

So time passed on, until all Stephen 8 yas_dons were at fever heat, and the hour came at last when he felt he might seek his fate again at Mary's handß, without this timo being precipitate in doing so. William had gone back to his work; but not easy at leaving a rival behind him, he roturned on every leisure evening he could get, to haunt Mary's neighbourhood and keep an eye on Stephen's movements. It was a dewy August evening. Hero and there in tho valley meadows thick with corn sheaves made picturesque variety amid the green of the harvested hayfields, while the later corn waved its seas of brown gold in triumphal ripeness. Blackberries in fruit and blossom trailed over the banks, nuts wore ripening on the hedges, but Stephen looked on none of these things as, with concentrated resolution and hope ia his face, he passed out of the village and through the fields that gradually rose toward tho ascent of tho mountain. By a stile that looked out on a lane Stephen made a halt, and, leaning a^auißt it, looked somewhat musingly up tho lane down which ho

expected Mary shortly to pass. She had beeu doing a day's needlework at one of tho cottages, and he knew the hour of her returning. He was there to-night to win a wife, nay, to win what seemed to him the salvation of his wild career, or ehe — but he did not give a name to the alternative. Down the lane came Mary, bufc Stephen stepped back into the field with a muttered exclamation, for at her side was William. Something warned Stephen that he could not trust himaelf just then to meet his rival without mischief coming from the encounter. Ho stood back againat the hedge to lot them pass, himaelf unseen, uncertain what course he should then proceed to take. But the Olympian gods had prepared for themaelvea a little tableau on this August evening among tho dewa, and were not to bo baulked. Stephen hoard tho advancing steps and voices drawing near, and aa he caught the substanoo of the words his fa.o grew eager. "Btop here," said William, as they noared the stile j now or never we muat have it out" — as they came to a stand leaning against the rails. Stephen stood irresolute, out of sight, but within hearing ; then the conversation began again, and his resolution was taken. He had done many wrong things in his life, and he did one more now, for he stood still where he was, and William and Mary spoke on. •* You say you care for me," said William, " and I have always believed and trusted you, and been willing to wait ; but one may play at that game too long, and a new face may take a girl's fancy more than an old one." '* Your face is none bo old as Gentleman Stephen's," s& id Mary, with a laugh. " I don'fc care," said William ; " you talk plenty with him whatever hiß face may be, and how oan I tell what tho fellow says to you when you are alone. I can never get much sense from you about it." "You have no need to care aboufc thafc after what I told you just now," _aid Mary ; " some people would not take it bo hght, I can tell you." "Mary," said William, putting his arm round her waist, a movement she half resisted and half allowed, " I do not take it hght ; bnt listen here, my dear, for I did not tell you all just now. I would not vex you by being jealous and doubting you, no, not about no one, if I could stay here and fight it out fair with that fellow. If I could only , take Bailey's farm I should be afraid of nought. We would get married at once, and 1 1 know I could make ib pay if only I had enough to make a start." " They were saying up at Beeves' the other night that you had a wonderful notion of farming," eaid Mary. "To be sure I have," said William, with naive seriousness; "there would be no fear for me if only I had money to put into the land ; bufc where is ifc to come from <* I can only make a little here bit by bit, and maybe it will be five years to come before I get enough to do it." " Well, we can wait," said Mary, " we are young enough to do that yet awhile." "Not I!" said William, "I am tired already of waiting, and my mind is made up. I mean to go to California and try my luck there for a year or two, and I'm going right away thiß autumn. Nay, Mary, you are never going to cry," said he, although hia own voice was husky enough. "Oh William, William," said Mary, " you will never, never go away and leave me all alone." A sob broke from her with the words, but when she would have sunk her faco on her hands, William drow it instead to his shoulder. He spoke no more than she did for a minute or so, and when he did his voice had that preternatural clearness about it that reminds one of the fleeting sunshine of a showery day. " Come, come, Mary, cheer up. It is nothing to cry for. I will be back before you well-nigh think I am gone. There are fine fortunes to be made out there, and what's to hinder me from making one ? We shall not want a very large one, I take it, to begin life with, anyway, and it will be a firßt rate thing for me to see a bit of the world before settling down. There ore many ways out there, besides the gold-digging, of making money, and when a man has his mint) set on it as I have he findß them out. Why, I have heard them Bay that at games— cards and such like — a man may put a Bmall Bum of money down, and gain back in one evening more than we earn here in a twelemon .h." " But don't some say ifc is wicked to play cards for money," said Mary. "Some do ; but ifc is all nonsense ; what is fair for one is fair for another ; it is all on the square. I will not bring you back one penny that is nofc fairly my own, and if it will come by working I would rather get it that way ; but if I cannot I shall try some other dodge." " Oh, William, you have no call to think of any of them ; yon said yourself last Easter you would never be jealous of W>H Maasey again ; and there ia Dick Bradshaw going off to London, if it's him you mind." " No, Mary, you know very well it is not Bradßhaw or Massey that I mind about now ; it is that confounded Gentleman Stephen that is driving me wild ; he is not one of our sort, bad luck to him ; gentleman or not, he has a way with him that you women seem to like ; you are not plain with me about him, Mary, aB you are about the rest." Mary was silent. William struck his foot impatiently againat a stone. "I daresay I am a fool for my pains," he resumed preaently, "to go away and give him such a chance, but I must have that money, and there is no other way. I will get in whatever way I can and come back. If I find you have played me false and forsaken me for him, it will be only one more fellow gone to the bad, I suppose, and on hiß head bo the curse of ifc. He clenched the gate with his hands fiercely aa he spoke, love and jealousy, thoße old authors of a thnnsand tragedies, tearing at bis heart. " William," said Mary, in a Bubdued voice, "I will tell you the whole truth about Gentleman Stephen if you will listen now." " Well," said William, as he put hs head down on his arms to listen. (To be continued.)