FROM OUT THE SHADOW.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6132, 19 March 1898, Page 2

FROM OUT THE SHADOW.

(Cosmopolitan.) In the darkness of the fir3t honr after midnight a man strode down an unfrequented city street toward the river. There was no moon and the stars shone dimly. The place he had chosen was remote from the life of the town and well suited to his purpose. The street ended in a steep declivit}'. Adjoining the wooden pier which stretched out into the water were some giant; rocks. On the ledge of one of these the man sat down and waited. For what, he could hardly have told. This was the last hour of his life, and he went over in rapid retrospect the misspent days that had preceded the end now so close at hand. The only son of parents j who had idolised him, he had had every advantage. A. collegiate education, inherited wealth, the benefits of travel and the society of cultured people— all these had been his. He had married early in \ life a woman who had worshipped him, and was now dead — for this ho breathed a prayer of thankfulness — and his future had been full of promise. * * * Then had come the last years — the wasteful extravagance, the reckless living and finally dishonourable failure. There was but one thing left for a man who had so wrecked his career. He rose and looked out at the water which was so soon to close over his throbbing head. As he stood in the shadow of the rock he heard a stealthy footstep approaching. A woman crept past him and walked out upon the pier. Her face he could not see, but the figure, dimly outlined in the darkness, was slight and youthful. The man watched her curiously as she advanced almost to the end of the pior, where she paused irresolutely. She stood thus for some time and at length threw off her wrap and again started forward. Moved by a sudden impulse, the man walked softly but rapidly until he stood almost at the woman's elbow. " Are you afraid ?" ho then asked. The woman started and smothered a cry. She turned a terrified face toward the man, I and in the faint starlight he saw that she was beautiful. "Do not fear me," he said ; " I am not here to hinder you." " Who are you ? " she whispered, shrinking back against the rail — "why have you followed me ? " "I have not followed you; I am a | miserable creature such as I suppose you !to be," he said bitterly. " I am here on ! the same errand." The woman seemed to breathe more freely, and,, drawing a little nearer, she looked curiously at the man. " You mean that you, too, want to — to end everything." | " Yes, like you — but you drew back." "I was afraid," she murmured; "the water looked so black and cold. It will be easier when the sun rises and the river is all rippling and sparkling — oh, how beautiful and inviting it is then ! " "Let us go together," he said, holding out his hand 3 " then you niay not dread it so much." "No, no," and the woman again shrank away from him. She was shivering now as with a nervous chill. The man picked up her wrap and carefully, even tenderly, drew it around her shoulders. "You are cold," he said; " wait until morning. If you wish, I will wait with you." The woman showed no fear now. She almost clung to her companion as he assisted her from the pier to the rock. Here they sat together in silence for some time. Occasionally the woman glanced wonderingly at tho man who had led her away from the presence of death. At length he began speaking softly, almost to himself. The woman listened eagerly when she found that he was telling his own story, and that she was to know what brought him to the river's brink where they had met. When he had finished, she asked him with a touch of scorn in her voice: "And that is all ?— for that you would leap out yonder? Oh, if I were a man, I should never give up for a thing like that. A man can always get up again — but a woman — ah, how different ! " " Will you tell me your sorrow ? " he asked gently. "You are so young, so attractive — it is far sadder that you should die than I who desire nothing more of life. What brought you to this ? " The merciful darkness hid her face and she told him. The night wore away, and the solemn hour which is half way between midnight and sunrise arrived. A far-off bell intoned the hour. " Three hours more of life," said the woman. The man had not spoken since her story was finished. He sat with his head bent forward, and so motionless that the women thought he slept. Now he looked up as from a deep reverie. "You did not hear all I told you," said his companion, with a somewhat disappointed look. , T "Yes, I heard," he answered, " and 1 have kept silent so long that 1 .might answer you aright," He drew nearer to her and spoke in a lower tone. "Herein the darkness, between the sleeping world and the black river of deatii, he said, "we two are alone in the world.- lam the universal sinner, you are the great sinneda °T s \ Y i°K£T MTJSiftu "All my later &££"%,£« ingly, even bashfullj »-~ J^ough^ action was I^Wkif Bometoin^ of

now his voice was full and vibrant. " You feared to die with mo at midnight— do you dare to live for me now ? The river will always wait for us in case of failure. I stretch out my hand to you, and swear to comfort and sustain you through all that remains of life for us both. I ask you to take it, and in supporting you " — here his voice, sank again, almost to a whisper— " who knows but I myself may be lifted up ? Is it worth the trial ?" The woman looked up at him with wide, startled eyea— " I do not understand," she said. " You mean- " "Nothing of evil," he replied. She held out her hand .timidly, her eyes shining through the darkness. "It is worth the trial, dear friend," she whispered, aud laid her hand in his. He grasped it warmly, and with no backward glance they turned away from the river. Hand in hand they slowly ascended | the hill. As they disappeared over it's brow the first streaks of the coming dawn shone in the sky. * ;