CHAPTER III.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9214, 18 April 1908, Page 2

CHAPTER 111.

The parish of Endeircross was justly Sroud of its church choir, and on that Tew Year's Eve the band of carolsingers numbered thirty. Stars twinkled in the dark blue 6ky, where masses of rack, white with unfalien enow were piling up, a lessening mcon climbed slowly into sight and over the earth brooded that deep intense peace; which is only found where the haunts of men a<re sparsely scattered.

At a quarter to twelve the singers had tramped seven miles, and during all that time Mary Sanderson had carefully avoided even looking: in the direction of Joe Breckon, a difficult avoid' ance when circumstances appeared to demand that ho should be constantly by her side^ She could not trust herself to join in the chatter round her; memories bitter as waters of Maran filled her heart, and only her haughty

spirit kept her from sinking beneath their flood, though never had her beautiful voice rung more sweetly clear than it did as she once more led her old lover's tenor as 6he had done so often in the years which lay behind. " I fear we shall be late at the manor, unless " and here the dim light showed Mr Grant to be anxiously looking from one to another of thefaces grouped about him — " you ladies think you can manage to cross Mr Breckon's field; it cuts off a good half mile, and Mr Bentley vowed iie would withhold his subscription if we were not there punctually at twelve."

The proposal met with a chorus of assenting feminine voices, and they turned into the field, a forty-acre plot ,of arable land, ridge and iurrow hard as steel in the grip of a three daye' frost, in its present state it was a dangerous path in dayiight, doubly dangerous when lighted only by fitful gleams of moonlight] and the party had not proceeded more than fifty yards before they had assorted themselves into couples, with two exceptions, these two exceptions being Jo© Breckon and Mary Sanderson, each of whom had lingered behind, secretly dreading to be left alone together, yet making no effort to go forward with the others. "Every inch o' headland is ploughed out, it's not fit travelling for any woman," remarked Breckon with justifiable pride in his farming, " you'd better let mo help you." They were standing alone and motionless at the rear of the merry, laughing troup, and Breckon addressed her out of pure nervousness, scarce knowing what he said. " I have learned to walk alone, 1 she said tersely, the words cutting him like the edge of a newly-whetted knife drawn across his flesh. The hand he had half stretched out dropped at his side and he stood back to allow her" to pass alone, cursing the obstinate folly which had robbed him of all that would have made his life worth living in the truest sense of the meajtiing. Of late Mary Sanderson had not felt possessed of her former perfect health, and now after three hours' tramping through rough country lanes she was very weary, though she bravely persevered in her effort to rejoin her comrades, only to be rewarded by seeing the distance between them grow wider and wider. It was difficult to keep a footing on this hard, uneven surface ■without the support of even an umbrella, and she stumbled frequently. She was chafing bitterly under the re-cop-nition that Breckon refused towalk before her, but preferred remaining a few yards behind, where every uncertain sfcen she took proclaimed to him that she" was an empty boaster, inasmuch as she was plainly showing her inability to walk alone. Springing tears blurred what light there was, ■ her foot slipped on the sharp edge of a ridgre and she fell, one arm awkwardly twisted under her. Mary Sanderson was not a coward, and no cry escaped her as she fell. Her friends were well ahead ; there was mo thought of her in the mingled voices which the wintry air bore back ; Breckon alone was near her, and she would die rather than ask of Turn trie help she so sorely needed. She tried to rise, a strange chill sickness, springing from the pain in her arm, crept over her, forcing her to fall back again, earth and sky alike swallowed in the darkness of a death-like mist.

When Mary gained consciousness it was to find herself in a large, homely parlour, the sofa where she lay drawn ''up beside a roaring lire, and Joe Breckon bending over her. She raised her head and "looked wonderingly round ; the well-worn chairs were those she had ( known ; the china, in the glass-fronted cupboards still stood in the old places, and on the walls were the pictures which had smiled down on them when in this very room they plighted their troth. "Who brought mo to Red Barns?" she asked faintly. " j did — the beck field's not more nor five minutes' walk " he did not add that with his burden it had proved a struggle of treble that time. " The rest of them didn't hear when I shouted, and Red Barns was the nearest houee — you don't mind being brought here — Mary?" The name came out after a little halt, awakening chords in the woman's heart which she had thought were mute for ever. Was Fate giving her another chance to recast her HfeP " No, it was kind of you to give me shelter," she faltered. "My arm's broken, isn't itP" He nodded. "My lad's gone off to fetch a doctor." The fire leaped aod

danced, throwing flitting shadows over his set face, pale with an emotion he had not felt since in word and deed he broke the bond whioh bound him to Mary Sanderson — in spirit he could not cast it aside. The clock gave a sudden click— the end of five minute* would see the birth of another year — did it hold in store for him the happiness and blessing which crowned the lives of others? " There's only five minutes left — you'll not let another year find us strangers, Mary?" He moved away from her, drawing up a blind at the window he had opened to admit freso air. A moment later there rushed into the quiet room the first crashing peal of the New Year chime. " There's the bells— it isn't going to be war betwixt us still?" He was by her side again, his hand on hers. " No, Joe, peace." Her voice was very low, but it reached his ear above the wild joyous swing of the bells, and when the clock gave out the midnight hour she was folded in her lover'a arms. The j dawning year had borne Mary Sanderson into a harbour where earthly storms could never more assail her.