‘The Coals Thereof are as Coals of Fire.’

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XI, Issue 50, 16 December 1893, Page 524

‘The Coals Thereof are as Coals of Fire.’

BY

MARY KYLE DALLAS.

wag Sunday, and I was walking home from church with Rose Arthur and we were engaged. I bad known her only a few months, but I think if she had said no, instead of yes, I should have died of it. We had done our duty ; we had been to church, and now I had coaxed her to go with me into the woods, and we sat down on a hollow log beside a great patch of violets that were in bloom there, and I told her how I loved her, over and over again, and how I could not understand what there was in a big, rough fellow like me that a pretty creature like her could care for, but that I would do my very best to make her happy all her life; and she promised to marry me in the autumn. You see I wasn't a pretty man. I was, to make the statement short and true, as ugly as beetling black brows and great fists like sledge hammers and a thick nose and a square jaw could make a young fellow, and girls did not generally care for me. And yet 1 was always kind to a woman, young or old ; couldn't bear to see one imposed upon, and would have done anything I could for the ugliest of them. My politeness wasn’t all for those I admired, but women don’t care much for anything but looks in a man. They don't care for any one who isn’t like a Christmas doll or a wax figure in a barber 's window. That’s what I used to say to myself, and now this sweetest, best, loveliest of all of them loved me. Why, I felt as if I must be crazy to believe it. I asked her over and over again; and I was too happy—too happy. Yes. far too happy. We were not a fine lady and gentleman. I made fireworks, and was considered good at my trade and reliable, and was a foreman in one of the departments. 1 felt that I could take care of a wife when I had one, and Rose had come to work at the pretty fancy work they put into the girls' hands some time before. But she was a lady if looks and heart and manners are to be counted. And she had a good plain education. So had I, and I don't believe that any of your stylish folk were ever happier or more hopeful; and after the Sunday in the woods, we set to work with a will, looking forward to our little home more than most folks, perhaps ; for she was an orphan and so was I, and we had neither kith nor kin on earth. And so the time sped by and the fifth of November came close at hand, and we were very busy at the factory, and a nephew of Mr Yarden (it was Yarden’s factory we were working at) came down to help. He was very handsome and rhe girls all admired him, and even Rose said to me half a dozen times :

• Oh ! isn’t he lovely, John ?’ And somehow I hated to hear her say it. She wouldn't if she had known what a jealous fellow I was. To add to her savings. Rose was doing—so she saidsome fine embroidery for Miss Lawrence, a very rich young lady in the village, and had to go over to see her about it of evenings. In ordinary times I could have gone with her, but we were too busy just this time. However, one day 1 had an errand to do that took me out about the time she started, and, wrong or right, I meant to take a little more time and go so far with her, and I waited behind a church wall to see her come up, meaning to have a little fun over

it. It was poor fun for me as it turned out, for I heard steps and voices in a moment, and peeping out, saw Rose, indeed, but with Richard Varden at her side. They seemed to be talking very sociably, and they passed me in a great hurry. I was blind with rage for a moment. Then I said to myself, after all he may only have happened to be walking the same way, and, perhaps, she'll tell me about it, and I went back tomv work ; but when I saw Rose, though I mentioned Richard Varden, she did not say anything of the walk. and so it came into my mind, being of a wicked, brooding nature, to watch my Rosebud, as I had called her; and as listeners never hear any good of themselves, so spies always discover some evil, or think they do. It was not long afterward that I saw Mr Richard walk up to the lunchbasket Rose carried to the factory, and shp something into it, folded in paper : and afterward, when Rose opened the basket, I saw what it was—a letter. She langhed softly to herself, wrapped it up again, and slipped it under the silk handkerchief she wore about her neck. After that, I had no nmre happiness, no more peace. I was always trying to lead Rose on to betray herself, but she never seemed to dream I suspected anything. She told me a good dealabout the Lawrences, and how they quarrelled, years before, with the Vardens about a little slip of dump land by the river, and how bitter grandfather Lawrence was over it, and how foolish the younger people thought it. One day I said : ‘ You are well informed on these family affairs of the Vardens, it seems to me.’ And she answered : * Oh, yes, Miss Lawrence tells me a great deal.’ * Perhaps it is Richard Varden,’ I said. She only laughed, as if that were a great joke. And so the holiday came round. That day I wakened in a good mood. I said to myself, ‘ Rose can’t be deceiving me. She's not that sort. I’ll throw all my suspicions to the winds. He may be in love with her, but she will never encourage him. She loves me ; and if I ask her np and down she'll tell me all about it.’ And so I went to her early, and asked her to go with me on a pleasant trip I knew we could take, and spend day and evening together. * We needn't go home until nine,’ I said, ‘ and we’ll be very happy.’ I put my arm about her waist, and she laid her cheek against my shoulder. ‘ I’m sosorry, John,' she said, ‘ but I can’t go.’ * Can’t go ?’ I cried. ‘ No,’ she said : "lam engaged for all day—yes, and all he evening, too.’ ‘ What ! You don’t mean that ?’ said I. * Yes,’ she said, * and it’s an engagement I cannot break.’

• What are you going to do? Whom are you going with ?’ I asked. ‘Can't tell you,’ she said laughing. ‘After tomorrow you'll know.’ ‘ After to morrow ?’ I repeated. ■ What if I say yon must tell me now.’ ‘ I should say I wouldn’t,’ she answered. • Very well,’ said I ; ‘ I’ll go alone.’ I turned from her withont a kiss for the first time sine our engagement, and I went away and bid myself where I could watch her. Soon I saw a curious thing. Some one carried a trnnk to the door of the house she boarded at, and I saw her speak to the man abont it. Then I watched her window from an upper room of the factory. She was packing the trunk. Then again I saw Mr Richard call a boy to him and give him a note, and I saw him give it into Rose’s hand. After that she let the curtain down, and I could see no more. Mr Richard kept about the place all day, and the July evening was long and bright. I watched him constantly. He was arranging papers, seemingly fixing matters as though he were going away. He thought nothing of seeing me about, at least he said nothing. At last he sat down to his desk and wrote a letter, which he set upon a rack, and then his work being over, he seemed to get ready to go away. When he wa» gone I went to the desk. The letter was addressed to old Mr Varden. The edges of the envelope were not diy. I acted like a madman, I know, when I opened it; but I did it, and this was what I read : My Dear Uncle.-! hope yon will not think me ungrateful when you hear I have gone away to marry some one of whom you are sure to disapprove. We loved each other- that is my only excuse. Richard. I sealed the letter again and staggered down into the open air. It was quite dark now, and the place was very empty. Most of the people were away on visits or excursions. There was only one thought in my mind. That was to kill myself. I had a pistol, and I found it and loaded it. My intention was to go to that spot in the woods where I had asked Rose to be my wife and there kill myself, but as I passed out again, I looked up. Mr Richard had returned to the office. There was a light there, a swinging lantern directly over his head. He had apparently come back to make some alterations in his letter. He opened it, added some lines, and sealed it again. And now he was ready to finish robbing me of the joy of my life, of the only thing that seemed valuable to me on earth. Satan took full possession of me. I felt him enter into my soul. I lifted the pistol and took aim at the handsome head on which the lamp light fell so brightly. Not good aim though. The bullet missed its mark and struck the swinging lamp. I saw a great blaze spring up in an instant ; the firework factory was on fire. The next instant there was a horrible report. I was hurled a long distance away, and came to myself bruised and giddy but able to rise. All the place was full of people now. I heard my name, and turned and saw Rose at my side. ‘Ob, thank God, darling !’ she said ; ‘ thank God ! Oh, touch me, that I may know you are alive ! Oh, my love, my love !’ She threw her arms about me. I held her close. ‘ But he is in there,’she sobbed. ‘Mr Richard—oh! he is there! and what will poor Miss Lawrence do? They were to be married to-night. They were to elope together. I was to be her bridesmaid. I have been making her dress, for she did not dare tell anyone else. Oh, poor, poor Miss Lawrence ! He must be dead !’ The truth rushed on me. I saw all my blind folly, remembered the feud between the two families, and knew that Rose had been helping Miss Lawrence to correspond with her lover ; and I had murdered a man who had done me no wrorg. God knew who else was abont the place, with how much crime my soul was assorted. Then a great hope thrilled me. ‘ Perhaps he isn’t dead,’ I said. ‘ I’m going in after him. I’ll bring him out alive or die with him. Good-bye, dearest. If I never see you again, remember I loved you. I’m a wicked wretch, but I loved you.’ I put her from me while she screamed for me to stay, and then I dashed into the burning place. Afterward they said it was a miracle. Perhaps it was. The angels may have felt that it was well that I should live to repent my sins a little longer. I found my victim in what seemed a red hot furnace, lying senseless on his face. I covered that face with my own soft hat, and I dashed out again. I don’t know how I did it. I was very strong, very big, and he was slight and slender. They brought him to, first. He had only been a little scorched and singed about the shoulders. As for me. I knew nothing for a week, and I had some ugly scars about me that did not improve mv looks; but Rose seemed to love me more for them, and Mr Richard had his fair girl’s beauty quite unaltered. They called me a hero, but it was only while I was too weak to speak that I permitted it. One day I made confession. I called Rose to my bedside, and I called him. I told them all, and they forgave me; yes, they both forgave me. I think they were angels. No one had been hurt but me, and there was only some loss of money. ‘Jealousy is insanity,’ Mr Richard said, ‘and I owe my life to you. Had I been the scoundrel you thought me, I should have deserved death.’ As for Rose, she cried as if her heart would break, pitying me. And 1 think Satan left me forever then, and I have had neither hate nor jealousy in my heart since that day, and often I turn to that page of the Bible on which these words are written : • Jealousy is cruel as the grave, and the coals thereof are as coals of Are. which burn with a most vehement flame;' and think how true it is and how nearly jealousy ruined all our lives, and how close my soul has been to perdition.