THE MINISTER S LOVE SECRET.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVIII, Issue XII, 20 March 1897, Page 342

THE MINISTER S LOVE SECRET.

CHAPTER I. rr HE evening sun shone lovingly on the grey little church, on the churchyard, and on the two figures standing there on the grass. By their side were the quiet sleepers, behind and round about them the everlasting hills, and over all the last tender rays of the dying sun. 'Margaret. I cannot.’ He spoke hoarsely, his lips trembled, and bis face was grey as with the greyness of death. ' You are dearer to me than life itself.’ The woman turned and faced him. " Frank, do not make it harder for me. Be brave ;be worthy of your manhood and your high calling.’ But the proud voice broke, and the little head sank forward until it rested on the wall, and she broke into womanish tears. In an instant he was beside her ; his arms were round her. ‘ Margaret, why must we part? Why should our lives be wrecked for a boyish folly ? Let us go away together, love—you and I—and be happy. What does it matter for dishonour ? what does it matter for my work ? I give it all up for you, my loved one, gladly.’ She raised her head and looked at him, and then away beyond to the purple hills and the golden masses of cloud. Something of their glory seemed reflected in her face ; the golden hair shone more golden than before, her eyes had more of heavenly blue, and to the man beside her her face seemed as the face of an angel. ’ Frank,’ she spoke steadfastly now ; ‘ it can never be. Think of the souls down there ’ —pointing to the village as she spoke—' whom God has given to your care.’ But he interrupted her. ’They are nothing tome, not even my own soul without you Oh !my queen, be pitiful. In another land we might be happy. Oh, my love, my love, be pitiful.’ ‘ No, it cannot be. There could be no happiness for us. You are in honour bound to Doris.’ ‘We will bear the consequences. Let us take what happiness we can. How could I endure living on here, when I k new that I could never see you again ? It would be death in life. Margaret, darling, be persuaded.’ His voice grew dangerously tender, and every particle of colour faded from his companion’s face, as she put out her band to steady herself on the wall, murmuring faintly to herself, ‘ Oh, God, help me to say no.’ In a moment be had her in his arms, kissing her fiercely, triumphantly. ‘ Margaret, you love me. We cannot part.’ And she was silent, resting her head on his shoulder ; for, indeed, she had no words wherewith to answer him. Silently thus they stood, till the chiming of the church clock broke the solemn stillness. Involuntarily they moved apart, and Margaret spoke, her voice sounding clear as the bell above their heads. ‘lt must be good-bye, Frank. See, it is late, and I have been a long time away.’ ‘ But he only stood still, not trusting himself to speak, and looked at her with a world of pleading in his dark eyes ‘lt must be,’ she continued softly. ‘Frank, goodbye’ ; and she held out a trembling little hand. He caught it in both bis, and held it in a grip of iron. ‘ Margaret, do you know what you pre doing ? Think of the weary years that lie before us, dearest. How shall we bear them ?’ There was something of scorn in her eyes now. ‘ I have thought of it all, till I am sick to death of thinking. But surely it is better to suffer here than hereafter ? Be true to Doris. Frank. She is almost well, and your wedding day is fixed.’ ‘ Hush, Margaret, I cannot bear it.’ he said passionately, and would have drawn her to him again, but she would not. ‘ Oh, Frank, go—go and leave me,’ she cried wildly, shrinking back from him. ‘I may go,’ he answered slowly. ‘lf you send me, I must go. But it is not because it is right Ido it but because you bid me. I may marry Doris ; I can never love her My heart is yours.’ She stood with her face hidden in her hands, and did not answer him. ‘See, Margaret, I am going away because you wish it, dear,’ he went on, in the same strange tone. ‘ I will not even kiss you again. Good-bye, little Margaret. Goodbye, Margaret.’ She felt his hand rest lightly on her head : she heard his footsteps among the long grass ; but she still stood like one in a dream. She seemed to herself as if she were turned to stone. When she looked up she found herself in the churchyard alone, and the tall black figure had already reached the manse gate. She watched him as he paused for a minute to look up to her ; then he turned and went in, and she cried aloud in the bitterness of her heart. CHAPTER 11. The Rev. Frank Wood was beloved by his flock, and rightly so. Every one of his people knew that in their minister they ha 1 a true friend, whose ear was ever open to all their troubles, and whose hand and heart were ever ready to help. He lived alone in his manse, save for his old housekeeper, and many were the speculations as to when he would bring his wife there, ami who the fortunate girl would be. When the news of his engagement to pretty Doris Hamilton was rumoured abroad it met with general satisfaction, though there were those who wondered what their stern-eyed minister saw in gay little Doris. As for Doris herself, she adored her tall, grave lover, though sometimes she wished lie had been a little more demonstrative in his affection. The wedding-day was fixed, the bride's family was busy with preparations for the great event, when suddenly Doris fell ill of a fever. It seemed as if the distracted parents could not do enough for their darling. They brought the most skilful physicians to her bedside, and many were the devices tried and plans discussed to give her even a moment's ease.

The Rev. Frank Wood was a daily caller at the Lea. But not for Doris' sake. After the first visit he came again and again, if he could but sometimes look on the pure beauty of Nurse Margaret Falconer, and hear the low tones of her voice. And so, in spite of himself, she grew dearer to him than his own life until at last he knew that before this devouring passion his love for Doris was as childs* play. Meantime, Margaret had reached the Lea, where the sight of the doctor’s carriage somewhat alarmed her; aud hastening indoors she was greeted by the news that her patient had had a sudden and serious relapse. * I am amazed. Nurse, that you could have left the dear child so long alone,’ were Mrs Hamilton’s plaintive words. * But who could expect anything else from an utter stranger ?’ Margaret’s face crimsoned. ‘ I think, Mrs Hamilton, that you have nothing to reproach me with, and my presence could not have prevented this.’ Tnen she dis appeared into the sick-room, closing the door noiselessly behind her. ‘ Nurse, I leave her in your charge, be very careful,’ sai l the doctor as he dr parted, leaving Margaret alone with her charge. Throughout the silent hours of night, who can say what were her thoughts ? If Doris died, Frank would be free, and then — But she dismissed the unworthy thought as quickly as it came, as she moved quietly about the room, stopping now and then to look at the restless figure on the bed. The dawn brought rest and sleep for Doris, and all danger was once more past. In the morning came a visitor, the Rev. Frank Wood, to inquire for Miss Hamilton. * Would you kindly go down and see him, Nurse ?’ murmured Mrs Hamilton. ‘ Really, I feel so upset. Would you mind ?' With a beating heart and white lips, Margaret complied. When she reached the drawing-room she paused, and would fain have fled upstairs to her quiet room again. But it seemed as if she were forced to go on, and in another moment they were face to face. He was standing in the bow window, nervously biting his moustache, and twisting his hands together as if in pain. Margaret slowly advanced to the middle of the room, aud then stood still, her hands clasped in front of her white apron, her golden head, with its dainty cap, lowered, and her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘ Won't vou even shake hands, Margaret ?’ Tremb'ingly she moved nearer to him. ‘Oh, Frank,’ she murmured faintly, ‘if I could but die ! I have been born to make other people miserable. But for me, you and Doris might have been so happy. I have only ruined your life.’ ‘ Margaret, don’t go over all that again,’ he said tenderly. ‘ Y’ou are mine now and forever. Only be patient, dearest; it will all come right yet.’ ‘ Oh, if I could only think so,’ she sighed. ‘ But there can be no happiness for me—none, none,’ and with a low cry, she fell fainting at his feet. CHAPTER 111. In the brightest bedroom of the Lea, her bed drawn up to the window to catch the last beams from the departing sun, lay Margaret Falconer. The fever through which she had so faithfully nursed Doris had seized her, and now she was nigh unto death. Iler hours of life were now few, and as she waited for her summons a great peace filled her heart. Presently she spoke faintly. ‘ Has he come ?’ Doris, her pretty face disfigured by tears, nodded her head, and quietly left the room. Then Margaret heard her name whispered hoarsely, and she stretched out her hand and laid it lightly on the bowed head beside her. ‘ Frank, dear, you said it would all come right, and it has It is so easy to die with you beside me.’ ‘ Oh. my darling, hush,’ he said brokenly. ‘ Think of me left here alone. ’ ‘ It is but fora little while, Frank. This life is not all, and we shall understand it better some day. Only’ be true to Doris. Promise me, dear. ‘ I promise.’ The words came with an effort from his white, trembling lips. ‘ Kiss me, dear,' she said again, and he bent and kissed her on the lips. ‘Surely, if I have sinned, I shall be forgiven. I have suffered much.’ ‘ I would that I had as pure a soul as yours, my Saint Margaret,’ he answered through his tears. She smiled then, and sighed a little, and, with her head on his breast, her hand clasped in his. she died. They laid her to rest, as she had wished, in the little churchyard, and the gossips talked the event threadbare. But now they had a happier topic, for it was the eve of their minister’s wedding. The church had been decorated, the last preparations finished, and nothing remained but to discuss again and again the happy event of to-morrow. But the bridegroom elect 1 Hidden by the friendly darkness, he wended his way to the churchyard, to a little grassy mound in a quiet corner, and knelt there, heedless of the pelting rain. ‘Oh, my God ! Margaret’s God I help me, for I am weak. Take me where my treasure is.’ So he prayed through his fast falling tears, and, as he raised his head, his heart almost stopped beating, for there, above him, on the gra=sv slope where they had stood together a few weeks before—so near to him that he could have touched her—was Margaret, looking down at him with eyes full of love and pity, and one white hand raised to heaven. Awed and trembling he rose to his feet, but ere he looked again the sweet vision had vanished. And the gossips told wonderingly that on his wedding day their minister’s face had a haggard look, as one who had passed many sleepless nights, and he had lines and grey hairs that they had not noticed before ; and that, in spite of the lovely bride hanging on his arm, the shining sun that betokened long life and prosperity, not

once did a smile light up his sad features, and his face lacked that gay and bright expression that a happy bridegroom’s ought to wear. But how could they know, how could they guess, that all his heart and happiness lay buried away in that quiet corner of the churchyard where slept Saint Margaret ?