(Copyright Story.) In Duty Bound,

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue XVI, 15 October 1904, Page 9

(Copyright Story.) In Duty Bound,

, / , > By

EDRIC VRIEDENBURG.

’(Author of “The Haunted House in BerksJey Square," etc.)

He was in duty bound to leave her. He loved her dearly, she was the whole world to him, and now that he had to turn his back on her and go, that leal world that was before him seemed an utter blank, a desolate, dreary waste. And she loved him as truly and devotedly as he loved her, yet she was in duty bound to let him go. All the

dreams of the happy future, all the castles they had built between them, all his ambitions, in which she was to share, were shattered.

Shattered—in such a simple, ordinary, everyday, unromantic sort of way, but nevertheless, shattered to atoms!

He was ruined, that's all, just ruined! Yesterday lie had been a man of money, to-day lie wasn’t worth a shilling. lie received the news by telegram, and then by letter; quite a short letter. His trustee had speculated with his money, lost it, and fled the country.

At. first he could hardly realise all the loss of the money meant to him, that it meant the loss of his life’s happiness, the loss of her he loved beyond all measure. But her father realised the truth immediately; he was a poor man himself and knew the sorrows and sins of poverty, so he quickly opened the young man’s eyes, and his daughter’s eyes—they were in duly bound to part. So they parted—lolin Strong and Muriel Leslie hade good-bye as thousands of lovers have done before, and thousands of lovers will do again: which fact, by the way, does not lessen the individual sorrow in the slightest degree. Muriel stood at the garden gate lo see the last of the man she loved as lie •walked down the road with the setting sun before him. He came shortly to the point where he had to turn away to the right, so he stopped a moment and waved his hand: then he strode quickly on, and the sun went down behind tho hills.

John Strong was liy no means a perfect man, he was nothing so uninteresting. He was an ordinary being, with his good points, and his bad. At present, of course, Muriel Leslie was uppermost in his mind, and in conjunction with her in his thoughts was the man who had robbed him, robbed him of all the glorious happiness in store for him; and he cursed this man body and soul, swore that if ever be met him—swore that which he would not utter aloud, swore that which made his blood boil in his veins, and caused him unconsciously to stride along the road like one demented. John Strong went to Loudon to arrange his affairs. This did not take him long. As a matter of fact he had. very few affairs to arrange. There was not even a remnant of liis fortune left to give him the trouble in securing. His trustee had cleared off everything. Cash, papers, and himself. Strong had relations in town, poor relations certainly, but between them they managed to scrape together sufficient money to send him to Australia and to give him a little, very little, cash in hand when lie arrived there. “I will go to the goldfields, and make ft fortune, or die for it," he said to himself. which remark certainly shows that he was distinctly an ordinary young man. “The placing of one sixpence on tho top of another is too slow a process for me,” he continued, “I shall be old before I have enough to marry on.” And then he cursed again the man who had robbed, him. So he went to Australia to make his fortune. Time and the good ship brought him eventually to the island continent. On board ship he made the acquaintance of two young mon, ordinary young mon like himself, and the three would talk together of what they were going to do, the fortunes they were going to make, mid of their happy return lo England; hut Strong never mentioned his lost love, it was too deep a feeling for him io speak of lightly, neither did he over refer to the man who had robbed him; this also was 100 serious a subject to be idly talked about

These three young men resolved to try their luck together; they were about the same age, and all equally poor; between them they had only sufficient, money to take the train part of the way to tho Laud of Ophir, to the Land of Golden Nugget and Golden Happiness, so they resolved lo walk the remainder of the distance. It was a foolish, mad idea: hut foolish, mad ideas have before now succeeded in the end. Be that as it may, when they could go no further by train they started out. to walk. They walked till they were footsore and weary, under burning sun for three days, with little to eat and little to drink. It was in the evening of tho third day that, as they dragged their tired legs along, they saw a cottage in the distance. It was a welcome sight, for they were out of the beaten track, and night was upon them; they were confident that the inmates of the cottage would give, them such hospitality as they were able, so they pushed on with renewed energy. A half-starved dog met them in the garden of the miserable little house, .while half-a-dozen unhappy looking fowls picked about the door. The young men knocked, but no one answered : knocked again and again with the same result, so at hist they lifted the latch and walked in. The door opened into a room which was close, evilsniclling, and empty. They stood for a moment in silence, and then one of them shouted. There came a reply, a faint cry from above stairs; they shouted again, and the cry was repeated. “I will go and see what’s the matter,” said Strong, and he went up to the room above. He was not long away; he came down hurriedly. His face was white, and his hands were trembling; he went into the garden for air, he breathed with difficulty. “Why, man. what’s the matter!” cried his companions, “have you seen a ghost?” “Matter—-matter little enough. It’s nothing,” lie replied, disjointly. “There arc two men lying ill upstairs, that’s all, that’s all: go and see them.” Strong’s two companions wet upstairs and left, him alone for a few momenta, lie was glad to be left alone; his thoughts were running riot. “To think of meeting him here,” lie

■aid to himself, as he paeed the wretched garden to and fro. “Damn him —God or the Devil has placed him in iny hands, this robber who has robbed me of all 1 love on earth.” When his friends joined him he was quite composed, quite himself again, or appeared to be. "They are in a bad way,” said one of the young men as he came downstairs, "stricken down with fever, and hardly conscious. Come, we must help ourBelves.” They eaught and cooked a couple of the unhappy looking fowls; they were thin ami very tough, but they were better than nothing, better even than the wormeaten biscuits they' found in a cupboard. They discovered water in a shallow well, dirty water, but they boiled it in a rusty kettle and drank it with a relish, for they were parched with thirst. "This is a fearful plaee,” said the second of Strong’s companions after a while, "and gives me the horrors. I am decidedly of opinion that we should move op. We are rested somewhat, and the moon is rising. It will be pleasant walk"I’tn with you for certain,” said his friend. "I’m not,” remarked Strong emphati"Not what, Strong?” said the other “Not going.” "Not going? Why, .man, let us get away from this beastly hole; we shall surely catch the fever if we remain,” replied one of the others. "You go on, I’m resolved. T remain,” answered Strong, with his lips compressed. and determination written on every line of his face. "Hut. why, why should we slay?” “11 cannot leave these two sick men. to die alone—it—it isn’t right,” was the reply, and John Strong looked on the ground, and at the eeiling, anywhere •mt in the faces of his companions. “Oh, Tot,” cried one of them, “they’ll tie all right, the neighbours will look after them —we cannot be expected to do so.”

“Neighbours,” exclaimed Strong, “why, we are in the wilds; there is not. a house within miles of us. I’m eertain. J remain, I say—l remain.” No-argument would induce him to alter his mind, except the death of the two men upstairs would release him, lie ■pid. from the spot. His two companions left him; left him with regret, but they had their way to make in the world, yon know, and a couple of fever-stricken men must not •land in their war to fortune.

John Strong watched them go, then turning fed the half-starved dog with the remainder of the fowls. After that, he leant against the side of the door for a while and looked out on the barren country.

The moon was shining brightly, ami the Hat hind was bathed in silver light, except where the black shadows were thrown by the cottage and a few stunted trees in the foreground. A bright light, too, shone in Strong’s eyes, while there was a black shadow in bi,s heart. He was no ordinary man now.. Opportunity had changed him. He bad his grand opportunity, his enemy had been delivered into his hands.

His face grew.very hard as he turned into the cottage and went upstairs. Divers, Strong’s late trustee, the man who had ruined him, lay on his baek on a low bed, his hollow cheeks and bright eyes told their story. He was at death’s door. He recognised Strong immediately he entered the moonlit room, but for the moment believed him to be the spirit come to torment his last hours. The other man was on the floor in a sitting position, half covered with a rug. He appeared to be deadly ill, as he held his head between his hands and rocked himself to and fro. "For the love of God,” he exclaimed in a choking voice, “give me some water!” “Some water!” faintly repeated the Ulan on the bed. Is there a more fearful torment than that of thirst? The two men were burning with a fever. Until the last few hours one at least had been able to drag h;s weak limbs to the shallow well and bring water, but at last the sickness took such a hold of them that they were both unable to move. Strong went downstairs ami fetched the rusty kettle, whieh was half full of water. He filled a eup and gave it to the man on the floor. He drank greedily. and then another cupful; and all the while the man on the bed watched him with staring, eager eyes. “Give him some,” said the man on the floor, “he wants it more than I do. Look at his poor eyes.” “Don’t yon wish for more?” replied Strong, hoarsely. “ I -could drink the well dry,” was the answer; “hut give it him, see how he suffers—a drop of water is worth more than the gold of al) Australia to him.” John Strong rose from his knees and hesitated. The man in the bed followed his every movement with the keenest, -anxiety; and then of a sudden Strong In-eamv an ordinary man again, the hardness died away from his face, his lips trembled slightly, and his eyes became moist with tears. He turned and tenderly raised the head of the man who had done him so great an injury, and gave him water. He did more; with a hand as gentle as a woman’s he pushed back the tangled hair from the hot forehead; he smoothed the pillow, ami made the bed tidy. He did more, he whispered words of comfort and encouragement in the siek man’s ear.: he did more still, he whispered his full forgiveness. He nursed him day and night, and the oilier man also with equal care.

It was an awful week, a fearful seven •lays, the sun shone down with increasing heat, the dog died, the fowls died. No living thing eame near that little cottage, the only thing io eat was the worm-eaten biscuits, the only thing to drink the dirty water from the shallow well.

To look out on the dreary waste with the stunted trees and brown grass, hurt his eyes, to see never a living thing or hear never a sound drove him almost to madness.

Was this then the end of his ambition? Where was that fortune he had come io seek? Where was that revenge he had sworn io have? Tie went upstairs and prayed by the bed of the si.k man!

Be was sorry when the man died, he wept like a woman, perhaps it was because lie was weak and ill himself. The man died in his arms, and with his last words blessed him for his loving kindness. The other man who was the owner of the cottage, died the same day, he also blessed the stranger who had found them in their hour of need and stayed by them and comforted them.

“You will be rewarded for your charity,” had said the dying man. “He told meal) about it” (and he pointed to the bed),k “all about it. How he robbed you, ruined you. 1 know now your thoughts when you held the eup of water in your hand. Praise be bo Heaven you gave him drink.” There was a pause for a moment or so. “Where arc your two friends!” asked the man on the floor. “Gone to the goldfields Io seek their fortunes,” replied Strong with a sigh. The man smiled, but was silent for some time, then he said suddenly: “You will do the last thing 1 ask you, I am sure. There are two frees in the front garden. Short trees both; one 1 think is dead but I’m not sure. 1 want yon to bury me exactly between these two trees, and four feet deep—four feet deep, mind yon.” “I will do exactly what you wish,” answered Strong. ““Four feet deep, and exactly be! ween the two trees.” repeated the man faintly, and a minute later he drew his last breath. John Strong rose immediately, he realised the task before him. two graves to dig. and the ground as hard as iron, and the sun burning like a furnace, and never a breath of wind to eool him, or a soul to help him. Some men would have fled the plaee with horror, but not so John Strong; he was in duty bound to see the whole business through to the fearful end. He was surprised at his own strength of character, surprised at bis own strength of arm, for it was terribly hard work; it took him hours to dig the first grave, hut it was done at last, and Bivens, the. man who had done him so much injury, was laid to rest for ever. Strong said a prayer over him, and then taking his spade, went to the spot between the two trees. If anything the ground was harder here, or, was if that he was growing so very weary! Four feet, was it possible for him to arrive at Slush a depth! It seemed not, for he had not dug a foot down when he fainted. When he eame. to himself, he was unable to stand, so he dragged himself along the ground out of the heat of the sun, and lay irt the shadow of the house for some hours. “’I look like digging my own grave,” he said to himself grimly; but when the night came he felt much better, and was able to resume his task. He worked slowly but steadily, and at length eame to three feet down.

Three feet, surely that’s enough.” he muttered* and lie leant on his spade. “I’ve half a mind to let it go at that.” After a moment or so he put the spade aside, ami walked towards the house. He was anxious to get it all over, the moon was shining brightly, and to his fevered imagination everything seemed unreal; it certainly was all

very uncanny and gruesome, while thfi solitude and silence were appalling. “Hut he made a point of four feet, such a point,” he said to himself hesitating, “and I gave him my wordj; 1 will go on.” ) And he went on. i

“Damn the stones,” he cried suddenly, and savagely, as he stooped down to pick up that which the spade had struck against.

ft was a remarkably heavy stone for its size, remarkably heavy. He held it* to the light and noticed that when the spade had struck it there was a long glistening line. “My God,” cried John Strong hoarsely, "He turned hot and then cold, his heart beat so hard and fast that it was positively' painful. He held the stone, it was large, again to the light. Stone, it was no stone, hut a lump of pure gold! The man shrieked aloud with excitement, lie laughed, he danced, he threw the nugget besides him and, seizing the spade, went on digging with strong, powerful arms. Dig, he could not, it was only a matter of picking out the gold, some nuggets were large and some were small,, but all pure, all pure and bright.

He understood it now—the space between the two trees, the depth of four feet, and the reward he was to receive. When dawn broke it found John Strong a rich man. He had found a fortune, while his revenge had turned to loving kindness! Having performed his duties to the dead, Strong with a little of the gold in his pocket, wandered forth to procure assistance. After some hours he came to a homestead, where he was able to purchase a horse and cart, and some much needed food. He drove baek to the cottage, and from there, with his wealth, io the railway.

About three months later John Strong strode along a country lane; he was humming a tune as he went, his ruddy, cheeks glowed with, health, his bright eyes shone with happiness. As he turned suddenly to the left, and eame on to the high road, he could seo a house in the distance. With what anguish in bis heart had he last looked at that house!

And was it chance, or could she be waiting for him—she was there at the garden gate. He shouted to her and waved his hat, and a few moments later he held her in his arms. Muriel’s father had heard from John Strong, and heard of his riches. He came smiling down the garden path, and before the day was out gave his ready, consent to the marriage, as, of course, he was in duty bound.