Complete Story. A THING APART.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue XVIII, 29 October 1904, Page 54

Complete Story. A THING APART.

By

J. HARRIET ROSE.

Alan's love is of his life A thing apart—'Lis Woman’s whole existence.

Christmas Eve, and that a Sunday evening, too. A dark damp fog pervading all the City of London, stealing into churches decked with bravery of Christmas garlands. and hanging heavier still round this dark, comfortless. ill-lighted railway terminus, where a woman, young, fair and dainty, sat gazing with unseeing eyes into the ever increasing gloom. Since she had stolen from her home an hour ago, till now when she sat inactive, waiting, she had not lost that wondering questioning gaze, which, index to her heart, told o£ the vague doubts that were born there. She went restlessly from the chill waiting-room, and looked at the clock, irritably wondering why her companion in fl : ght had left her alone here; he must have known it would be terrible for her to wait in solitude so long thinking only of the step she had taken, and the consequences that must follow. 'Lime was moving swiftly, there were only a few minutes now to the departure of the train, the last train that night to catch the Continental boat at Dover, and —is this he? No, a stranger who looked with surprise at her sudden start forward. There was the usual slir and bustle round the waiting train, trucks of luggage frequently passing, farewells imminent among lingering groups, late arrivals pushing impatiently by her, take your seats, take your seats please,” tho train was moving—quick—■ quicker, it was gone. Then she turned towards the entrance, a sudden rush of feet, a sudden exclamation, and she knew her lover had come; a cabman with him, prolesling, expostulating, he had not been paid. “Anj 1 in time?” ho panted. “It said the woman in a mectrairicat-fashion. “My God!” the man was beside himself. “It was an accident; Hilda, I swear it was, the cab broke down, I was Hung out; look,” he showed his hand, cut and bleeding. “Yes'?” she queried, dully, then motioning with her hand to the waiting, staring cabman, she moved towards the room where she had first waited.

The man followed her quickly into the ill-lighted cold room —it was empty, and she sat down wearily on the slippery sofa, and looked liepiessly into his face as he stood looking at her. “Oli, my. confounded luck,’’ grouted the man. . “What, shall we do. darling? I thought it for ti e Lest to tom? to this wretched! city station to avoid notice, there would be no one to see us.” he saw her wince as if in pain. “Oh,-child, you must not look like that because of this mishap at the beginning of our life together. . . . you have" .trusted •yourself to me. Hilda, don’t you lidar me?” he sal down and drew her towards him. “J.i-den;'josiioiTow wjll soon lie here, we tan eatch the first boat train, and be in Paris by mid-day; it will be better to stay in London tonight; you look worn out; we w : Il pul up at some city place if you like. You do not want Io go farther afield, or attract attention.” “Oh. slop,” she stayed him, suddenly. “What is the matter?’ he whispered, as he met her eyes; the shame, horror in them silenced hint. Vividly her future life rose up before her at his words. This weary waiting in the dark cold station wits a type of it, this shrinking from attention was to be the proud woman's lot. now. And the man was the first to remind her of it. 1 ike the sudden remembrance of a drowning creature, a divorce ease, in which she played tho part of an unwilling spectator, flashed into her mind. Her husband held t he brief for the injured man, and a girl who had to attend as witness bogged her to be in court with herj every pain-

ful detail started up before her now, the half-scornful voice of her husband as he questioned the witnesses rang in her ears —the doubt, lingering in her heart through that long silence alone, was certainty now, and sprang fullarmed to aid her. She started to her feet, she was awake- at last, bat—was it too late?

“Well?” the man questioned, rising too. .The pause had laslcd but a minute, and in that time h r eyes had never left his..

“I must go,” she said, “he will be home.”

“Go—where?” he queried, laying a restraining hand on hers. “I am going back again,” she said, more quietly. “1 am awake now, and sane.”

“You cannot go back,” he said, fiercely. “By this time he will know you have left him and the life he made so cold an (L cheerless for you. to share one at least where love will be warm. Il Ida, what is-it? You love me?’

The woman looked at him, and then round the hare room, noticing with dull eyes the faded'hue's of floor and- c-hairs, the few jets of gas, the white ashes in the grate, and shivered: “Yes, T suppose so,” she said, wearily, “at least I had persuaded myself I did—l wanted to —but my punishment, has bsgtin.” “You are low-spirited,” he urged, “and have let dismal thoughts sway you during your miserable waiting. But, my darling, think a minute —if it had not been for this accident we should have been half-way to Dover, in Paris.to-mor-row morning; you could not have returned then.”

“No,” she assented. Then, as if the subject were ended, “Will you put me into «. hanspin?”

“I tell you, you cannot go back,” said the man. “Even if it were possible, do you think 1 shall let you?” “Yes.” she said, harshlv, “because if you hinder me now, I shall hate you.” “Electing love,” he said, with a short laugh, “not much consideration for my feelings that you can throw- over all arrangements so easily after reaching this pitch, including myself. Did you ever really love. Hilda? I think I lia-.e a right to ask.”

“God help me,” she wailed, ‘*l love—my husband! Love him so that 1 cannot let him suffer through my shame—cannot bear the thought that he must shrink from his fellow-men because of ine^ —that his career, of which at one time I was so proud, might be checked by scandal attaching to his wife’s name. If I am too late, if he won’t take me baijk, at least I can shut the world’s incutli. Yes, 1 love him, 1 love him,” she repeated cruelly. Tlie man’s hand dropped to his side. “I am sorry,” he said, in a strained, ■husky voice, “I have stained your glove.” The blood from his wounded hand had made an ugly mark on the light suede. There was silence a minute, then he said, “And if you are too late—if ha knows?” “There is just a ehanee,” she breathed, “but every minute makes it less. And even if he has seen my letter ” “You wrote then?” A sudden alarm in his voice struck her. “Oh,” she said, in a low, pained voice, “I did not name you. He need never know.” “That is right,” he said, bitterly in his turn; “write me down cad and coward—cannot you give me credit for alarm on your account ?” “I am innocent,” she muttered. “Ila will believe me and forgive -” “Hilda, darling, stay with me. You seem so frail and helpless against his relentless nature—-during the time you have known him, has he forgiven any sin against himself?”

“Are you trying to shake my determination to return?” she flashed. “You will not do so by abusing him.” He drew baek, and let her pass from the room which had witnessed one act of the comedy, and a sobbing oath under his breath was the last word heard by the sident walls. A sudden remorse seized him as he looked at the tired, set face —he was responsible, after all; he had got this woman into the plight, and now he was powerless to help hfr, unless she would do the thing she had resolved not to do.

“Don’t quite curse me, Hilda,” ha said, wistfuljy; “and, oh, my darling, if it is too hard to bear, do come to

“Me both owe forgiveness,” she said, humbly. “I deceived you—f thought I was quite sure—that is the gist of tho whole hideous mistake; I was wrong, and I must bear the consequences.”

And then with no other word he helped her into the hansom and stood with bare head as she drove off. Left alone, the woman leant her head against the side of the cab. and tried to form some plan, but her thoughts would wander off to the time when, in almost childish days, she had married the young rising" barrister, how she had worshipped that quietj

cold man, whose eyes would brighten with love as they rested on her in .those days. And when the love light became clouded with study, and briefs crowded out the affection she longed for, she tried to content herself with the pride she' felt when everyone said he was a coining man —tried to feel happy when the much-coveted seat in Parliament was gained: and only felt the ehill sinking at her heart as she drifted yet farther from her husband. If there had been a little laughing child to help her, some' tiny fingers to hold her back, to keep her contented; alas! there had been but a friend, and the friendship had ended in the dull wait-ing-room at that gloomy station. Then her thoughts followed her husband—a bachelor friend was giving a dinner at his club. She had heard him leave the house before she crept downstairs and placed her letter on his study table. Why had she chosen that place ? If he returned earlier than expected he would go straight there; if she had only chosen another room she would be safe—she moved restlessly, and longed to rest her tired brain.

She stayed her cab at the corner of the quiet, fashionable street in which they lived, and walked rapidly towards her home, keeping on the opposite side. There was no light in her husband's study, but even as she looked the light flashed up, and she saw her husband with his fingers "still on the switch of his reading-lamp. She was pressing the bell before she realised that she had crossed the road, and heard in a whirl the servant say that master had come home, was in his study, had been told she was at church. Master? aye, and Judge. • She opened the door and passed into his presence. He turned at the sound and faced her. the open letter in his hand. One look at his face told her he had read it : there were only a few Words.

“I have conic back,” she said, faintly, falling against the door and holding out her hands imploringly'. Like the other man. he said at once, “You cannot.” and husband and wife looked steadily at each other for a short space: then he turned and dropped the note into the fire, where they watched it consume.

‘‘l was going to do that,” she muttered. He laughed. ‘’And I should not have known? Was thatyour programme? Or was this all a hoax? You were rather fond of such things in youthful days.”

“There was an accident,” said the woman, .‘ and I had time to think—l could not leave you—l”—the voice trailed away before his steady contemptuous gaze.

“No? In that note you say I have made your life miserable, that I am cold and hard—for which of these reasons could you not leave me? Or was it that your wiser thoughts led you to see that even eold wedded respectability is better • than ‘the roses and raptures of vice’?” “No,” she said, trying to steady’ her voice; “I came J>ack l>ecause I love ."you—because I would not bring shame on your name or hinder your career.”

“Thank you.” “Oh, don’t;” she screamed, wildly. “Tell

me what to do to expiate—l am innocent, I swear I am! Only tell me what to do that I may be forgiven the madness of a few hours.”

“You arc surely mad to suppose such a thing possible between us now. Only the accident of a minute brought you back, you say, only a similar accident broke up our party early and brought me home to find your message. Y’ou have discovered your love too late, for it seems I only know my wife now.” He turned away, and his glance fell on the calendar on the table. “The 24th December,” he sneered, “Peace and goodwill.” Then, as if reminded of something, he turned on her fiercely as she leaned supine against the door. “You accuse me of being careless, inattentive, say that I forget you, am wrapt in my business to the exclusion of all things—l remember you brought that accusation against inc your last birthday, when I forgot your dance and made other arrangements for the evening —do 1 forget you - ? Haye I been neglectful? Look at that!” With sudden passion he flung a book towards her, and she advanced wonderingiy to pick it up; then the red blood flamed into her face as she opened it and masked under the title her husband’s name, and on the opposite page a dedication to her. “To-morrow,” he continued, “that book will be occupying men’s minds. It was published to-day, and I was keeping it as a Christmas gift for you. It. is going to succeed, first because my name will attract attention, next because it is good. And when I wrote for fame. I wrote for you. When I neglected you through the long summer days I was writing this, and while you were dallying with another man I was imagining your pleasure when you should receive this on Christmas day—man proposes, and the devil disposes!” “There must be some way,” she said again.

Utter silence, except the ticking of the dock, and though lis face war so set and stern, his eyes were noting the rise and fall of the. black fur on her breast, and every dainty detail surrounding that fallen imrge of t!#e one woman in his busy life he had paused to love. He hated her now. hated her for destroying his faith in her—he d'd not think of his own share in the shame that had fallen on them: t o-morrow he might, for he was a jus; man. but now he could only see her shame and read her story.

“There was an accident you siy; were you hurt? But your hand,” pointing to the stained glove.

She raised her hand, and shook her head again as she looked at it. “Not mine.” she said, ami then as she began to pull the stiffened glove off a burning blush swept over her face once more, for there on the table lay the emblem of her married life, and she knew her finger was ringlees. “Oh, you are right,” she said, wildly, as reading her thoughts he took the wedding-ring into his hand and looked at it mockingly :“yon are right, I should not have come back! One man tempts a woman to sin. and then, even if she turn on the brink, another forces her on and shows her return is impossible!”

“What return is possible?” he asked. “Listen to mi —if, as you implied, you wished to save me the scandal of a divorce, I am willing to accept your sacrifice. Y’ou are here—you van live in the house, go your ways, eat, drink — wear my name as you wish it, ami as y y ou assert I cannot free myself from the burden you have imposed upon me.” “Tell me ope thing,” said the woman, raising her white face to his; “you do not believe I came back because my love for you saved me from the crime of wronging you?”

"How can I believe it!” he said sternly. “You have said yourself it was the result of an accident.”

‘“The burden’ I have imposed on you,” she continued. “You mean my coming baek to retrieve in some measure the mistake 1 made, instead of letting you free yourself as you would have done if 1 had carried out my intention?” He moved his lips in assent. The woman laughed. "It seems I have but made another mistake. Well, it shall be the last,” and she turned towards the door. “Where arc you going?” he asked. “Where all mistakes are amended." she answered. “Do you think I will stay here to be a burden to you and have my life drained from me day by day—l tell you I love you. 1 lave you! Do you think it poss'ble I can lead the life you propose? Here, under your roof, alienated from you—-have yon no pity? Will not even my woman’s weakness appeal to you? Forgive mo my treason to you, forgive me now, ami tell me that some day in the future I may win your love again and cease to be a burden to you. I ask for nothing at this time but a few words of hope to face the dark days with. 1 am Innocent. If I had not been I would not have come back, and I love you—let these facts plead for me! Husband! If there has been any time in your life when you have been tempted, remember it now; if there has been anytime in your life when you have fallen, remember it before you drive me utterly to despair!” For the first time since she had entered the room she moved towards him., lav'ng her p’evding hands on his arm. “Husband!” she entreated again.

Was it the sight of the ringles* finger, or some slumbeiiuig memory, woke the brute in the man? He raised bis right arm and struck her heavily across the face; then, in the -sudden revulsion of feeling as she reeled and half fell, he caught her -irr hrs arms, and as she felt his kisses on her face she knew she was saved, ami in his passionate »upplieatk>n for forgiveness she received her own pa:don.