The Major’s Romance and How It Ended

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 18, 6 May 1905, Page 13

The Major’s Romance and How It Ended

By

ELSA MORELAND.

Major Mucklebury was a grim, cross, sour old bachelor—yes, sour! Some people say it is old maids who are sour, but old bachelors when they have been in India and have a “liver’’ are a thousand times worse. Major Mucklebury was the terror and the squire of the village. He was a magistrate, as trespassers on his estate knew to their cost, for his preserves were most jealously guarded, and the villagers used to say they believed Major Mucklebury could have detected the feathers off his own estate in the refuse of a poulterer’s shop.

It was a lovely morning, and Major Mucklebury was strolling through his pheasant covers with a gun over his shoulder. Of course the time for pheasants was not yet, but tbe major kept a keen eye on the prospects, and sometimes a stray cat—Ha! What was that?

A tiny, fluffy, clinging thing looked down al him from a beech tree close by. Two blue, innocent eyes, a ball of fur, a little plaintive mew, and then—bang! “Had him that time, by jove! Caught in the art!” muttered the major, as the little cat fell with a thud on the soft greensward. And, striding forward, he prepared to bag his game. Imagine his surprise when a golden-haired pinafored little fury darted before him, and, stooping, clasped the dying kitten in her arms, looking meanwhile at its destroyer with flashing, angry eyes! Now somehow experiences never come singly, and the major was going through a gamut of experiences at that moment, and this last was the most startling of them all. “There is no one in the whole wide world who loves you as much as I loved that dear, dear kitten!” No, certainly, as far as the major knew, there was not. No one, at least, who would disfigure her pretty faee with a single tear for him were fie to be shot dead at this moment. With an overwhelming flash this all at onee eame home to him, and this selfish, wealthy man of the world stood before the golden haired, crying child confounded- —dumb! “And what is your name, my dear?” asked the old soldier, as. ten minutes later, they trudged along, the little girl still sobbing as she clung to his big finger, and the major carrying the murdered cat. “It’ll never do to let her go home alone with all that blood on her pinafore,’’ he thought; "her mother would have a tit at the sight of her! ” “Mv name is Lcttv—Lettv Fane,” said the child. “Lettice Fane!” The major dropped her fingers, and nearly dropped the kitten. too. “Bless my soul!” Lit tle Lett ice looked at him in surplice. She didn’t like his voice when he growled like that. She had heard old Maggie say, “When the major was angry there was no need for folks to go to the menagerie to see wild beasts; they eould see one for nothing at the hall.” But they were nearly home; she could see the green gate; yes, and the major eould see the green gate, too! The sight of that gate and the sound of that name. “Lettiee Fane,” conjured up such a rush of memories that no wonder he was silent! Lettiee Fane! Could this be her child—the child of the only woman he had ever loved? But no! Iler own name was Lettiee Fane, so that couldn’t be. What was he dreaming of? In fancy he was back again just ten years ago. He was a young man then —at least, he liked his friends to think so, though lie himself knew better, but ten years’ hard work in a bad climate knocked all that out of him. He was an old m in now -old, rich, gloomy and alone. How well be remembered it! Ten years ago be had come to look after his property. He was leaving the army soon, but Indian speculations would keep him away some years, and it was then that he met Lettiee Fane. Lettiee Fane—just “sweet 17” —whose only brother was gazetted to the major’s own

regiment, and was to sail iu the same boat for India. The man of the world had felt flattered by the admiration and thanks these two young things had lavished on him in return for the scraps of information he had bestowed on the young sub. It had been pleasant to him to see the colour flood the sweet, oval face of the sub.’s sister as he lingered over giving counsel to the brother to pay court to his sister. Then had come a summer night when they stood by the green gate; the stars twinkled overhead, the nightingale sang in the distant dale; the major pressed his lips to two warm red ones that trembled beneath their first kiss, and said. “Goodbye.” In a dream he saw it all! As they reached the gate little Lettire took her precious bundle from the major and ran to the woman coming swiftly down the path. “Auntie! auntie!” she sobbed. ‘‘My kitty, my dear kitty!” And she flung herself upon the white gowned figure which stood as if turned to stone. And over the childish golden head the man’s and the woman’s eyes met. In his were memory, wonder, longing, and vain regret; in hers were memory, wounded pride, cold disdain and the ghost of a murdered love. For had she not trusted him and wait ed for him to return* And he had come home, taken up his abode on his wealthy estate, had daily passed and repassed her gate, and made no sign. “Lettiee!” The major spoke tbe one word in hopeless, despairing tones, and held out two trembling hands bands full of all save love. But Lettiee only bent slightly, like a lily before the gale; then, turning with her little charge, went slowly back to the house. The major stood there in the brilliant sunshine till the door clanged. Then the words rang in his “There is nobody in the whole wide world who loves you as much as 1 loved my dear, dear kitty!” The days passed and the major paused often at the gate, but no Lettiee either child or woman was to be sben. The child had been overjoyed at the appearance of a pretty, fluffy Persian, but the woman’s heart was still empty. One night, coming hounding in through the summer dusk, little Lettiee paused, transfixed. Two figures stood close together on the hearth. “O, auntie! auntie!” she cried, “that cruel man! How can you —” “Hush, hush, darling!” the other answered gently, with a new soft ring iu her tones. Don’t say that. Lctty, darling, for—l love him!”