[COPYRIGHT STORY.] A FATE FORETOLD

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1, 6 July 1907, Page 32

[COPYRIGHT STORY.] A FATE FORETOLD

By

EDITH H. FOWLER,

, Author of "The Professor’s Children,” Etc.

OU, mother, mother, do hurry down!” cried a girl, looking up from a newly-read letter, and rushing to the foot of the staircase. “It has come!” and she clasped the precious document in her hands, trembling with ecstasy. “What has come, little one?” asked Mrs. Findlay, hurrying into the diningroom. “What hase come, little one?” asked the rector, coming out of his study, where he spent many a peaceful morning hour before the world was awakened. "The chance of my life,” replied Elizabeth enthusiastically. “Oh, it is too good to be true!” “You seem to me full young to be brought face to face with the one chance of your life,” said her father slowly, smiling as he watched the pretty, childish face. “And my experience is that our great chances come, not dressed up as crises, but on the wayside of everyday life, and we have passed them before we recognise their importance.” "Oh, father, how can vou be so stupid! Don’t you know that all a girl wants is her chance, and she must have is before she is old ?” Elizabeth looked ten years ahead, which would bring her to her thirtieth birthday, and decided that by then she would be almost too old to live, and much too old to feel. “But still we are in ignorance of your wonderful news, love,” suggested her mother, "but perhaps it had better wait now till after prayers, lest it distract our thoughts.” Elizabeth did wish her father would not r< ad quite such long chapters—especially on this eventful morning—though she could not possibly have remembered afterwards what it was about, for her mind was far away amid the splendours of a London season, for which her aunt had written to invite her. London was but a name to Elizabeth—but the name of a fairy palace of w- nders and splendours, and her silly little head already pictured herself “meeting her fate” in the dazzle of its ball-rooms, and making a brilliant match, at which all the village folk of Farq.iay would catch their breath. By the time prayers were over Elizabeth was dizzy with the hopes and possibilities of this most wonderful ehanee. She had been fretting and chafing against the narrow bounds of a home W’hich lay in a wooded valley running down to the sea one of the loveliest bits of unknown England: where the sweet shelter of loving parents’ care enfolded her. and the simple interests of fisherfolk and land labourers claimed her sympathy and help. But Elizabeth wanted to see life—which she spelled with a capita! L. and meant thereby most of those things which are not life at all. but a miscellaneous collection of pleasures and gaiety. She had no patience with the perfect content of her father and mother in t! : lovely little country parse.mi . m I the diverse friend-hips of parochial life; and in her worst moods had alnn-t wished herself the daughter of her mother’s sister, who had married a rich manufacturer, who afterwards became a member of Parliament, and had been recently knighted for a small tontribution to political service and a large one to political funds. But now her aunt's invitation that she should Kune to London for two months of the season and play th* part of daughter

to them, wiped all her discontent away, and filled her with an utterly inadequate delight. “It is a beautiful time of year to waste in Loudon,” said the rector sadly, when they were discussing the proposal over their bacon. Elizabeth gave a little scream. To call London “waste.” “I am sick of summers here!” she said petulantly, for fear of even attempted hindrances to her plan. “Nothing but country and sea and dulness and poor people. I never have anybody to speak to.” “You have your mother,” said Mr. Findlay, reprovingly, wondering however anyone could ever want more; but her mother quickly interposed. “Elizabeth does not exactly mean that, my dear; she is referring to friends of her own age. It is natural for a girl to want young companionship, and I quite understand why she finds it a little dull here.” Mrs. Findlay forgot the hurt which was pricking at her own heart to smooth the way between Eizabeth and her father. “Smithson is a young fellow,” persisted the rector, “and she sees enough of him.” “But he is only the curate,” observed the girl scornfully; “I want to meet real men. thank you.” “Smithson is a good fellow, too,” he continued, tapping at his egg, “and a gentleman.” "He has not a very distinguished name” replied Elizabeth hotly, "and he never went to a public school, and only on a scholarship to Cambridge.” “ ’Only on a scholarship!’ did you say, my child'" asked the rector amazed. “How could he have gone more honourably? And his widowed mother could only afford to send him to a Grammar school. But even Eton does not necessarily make a gentleman.” “Does your aunt mention a date for your going, dear.” asked Mrs. Findlay, anxious to change the subject. “She says the first of May. Only a fortnight from now. Oh. mother!” and Elizabeth's smiles came back with a happy rush. “Won’t it be lovely? And I may get some new dresses, mayn’t I. Aunt says I must go to her dressmaker, and not think about the bills.” The rector frowned, but his wife spoke quickly. “When you arc being a daughter to nay sister, dear—a sweet and helpful daughter. I hope —of course you may accept her gifts. Y'our father and I cannot afford to give you much to spend on dress, but in your life here you do not need much. In London it is different.” Elizabeth smiled, and the frown was wiped off her father's brow. Mrs. Findlay being one of those ideal women who happily are to lie found so often amid the realities of wifehood and motherhood. whose mission it is to keep her children's faces covered with smiles and her husband's free from frowns. “Mother.” exclaimed Elizabeth, in an awe stricken voice, as the rector left the room, “the wonderful part of it all is that it is my fortune coming true.” “Your fortune, dear?” “Ye«. I didn’t tell you, because I knew you don’t believe in fortune-tell-ing. But that girl who was staying with Mrs. Mason told mv fortune, and she said that I should ‘meet my fate this summer, on the 17th day of th* month.’”

Mrs. Findlay stroked her daughter’s hand and nodded sympathetically. Oh, the wisdom of such silences when dealing with the folly and impetuosity of youth! So Elizabeth packed up her possessions and her hopes, and started on her journey with unlimited faith in all that it should bring her; and she never noticed the look in Jack Smithson’s eyes as he stood in mute misery on the platform. Of course, she knew he was in love with her. but so prosaic a fate as becoming engaged to her father’s curate was out of the question for a girl whose destiny surely lay awaiting her in the gorgeous experiences of a London season. Her first dinner party fell on the 17th May. The preceding three weeks had been a little disappointing to Elizabeth. as life in her uncle and aunt's London home did not seem so dazzling after all; not so very different from her parents’ life in the country rectory, except that her uncle went to his business in the city instead of in the parish, and spent his evenings in the House of Commons rather than in his study; and her aunt looked at shop windows in her daily walk instead of the views which nature shows over every gate and across each valley, and left cards at big houses in the afternoons rather than find a welcome in the cottages where her mother’s only calls were continually paid. But the dinner party would make all the difference. It was the beginning of the new life, and sure as her fortune foretold it was to be on the 17th day of the month. By day and night Elizabeth dreamed of this coming crisis, and when the under housemaid eame up to laee her new gown, and help her to dress, the girl felt a foretaste of the future of a great London lady, and the country rectory seemed continents away. “I want to introduce my nephew to you.” said Lady Warmington on the eventful evening. “Captain Farquhar, Miss Findlay—and will you take her down to dinner, Fred ?” Elizabeth looked up. and beheld the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life, tall and fair, with long-lashed blue eyes, which looked straight into hers, and set her foolish little heart beating furiously. “This is luck,” he said impressively, “for I was lust waiting to be introduced to you.” “It is love at first sight,” thought Elizabeth excitedly, “and I am sure I feel it, too. How wonderful!” and a flush rushed up into her cheeks. “Why, I wonder?” she said ‘softly. “I knew we should be friends. I am never mistaken in my first impressions.” Large indeed must have been Freddy Farquhar’s circle of female friends, as this was his usual method of opening fire with a stranger. “Do you know anybody here?” asked Elizabeth, as they sat down to dinner, and the rustle of talk enfolded them in as complete an aloneness as the trees of a forest could have done. “No,” he replied, looking curiously down the avenue of table decorations, and wondering where his aunt had collected so many outsiders; “do you?” “I don’t know anybody but you,” and her voice lingered on the you with a tender touch, which Freddy was quick to note. He glanced at the girl beside him, and could not quite make up his mind how she came to be such an accomplished little flirt. There vai •

rapt, expectant look on her face, giving a look of wistfulness to her youthful freshness, which was quite attractive.

“And nobody else matters,” he added boldly, “if we are to be friends, as I know we are. Just you and I,” he repeated sentimentally. Elizabeth smiled. Her golden dream was evidently quivering into reality. “I feel sure,” he continued, “that in some former state —in Greece, perhaps, at the very foot of Olympus, who knows - —you and I met thousands of years ago. Of course, you believe in a former existence ?” Now Elizabeth had been brought up in the simple belief of a future existence, which is quite enough, even if it is a little old-fashioned, .to occupy our thoughts and guide our lives during the brief span of earthly vears; but she felt suddenly ashamed of the teaching which dare not pass beyond the bounds of written Revelation. “I never thought about it,” she stammered. “Oh! but you should. It is a delightful idea. The sudden attraction you feel for some people is the revival of an affection which can never die.” Freddy Farquhar had been reading his "Daily Mail,” and Elizabeth drank in every word he uttered as the inspired response to her foretold fate. Perhaps, indeed, they had been set apart for each other from the foundations of the world; nothing seemed too wonderful to be true on that wonderful spring evening when Elizabeth expected to meet her destiny. And after dinner, when the married ladies drifted together into domestic and social discussions. Elizabeth found her way on to the flower-laden balcony to be alone with her happiness,' and there Captain Farquhar followed her. The men downstairs were not in his set. and he felt gloomy and bored. “Another season ’ ” he said sadly, watching the lights of the carriages flitting through the darkness of the park trees which stood silhouetted against the pale green of the western sky. "How sick I am of it all!” There was something very depressing to Freddy in the sight of rich respectability, such as was gathered in his uncle’s dutv dinner party that night, and the contrasting thought of the sheaves of unpaid bills which littered his own writing table. “Sick of London! ” she exela inied in astonishment, and her heart beat faster at the thought that the old life no longer held him. Besides, be evidently wanted comforting, and there is nothing that stirs a woman's heart so quickly. “I should like to begin a new life,” continued Captain Farquhar, with visions of big game and possibilities of fresh pleasures beyond the seas. “Then why don't you?” said Elizabeth softly. She was beginning to feel that thev had been in love with each other for half a lifetime. “That doesn't depend on me alone,” and he wished with a new longing that his uncle would only so increase his allowance as to make a tour round the world practicable. “But perhaps the other person may want you to.” she suggested with a sensation of cold water trickling down het back. , “Perhaps,” echoed Freddy, and theft with a sudden change of mood: “I efpect it will all come right; there's fate in these things, don’t vou know.” “Th«r« ia indeed.”

"It doesn’t matter what we do,” he continued glibly, which was a comfortable creed, and eminently suited to his selfish life, “we fulfil our destiny all the same.” I'hen Lady Warmlngton disturbed them, and good-nights were said, and the party melted away till only Freddy Was left behind. “H<jw you flirted with that girl!” exclaimed his aunt reproachfully. "She isn’t a bad-looking little thing. Who is she?” asked Freddy languidly. "A niece of the Larkins. Lady Larkins adores her, and told me with positive pride that the curate at home is in love with her.” “I thought that was the usual thing.” “Well, so did I,” confessed Lady Warmington with a laugh. “But he would have killed you if he had been here to-night.” “Good job he wasn’t, then,” drawled her nephew. "I am not up to coping with the Church militant this hot weather. But perhaps it would have been the best thing that could have happened to me, after all,” he added gloomily. "Freddy,” said Lady Warmington, severely, “you want a cheque! I thought as much when you felt such a craving for your relations’ society, and proposed yourself to dine here tonight.” “I do. my sweet aunt; a large one.” “Oh dear! Oh dear! If I had been your mother I should have spanked you at least three times a week, and you need it still; but as I am only your mother’s childless sister, I suppose I shall go on spoiling you to the end. Where are my spectacles, you naughty boy, and a pen that will write?” From the night of the Warmington’s party London was a changed place for Elizabeth. The very atmosphere seemed like the haze of dawn which would usher in her golden day-dream. Her imagination grew, and the weed looked so like a flower. There was no detail of this imaginary future which she did not settle in her foolish little mind, even to the colour of her court dresses and the furniture of her boudoir; and there was

no heroic attitude with which she did not endow he equally imaginary lover. When her uncle spoke slightingly of Captain Farquhar as a “bad lot," she was young enough to think it a grand thing for a man not to be good, and ignorant enough to be attracted by, to her, such unknown qualities as debt, dissipation, and familiarity with all that is base and bad in the world. So the month of May slid into June, and summer was in the air, and Elizabeth's head in the clouds. Her leters home were short and careless, and the rector expressed just displeasure on their receipt. Her mother forgot her own disappointment in finding excuses for Elizabeth, which is the way of mothers during the many and miscellaneous stages through which their children pass. Her aunt thought the girl dreamy and a little anaemic, for which she dosed her with iron pills; and her uncle noticed nothing at all to differentiate her from the wholesale mass of ordinary girls.

On the 17th of June Elizabeth saw her hero again. She was at tea with her uncle on the Terrace of the House of Commons, helping to entertain a small party which was stamped with the brand of constituents, and imagining herself one of the great ladies who throng that stone-cool and gay retreat from the glare of a summer's afternoon. Suddenly a large party gathered round one of the tables not far away, and Elizabeth saw that Freddy was amongst them. She had expected great things from the recurrence of her fateful date, and Captain Farquhar’s appearance answered her hopes. Her heart beat fast, and her eyes wandered with her thoughts to the distant tabic. A vague unrest stirred her as she watched him talking and laughing with a beautiful girl beside him, but she reasoned that he could not join her yet. When her uncle proposed returning to see the further sights of the building. Elizabeth begged for one stroll along the river, as she felt sure that directly Freddy* saw her he would come and tell her of his love. For so her thoughts had grown on the food of fancy. But when, by lingering

near and looking hard, she at last caught his eye. hr dimly recognised an evident acquaintance whose identity had been swept away by the swelling tide of the season’s interests and amusements. He raised his hat and talked on to the ladies of his own party.

Elizabeth’s castle in the air came crashing down with the shock: and she walked behind her uncle to see with unseeing eyes those strange sights which delight the constituent mind. A diningroom full of long tables, where legislators deign to dine: long, empty corridors lined with cupboards: men writing letters in rooms beyond the portals of glass doors which no strangers mav pass —and, above all. a momentary glimpse through a high window of green benches sparsely covered with meditative men and apparently deserted hats. However she might try to reconstruct that castle with explanations and excuses and interpretations. slowly her hupes for the future failed her. surely her faith in her fortune faded: sadly the truth beat into her bewildered brain that there had been no case of love at first sight, ayd he had never cared at all. She thought her heart was broken, but it was only scratched, ami. like a baby's bruise, needed but the supplest remedy to make it well. For the next month Elizabeth was very home-sick. London was hot and tiring, and airless and hopeless. Nobody therein reallv cared for her, and her concerns were of no importance in the engulfing tide of life which swirls through a London season. The thought of home grew dearer, the memory of friends burned brighter, and it was with a longing to be comforted that Elizabeth entered the train that was to take her to the nearest town to Farquay village. The sick soreness of disappointment stung her afresh as she opened her newspaper and saw that a marriage had been arranged between Captain Farquhar and an American heiress, and her eyes tilled with tears as the date of the paper—the 17th of July —recalled her vain hopes of that prophetic date. It was a golden summer's evening when the train rushed into the nearest

station to Elizabeth's home. The sweet smell of the country, which can only be appreciated after a sojourn in London, filled her with delight and wonder that she had never enioved it before. The rich, full blown woods clothed the hillsides with folds of shaded green, and the distant sea-line was ruled straight and clear against the glowing sky. And hurry Nig along the platform to "meet her came the curate with hands held out in warmest welcome, and his usually grave face made glad with smiles. “I have brought your bicycle, and the luggage is to go in the carrier’s cart. Your father and mother are quite well. We are all so looking forward to your coming.” Elizabeth's voice was queer ami choky when she tried to answer him. Truly it was very good to be going home: but the goodness thereof made her want terribly to cry. In fact, as the bicycles glided into the leafy shade of the woodland path that wound from the town to the village by the sea. the tears would no longer be kept back. Slowly they brimmed up and welled over in the peace of the sweet summer stilness. which was broken only by. the faint plash of the incoming tide, like a mother’s “hush” to her troubled child: ami then a quick sob escaped her. and at that pitiful little sound Jack Smithson jumped <>IT his bicycle, and stopped hers, whispering gently. “What is it. dear?” “Nobody cared for me in all London,” she explained with catching breath. “1 care for you.” he exclaimed hotly, for the sight of Elizabeth's tears had broken down every reserve. “Do you really.'’ she asked, drying her tears. “Of course 1 do. and 1 want you, oh, so dreadfully, sweetheart!” Elizabeth contrasted the bitter cold of that awakening to her mistake on the terrace with the glowing warmth of Jack Smithson's declared love. And then, because she was a woman and could not keep a secret, and because Jack was so understanding, she told him of her disappointment in the fulfilling of her fortune, without giving any details concerning Captain Farqu-

bar; and the curate avowed (hat if wan entirely the fortune teller’s fault, which was a most soothing conclusion, serin;* that it exonerated both Elizabeth and Freddy in her own mind. “I should have liked London much better if I had not l»een thinking about my fate.’’ she protesed weakly. “Of course you would. But nobody could help doing so in your place. At least.” he added in a scramble after truth, “very few people, and hardly any woman. ” “Still.” said Elizabeth, half sadly, as they at last pursued their way after a long rest in the paradise of love’s dawn, *‘l wish she had foretold a fortune that came true. It would have been so romantic if I had met my fate on the 17th day of the month.” “Darling.” said Jack with a happy laugh, “we will forgive your fortuneteller after all. For whom did you meet when you stepped out of the train?” “Why you.” said Elizabeth wonderingly. “And what day of the month is it today ?” “Oh. Jack! how lovely! It is the 17th of August.”