NEW ZEALAND STORIES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 25, 21 June 1911, Page 55

NEW ZEALAND STORIES.

[The Editor desires to state that New Zealtnid Stories by New Zealand writers, will be published on this page regularly. The page will be open to any contributor, and all accepted stones will be paid for at current rates. Terse bright sketches of Dominion life and people, woven m short story forri, are required, and should be headed "New Zealand Stories.”] v ■

The Rock in the Path.

By

S. HENDERSON.

IS the doctor busy?” Mrs. Boyle paused tentatively with her hand on the . surgery door, as the nurse rustled through the hall in her stiff print .uniform.

“No, Mrs. Boyle, the last patient has just gone, the doctor is only writing up his cases.” , . With a smile of thanks the doctor's wife turned the handle of the dcior arid went into the surgery. Dr. Boyle (who, at forty years of age was regarded as one of .London's ■ rising surgeons) was standing at a table behind his desk; his whole body bearing the weary droop that testified to another day of close and unremitting labour.’

“Is that you, nurse?” the question was hardly put when the doctor seemed to feel his wife’s presence, and wheeled round to greet her. -

“What, you, sweetheart! this is flagrant disobedience.”

“Even the laws of the Medes and Persians were occasionally set at naught,” and Avril Boyle slipped her hand iiis'.de her husband’s arm.

“So why not mine? Well, I’m just through/’ and the doctor closed his books and rang.for tire nurse to give her some parting instructions. “That’s over, come and give me some tea,” and husband and wife left the surgery with a courteous goodbye to the nurse.

“What made you look me up, little woman?” said the doctor as they entered the library, where a tea-table was set by a bright "fire in evident anticipation of their coming. “Because I’ve such a lovely surprise for you and I couldn’t wait any longer.” “You baby, but another surprise! It was only last week that you gave me those new curtains for the consulting rooms. What an extravagant young person,” and the doctor’s voice took on a moekingly-serious tone, as he surveyed his wife’s dainty form. “Now, don’t scold, Denham, surely you remember what day this is? No? Mhy it’s your birthday, goose, so my extravagance is-, justified.” “By jove! I had forgotten.” ■ “You always do, and you’d forget mine too if I didn't write it in your engagement book.” ......

“No, don’t get up,” Avril added, as Denham half rose to get his tea. .“You shall be spoilt to-day because it's your fortieth birthday.” “Forty, good lord! I am getting into the sere and yellow leaf, you shouldn t remind a chap so brutally of his years.” “And you shouldn't be vainer than the proverbial woman; -but look, Avril wheeled a ’chair in front of her husband, on which she placed a water-colour picture framed in blaek. “Is that in a good light, shall I move the chair?” °“Yes, move it a little to the left an I turn that light higher,” Avril obeyed and watched her husband anxiously as he silently gazed at the picture. . ‘

Denham Boyle's hobby was pictures, and he prided himself not a little on his of them. Landscapes particu-

larly appealed to him, and in this little sunset picture his wife felt, she had secured something he would like. It was a simple thing, yet painted with such breadth and judgment that one knew and loved the quiet, country path bordered on each side by masses of golden "orse. Across the middle of the path "just as it neared the hill-top lay an out-crop of grey liehen-covered stone; the- doctor could see, as he bent forward, the smooth places where countless feet had crossed the obstacle. The background was a radiant sunset sky and in the foreground a solitary, black-faced nibbled the tender shoots of the gorse.

“A rock in the path,” murmured the doctor absently as he leaned back in his chair.

“Oh, Denham, you’ve seen it before then, I am disappointed.”

“No, dear, I’ve not seen it. What do you mean?” “That is the name of the picture, I saw it in a dealer’s and knew you would like it. I was so pleased with it that I brought it home with me just before I came to the surgery for you.” “I like it immensely, come and be thanked properly.” The doctor drew his wife down on to his knee as he spoke, “you 'could have given me nothing that would have pleased me so much. Do you know the artist’s name, I don’t recognise the work.”

“You should remember it, for it is painted by that New Zealand artist who made her name at the Academy last year with her Italian pictures.” “Maud Gell?” “Yes, and you said you had known her for years.” “So I had, it was from her that I quoted those words ‘a rock in the path.’ ” “How curious, Denham. Did she paint when you knew her?” “Yes, but she has improved immeasurably since then. I think though I ought to have recognised that, it is

more like her old work than-the Italian pictures of last year. I am glad she has done'so well, poor Maud.” > "You’re sounding quite sentijnen al. Tell me all about her and why you have never seen or heard from her all these years, for you evidently knew her well.” Avril drew a small chair near her husbands as she spoke. "Oh, I believe,” she continued, “th it I have struck on a hidden romance. Was she the girl whom you loved in those New Zealand days?” The doctor laughed. "Trust a woman for finding things out.” “I’m not finding but,” retorted Avril indignantly, “I only. guessed, but tell me if’l am right. I’ve always,, felt a little jealous of that girl,” : she continued,

as the doctor answered her question with, a silent.gesture of assent,, “arid, ho w I see how clever slie is I feel quite afraid of ger.” i e“You've no need, dear,” the dovtor striked the little hand that lay- on his knife. “I have known Maud Gell since I was a boy, we were always the greatest pals before I went to England for my medical course. When 1 went back to New Zealand I had only a year .there before I took up an appointment in Egypt; because of Maud's refusal to accompany me there I had a few lonely years—seven year’s ago though Maud Gell became- for me but a part of Uie past.”

“A milestone instead of a rock,” mu? mured Avril softly. “Poor Maud, she was. always an ar- , tjst, her one desire from childhood had ‘.JW’ir to go tp Peris and study painting. File did eventually gain her wish, but it was dearly gained.” “How?" “Well, it was when her parents and sister dic’d and she was alone in the world that she was Tree to go, Her parents died’While 1 was in England, and four years later, wheri I had been back, a eauple of months, Jeannie died too. Poor Jeannie was an invalid, and very querulous. She was always complaining that she was a burden, that she knew Maud wanted to go to Paris, that she wished she could die and. then her path would be clear. Maud was very tender with Iler, gallantly suppressing all sigiyc of her desire to go to Paps. For; Jeannle’K. sake she evefi pretended that uow thaf'she was grown up an art life-did not present the same attractions.” " - ■ i “It was then, I suppose, after her sister’s death, that you wanted her -to many you?” “Yes; but she refused me. ‘I have always laughed at Jeannie,” she said, ' ’when she-deehired -that she was a rock in the path, but she was one, dearly as I loved her. Now I'ni free to follow my desire I shall not willingly place any rocks between'me and my goal.’’ ” ‘But you don't call my love a rock,* I exclaimed, angrily. > “ ‘All love that bars me from my art is one,' she answered. > “ ‘Mine would not be. I respect your ’ desire too much to stand in the way.” “‘t could., not marry you and study

art as well. No. don't say any more,”’ ■sl.o added, as 1 stalled to argue again.' ’I know what 1 am doing. 1 care ’for ybtr too mvu-h to niarry'yoa longing and intending- as 1 do to carry out my desire -of years. “f urged in vain; that was Maud’s final answer. At the time 1 was grieved and wounded. It seemed incredible tjiiit a woman should throw away love for art. That, she epred for me 1 knew, but evtxleirtly not .to the extent -he loved her pointing. Now,” and the doctor stroked hip wjfea cheek, “I am more than glad Hint my persuasive powers failed.” “And 1, too,” whispered Avril; “but go eg, you must tell me the end.”

“There's not much more to tell. When I went to say good-bye, Maud had just finished a little picture of the shining waters of the Estuary, with the tumbling waves of the bar in the background, mid a single grey rock in the foreground. ‘There’s a rock in the path •ven there,’ she said, smiling sadly. “ ‘lt is your art that is the rock,’ I eried passionately, ‘and some day you’ll realise it.’

“ ‘Perhaps I shall,' she answered, *but at all events 1 shall be the sufferer, and if 1 married you, longing as I do to study now my path is clear, you would be. As I have said before, Deniiam dear, 1 care for you too inueh to try the experiment.’ The next week I went to Egypt, and after five years the wound that Maud Gell had made was healed.”

‘‘Are you sure,” lAvril whispered. “Even after six years with me, if you met her now you might feel the wound had but been bandaged.” “I understand surgery too well to be deceived,” and the doctor kissed his wife ns lie rose. “I’m a sure cure; don’t you think the mere fact of me telling you nil this shews that?”

“Of course it does. Did you never hear what 'became of Maud Gell, though?” “No. We corresponded intermittently for a couple of years, and then the letters ceased altogether. Maud had told me that her work was very well spoken of in Paris, so 1 was not altogether surprised when I saw her pictures and read of her successes last' year.”

“She cannot have been in London during the last three years or she would eurely have looked you up, Denham. She must have seen the articles about your work in Egypt, and read how you liad come home to settle.” “I’ve no doubt she did, and we’ll come (across her some day. Two such famous people are sure to meet,” the Doctor added, mischievously, as his wife rose from her chair.

“Don’t talk nonsense; or, rather, do, for I’m going to fetch the children, and your present style of conversation will please them. No, don’t ring, I promised to fetch them myself. They have been allowed to sit up to give you their presents; I would not have them down earlier because I wanted you to myself for a little while.

The Doctor lighted a cigarette when he was left alone, and gazed reflectively at the picture. “Maud Gell,” he murmured, and as if in answer to his words the door opened, and the servant announced, “Miss Maud Gell.”

Dr. Boyle turned rapidly to the door •s a slight, dark woman, muffled in furs, advanced to meet him. “Maud!” “Denham!”

“Where have you been all these years?” “Striving to arrive, and at last 1 have done so; and you. too, Denham, I’m so proud of you.” “1 hoped you would be; but look,” and the Doctor pointed to the picture. “Yes; that brought me to you. I was in the shop when your wife bought It, and 1 could not resist the temptation to come.” “Why should you want to resist?” “No reason, except good manners. I don’t know your wife, and I really should have given her the chance of inviting me here, but 1 didn’t, and here I am." “I’m very glad you threw your manners to the winds, and so will Avril be. We were only talking about you just now, and wondering why you had never looked me up.” “I have not been in London since you came back. This is my first visit here for four years. I’m glad you’re married, Denham,” and Maud slipped off her furs as she spoke. “Why?” ‘Oh, I don’t know,” she answered evasively. “Was it because you feared that had I not married your art would have proved itself the rock in my path?” “Perhaps.” and Maud shaded her face ®s much from the Doctor's keen eyes hs from the heat of the fire. “However, it has not been so, and I am longing to meet your wife.” “So you shall. She’ll lie here in a minute with the kiddies. It is festa with them to-day.” “I know; your birthday.” ' “You have remembered- that after al] these years?” “Yes; why not. Kemenilter all the years that we al wives kept it together." “You are quite happy?” the Doctor • sked. Iris quick ear eatchin" a note of pathos iu the lust words. “Your art bus been enough for you—has filled your life?" * 7

Quite quite happy; and you remember that you foretold that I should find my art the rock in my path?” “1 am more than glad that my dismal prophecy has proved false,” returned Denham, gently. “But here comes Avril,” he added, as the door opened and hie wife appeared, with a boy of four clinging to her skirts and a baby, a couple of years younger, in her arms. “Avril, this is Miss Gell. 'She has come to my birthday party.” “I hope 1 am not an unwelcome guest?” “No, indeed; you are too old a friend of Denham to be ever 'that,” answered Avril, looking up affectionately at her husband.

The next hour passed in frolic with the babies and quiet chat after they had been carried oft' to the nursery. “I shall always loye your Rock in the Path, for drawing us together,” said Avril, as she said good-bye, and Maud echoed her words.

After Denham had put her carefully in the taxi, and she had watched him as he stood bareheaded on the cuib, Maud asked herself if, after all, her art had not debarred her from the best jn life. The love and laughter, the fond, close ties between husband and wife, the quiet home life—were they not worth a world* of agt and success in art?

“Your art is the roek, and some day you’ll.prove it!” Those were Deidaam’s word*, and nw that she- hml .seea him again- after -all these .years, she was in. dined to agree with hint. But it was too late, and the rock must ever lie hare and stern across her patha rock placed there with her own hands.