LIFE AND LOVE AGAIN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 21, 22 May 1912, Page 55

LIFE AND LOVE AGAIN.

By

M. E. LEA (Winton).

IT was sixty years ago. and about six o’clock on a summer afternoon, when John AVestrop. riding slowly on the outskirts of a New Zealand forest, was startled by a long-drawn-out cry, “ Coo-ee, Coo-ee-ee.” Looking back, he saw a tiny homestead nestling in a bend of the bush, and near it a man waving his hat as a signal to the rider to return. This he was not sorry to do, for he had ridden far that day. and had hoped to have reached his destination early in the afternoon. “This must be Leigh’s place! How on earth could I have missed it!” he exclaimed aloud as he cantered back. . “ Why, Westrop, this is indeed a pleasant surprise. 1 thought to offer hospitality to a stranger, and find myself entertaining a friend unawares,’ said Leigh, as he grasped the hand of his old ehum, and new partner. •• I got away sooner than I expected,” Westrop explained. "Do you possess Gvges* ring, Leigh?” he asked. "I swear there was no farm or house visible as I passed here a few minutes ago.” " Yet it is not a hundred yards from the track. Only a ‘ new chum’ would have missed it.' An old settler would have known at a glance that this bend in the bush was a likely spot for a house,” replied Leigh As they approached the house they were met by Airs. Leigh, who had come out in answer to the “coo-ee.’ “ Kate, it is Westrop,” said Leigh, while his eyes shone with pleasure. “ I’m so glad.” Kate said. - i‘ We have been counting the days till you should come, and it rs good of you'to have come sooner than we expected.” “ I worked like a galley slave to hurry things through,” Westrop explained, “and left as soon as I obtained my diploma.” "We did not quite understand why your father wished you to obtain that before coming to farm in the backblocks.” said Kate. “ He thought I had neglected my studies while at college,” began Westrop. •• So you had.” Leigh interjected. “I know,” admitted AA'estrop. “And he said I must go through some definite course of study before he would give me a share in this venture of ours. He said I was too one-sided, and that a course of reading would serve to balance me and show me I was something more than a mere healthy animal.” “But why medicinet” Kate wanted to know. “ Ob, he left the choice of a subject to me, and as I was compelled to follow a groove, medicine was as good as any other. There was something practical about it. and it pleased the mother. She thinks I shall be useful to sick folk here. She gave me a magnificent ease of instruments', and a well-furnished medicine chest as a part of my kit. * “You will not have many opportunities of using them,” remarked Leigh. “ We are all so splendidly healthy that a doctor who depended on his practice would starve in the country and would make but a poor living in the towns.” Westrop’s eyebrows went up. “Towns”, he exclaimed. " Don’t be scornful.’’ retorted Leigh. “We eall them towns, and we depend on them for all our -tores.” “And we call this a house,” said Kate brightly, ” though, as you see. it is only one large room built of rough board-, and the windows are merely holes in the walls.” “We have shutters, though, r ’ murmured Leigh, as they stepped indoors. “We use them on whichever side the wind happens to be blowing.” “ If you had lived a whole year under canvas you would consider this JuxuriOhs,” said Kate. “You still have a use for canvas,’

Westrop remarked tentatively, as he glanced round the room. “ Those are our bedrooms,” Kate explained. “ Tour’s is the middle one. And we don’t eall that canvas; we say curtains. The advantage of having our bedrooms merely curtained off from the liv-ing-room and from one another is that we get all the ventilation in the summer ami all the warmth in the winter.” “ I see. It is, as vou sav. luxurious. It ” He broke off abruptly, astonished into siler, eby the appearance in the doorway of a vision of loveliness. The girl held a brimming milk-pail in her hand. On her head was a blue sunbonnet, from beneath which strayed rebellious curl-. There was a natural, noble grace in her attitude. AA'ho could this queenly milkmaid be? He heard as from a great distance Kate's voice saying: “ Winifred, this is Air. AA'estrop,” and then he remembered Leigh had written: “Aly little sister, AVinifred, has elected to join us,

and right glad we are to have her.” He had pictured the “ little sister ” a halfgrown girl with lank, dark hair, like her brother's. “ A self-willed little hoyden,” he had mentally dubbed her. She was a brown beauty with glorious eyes that quietly and deliberately appraised him before they smiled a welcome. “ Another of our luxuries,” remarked Leigh with a dry smile, as his guest, in sitting down to tea, struck bis knee against the side of the large packingcase which, covered with a snow-white doth, did duty as a table. “ ’I shall get used to them all in time,” AA'estrop replied as he ruefully rubbed the injured knee. “ It will not take you long.” AA’inifred interposed, as she smiled upon him kindly though somewhat dazzlingly. “You like the life here?’ he asked, involuntarily. “It is as the breath of my nostril-.’’ she replied enthusiastically. “ Both Kate and I revel in it.” “ But the ’ luxuries' ?” he questioned doubtfully. " AVe are such stuff as pioneers are made of,” replied the girl, gaily. “ Wo enjoy even the ’ luxuries.’ And as for

the hardships, such as stock-riding, and that sort of thing, well, as I said before, we simply revel in them. Confess. Kate.” turning to her sister-in-law, who was busy with the teacups, “confess that you never enjoyed a run after the hounds as you did that mad gallop after th? cattle last week.” “ I admit it. dear. We were helping Arthur to muster the stock,” she explained to Westrop. "I am eager to begin work,’’ he said. “We shear the sheep next. You will begin upon that to-morrow morning,’’ Leigh remarked grimly. Westrop’s face fell, while Winifred laughed merrily. “We all have to do ‘th? duty that lies nearest.’ so there is no escape for you,’-* she said. Westrop proved an apt scholar, and soon there wa< nothing in the ordinary routine of farm work that he could not do. He enjoyed every hour of the peaceful, happy days.

“Have you no fear of the natives?*’ he asked one day soon after his arrival. “No,” replied Leigh. “They are troublesome in the North, but thosa about here are quite friendly. They are not numerous, either. Still, if they had a grievance they would be treacherous. Were you, for instance, to offend them it would quite satisfy their sen-o of justice to tomahawk me or any other white man within reach if they could not get at you. But no one ever illtreats them, and we have no trouble with them when they wander this way. We befriend them whenever we can, and since we have no white neighbour* within a radius of a hundred miles, we haven’t any of their faults to answer for. “They tell in town of terrible atrocities in the North.” remarked Westrop. “Ye*, but the war will not last long, and the Southern Maoris do not take much interest in it,” said Leigh. Months of work and happy comradeship passed rapidly, and when the lovely, buoyant spring days came Westrop rede off to the hills to art as shepherd. Before passing out of sight round the bush he looked back and saw his three

friends still standing at the gate. He reined in his horse, and as he did s > Kate held high the. baby boy who had lately come to gladden their hom?. Westrop raised his hat. and with a boyish laugh of sheer happiness rod' away with no foreboding of the sad fat? so near to them. During the weeks of his absence h ’ thought much of the simple colonial home. Leigh and Kate were like brother and sister to him, while Winifred, though nothing in her manner had ever shown more than a cheerful friendliness, had become the one woman in all the world for him. He loved th? girl not only for her peerless beauty, but for her noble mind, her high cour age and simple, loving nature. In th? long. lonely evenings as he sat by hn tamp fire his thoughts dwelt almost continually on Winifred. In the sleeph -s watches of the night her image was always before him. since they had been together life had been all sunshine, except for the two terrible days when side by side they had fought for Kate’s life and the life of her child. He had never seen anything so beautiful as Winifred’s eyes raised to his as he said at last: “All danger is over.” The dampness of her brow had made her hair curl bewitehingly. and her sweet lips quivered as -he >aid in a half-strangled voice: “We owe both lives to you.” His eyes grew moist at the recollection, so that he could no longer see the stars above him. As he rode homeward- he resolved to speak to Winifred, and by the very strength of his love win hers. That very evening he would get Kate to arrange an opportunity for him. When he came within sight of the house he saw no one about. "It is the first time I have returned after even a single day’s absent without finding them all watching for me.” he sai l with a chill sense of disappointment. When he cantered up to the gate no one came out, but Winifred sat in the garden, singing softly. “She is singing the child to .sleep,’’ he thought, as he quietly approached her. But she had no child in her arms. She was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, singing softly. she must have heard his horse’s hopCbeat. An indefinable fear fell upon him. “Miss Leigh- ” he began. At the sound of his voice she rose swiftly and faced him in silence. “Oh, what had happened to Winifred’s lovely eyes’.”--He knew them for Winifred’s eyes with the light of reason gone out of them. Before him was stately form—“empty of mind.” “Winifred’ Winifred!” he cried, as he took her hand. When she felt his warm touch she clasped his in both of hers and laughed gleefully, childishly. As he led her towards the house he asked piteously: "Winifred, what is it? What can have made you like this?” She mad? no reply, but soon he knew. Near the doorstep lay Kate. Arthur and the baby boy—dead. Winifred passed them without a glance. Westrop stooped to examine the bodies, and found they had been tomahawked —the work of the Maoris. Sick with grief and horror, he followed Winifred indoors, and the sight of her indifference utterly unmanned him. When he had recovered some degree of composure he went out and reverently brought in the bodies and laid them side by side on Kate’s bed. As he covered them tenderly he almost envied them their repose. “Why couldn’t my dear love have died, too?” he moaned. He returned to the living room and set food upon the table. Winifred ate greedily, like one half famished. When the hunger was appeased she, to Westrop’s relief, went to her room. Later he looked in and saw that she slept. All night he lay awake, planning how l»est to serve her. At daybreak he ro-e and began to prepare breakfast. While he was trying to make a scone Winifred came out of her room. By some unaccountable instinct she had followed her usual habit and dressed neatly—even her hair w.i- becomingly arranged. At breakfast she took her food daintily a* if in imitation of her companion—there was none of ye-t iday’s li.i-tc ami greediness. Since she was quite unembarrassed by hi* scrutiny Westrop studied her closely. She had possessed a thoroughly wellbalanced mind, with a high spirit not easily crushed. and he found it impossible to account for her imbecility.

She spoke not at all, seamed not to understand anything he said to her, but liked to lie near him. She stood by while he buried their dead in one grave in a sunny corner of the garden, but she showed no particular interest in what he was doing. lie resolved to take her to town at once. But Winifred, docile in all else, positively refused to mount the horse. She drew him away with signs of su<h abject terror that he had to give up his project. So he settled down to work and wait till the autumn stores should be brought. It might then be possible to induce her to return in the wagon, or they might have help sent out to them. He worked hard, hoping thus to banish grief and care. In all he did Winifred was constantly with him. She followed him about with a dumb devotion that went far towards comforting him. Autumn passed and winter set in; yet the carriers did not come. Westrop wondered at this, for he knew that stores had been ordered, and he could think of no reason why they should not have been brought. However, he was short of nothing, and deep down in his heart he was glad that none came to take Winifred from him. He could not bear to think of anyone seeing her as she was, and the best life held for him now was to serve her tenderly and reverently. Spring had returned, when one day Winifred hurt her hand, and Westrop gently dressed the wound, which proved a very fortunate one, for after she had retired for the night she returned to the living room. Her hair hung over her shoulders in loveliest profusion; her hand was pressed on the top of her head. “What is it, Winifred!” Westrop asked tenderly. “Have you hurt yourself again!” He examined the place where her hand rested, aud found there an injury, not new. At once he understood. The Maoris had struck her down and left her for dead. Her consciousness had returned, but something pressing upon the brain had caused her loss of reason. A flood of half delirious joy swept over him. He caught her hands and spoke wild words of love and gladness. Then, utterly unstrung, he buried his face in her lap and cried like a woman till his nerves grew steady. Winifred ran her fingers through his hair and laughed gleefully over this new plaything. When he grew calm Westrop carefully thought out all the details of an operation, and after he had sent Winifred to bed made what preparations he could. Early in the morning, before she woke, he went to her room. Some hours later the operation was over, and she was sleeping off the effects of the anaesthetic, while her doctor sat motionless, watching with an outward professional calm that hid a world of anguished anxiety for her first conscious moment. She opened her eyes and smiled drowsily. Then the smile faded, and she a-.ked, anxiously: "What is the matter! Is Kate worse?” “Xn,” he answered steadily; ’ Kate is better.” She smiled and slept again. It was impossible to hie from her the knowledge of what had happened, and the shock retarded her recovery and made convalescence more than usually tedious. •She had no recollection of the tragedy. Iler memory carried her back to the Wednesday of the second week of Westrop’s absence. That afternoon they had all worked happily in the garden while the baby slept in his cradle near. From that time her mind was an absolute blank till she awoke in bed to find Westrop watching over her. To see her natural grief w is happiness after the misery of witnessing her former imbecile indifference. Yet he pitied her from the depths of his being. To meet such sorrow standing was hard enough, but to face it while weak and helpless without the relief of bodily activity was enough to make the bravest quail. He nursed her with tendere.t, most delicate care. Weeks passe I before she could leave her bed, but when she wa.s able to get about sire improved faster, and was soon taking her share in the lighter household duties and giving some help in the garden. “This is a terribly lonely life for you,” Westrop said one day. as he looked with sad sympathy at the girl as she sat sewing. ‘"But I can see no way of altering it yet. You must not attempt the journey to town until you are much

stronger. If we had a second horse it might be managed soon.”. “Never mind,” replied Winifred, “I am happier here than I could be anywhere else. There is a certain satisfaction in sticking to one's post. Arthur and I were determined to succeed in this venture, and it comforts me to carry on his work.” “I am glad you -are not impatient to get away,” said Westrop. “I feel as you do about Leigh’s unfinished work,” he added. “I shall stiek to it, of course.” “Yes,” she said; “of course.” He looked at her wistfully. He longed to ask for more than this trustful comradeship, but in the circumstances to ask was out of the question. Even as he looked she smiled upon him, and the frank friendliness of her glance killed his rising hope. In the autumn, the Bishop, whose wide diocese comprised the whole colony, passed that way. He gladly accepted their hospitality. He had not expected to find anyone tlvere, for news of the massacre had reached town months before he left. The natives had made no secret of their evil deed, but had boasted of the completeness of their revenge in that they had not left one alive. Their motive was a fancied grievance against a trader. While they smoked their after-dinner pipe, Westrop told of Winifred’s long ill ness and slow recovery. “You have passed through terrible experiences,” said the Bishop, sympathetically. ‘’But, Miss Leigh need not endure the loneliness much longer. Early next month I shall be returning this way, and shall be Happy to act as her escort to town. We can send back your horse with the men and the stores.” “You are very good, Bishop; that will be a very suftable arrangement,” said Westrop. But his heart felt like lead. "Winifred would be strong enough for the journey now that there was a second horse available, and he must give her up. “Yes,” said the Bishop, as he remarked the pain in the young man’s eyes, “a very suitable arrangement, unless you can think of a better one~\vhile I am away.” The Bishop continued his journey, and John Westrop tried to hide the heaviness of his heart, but with no particular success. Winifred noticed his depression, and rejoiced. “Now he will speak. He will not let me go,” she thought. But he did not speak. “She cares for me only as a friend,” he thought, “and it will grieve her to refuse me.” The last day came. Then Winifred took matters into her own hands. In the evening, as Westrop sat out of doors watching the sunset and thinking how lonely he would be at that hour to-mor-row, she eame and sat beside him. “The Bishop will soon be back,” she said, “and I have much to say to you. I have never thanked you for all you have done for me.” “Ah, don’t. It hurts!” he interrupted, hastily. “I am not going to." she said, in her low, sweet, soothing voice. “Listen to me quietly while I tell you why. “You took kind care of me when I was a walking horror. Don’t interrupt,” she commanded, as he essayed to speak. “1 shudder to think of all you must have endured from me. But, John, I thank God daily that it was you, and no other man or woman, who had the care of me then. You gave me back my reason. Yet I offer you no thanks. Thanks would be a poor, quite inadequate, return for so priceless a gift. Then you nursed me with a patience passing the patience of woman. Gf all the precious, services you rendered me then I would not give up one for a king’s ransom, for they were given with a tenderness and delicacy that make the recollection a sweet possession, a gift unspeakably precious.” “John,” she asked softly, “can you guess why I accept all these things without even a desire to repay you! Can you guess why they are a great joy and no burden to me!" “I dare not guess," he replied ly“It is.” she continued, “because you have for me a still greater gift, which you long yet fear to offer. But, whether yon offer it or not, it is mine. And 1 have for you one to equal it—yes, John, one to equal ft.” She paused, half laughing, half crying.

“Ah, John." she continued, piteously, “I cannot offer it if you do not ask for it.” Then he understood. “I am almost afraid I offered my love after all,” she said, some minutes later, as site raised her face from the safe shelter of his shoulder. “I don’t know about that,” he replied unsteadily. “I only know that the desire of my heart has come to me, and 1 am almost dazed with joy.” When the Bishop eame, there was still light enough for him to read their faces. “I see,” he said, as he took the hand Winifred offered him in greeting, “Westrop has thought of a more suitable arrangement, and I am to marry you before leaving in the morning.