The Storyteller SAL DONOVAN'S JIM.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVI, Issue 7, 20 February 1908, Page 3

The Storyteller SAL DONOVAN'S JIM.

(Concluded from last week.) If the- veil of mystery, behind which men conceal themselves, was brushed suddenly aside, what a strange spectacle thds life would present, when we should see each other as we really are, not as we would be seen. How many a smiling face would cover a broken heart, • and many a radiant soul repose beneath a threadbare waistcoat. What serpents would trail their slimy length through the most perfumed bowers, what thorns, iudc beneath the roses, what cancers mar , the fairest flowers. How surprising it would be to find the life and l death struggle wealth invariably has to. hide with the glitter of its gold the dark shadow of the secreted skeleton) from the world's broad stare. Sir Richard Arund'ale's 'story was truly miserable, sad, and cruel. When over forty years of age he married a young girl of twenty, but their brief wedded' life of two summers had little pleasure in it. He loved the girl as much as it was in his nature to care for anyone, but Ms wife did not even return this little - measure of aHection. The poor-,.girl had been offered an unresisting and innocent victim' on the altar of circumstances, to retrieve the fallen fortunes of a < once stately house, and save a proud and honorable lineage from disgrace and ignominy. Little wonder, then, the reciprocation of affection which makes married state a bliss and harmony was denied their union. The. young wifa did her best to carry out her part in the miserable bargain. She was kind, dutiful, gentle, but her life was from him a thing apart. For a time he had tried to amuse her, to wake her into more active existence^ but finding all his efforts futile, he betook himself to more engrossing, though' in his eyes legitimate, pursuits. A rich man already, his ambition, now became to pile up wealth," and thus began the-keen speculation which was destined to yield an. immense harvest in gold, and- make himi widely known. The nervous uncertainty of each successive venture, followed by the whirlpool of excitement, into which he was plunged by each! success, widened the rift in the lute, and drew Mm from his wifie. Enforced loneliness came as a chilling frost, and she withered away like a delicate, exotic und^r an. unfriendly sky. She dreamed her time away, dreaming, no doubt, of some threat might have ' been. which would have changed all the hues in the sunset of her existence. From his calculations of shares, the baronjt was called to 1 her deathbed, and she glided out of his lifei, forever, leaving him an infant daughter a few months old. How -Nora's childhood years went by he did, not 1 now, as he took little interest in her welfare, and extended neither., the love nor care of a father, but left her at first to the care of the nurse, and afterwards to the care of the governess. It was as if from a sort of trance he awoke to find her returned from a firstclass ladies' school, a lovely girl of eighteen, the very liken ss of her mother. This occasioned a break in the monotony of his existence, for, all at .once, tVe knowledge dawned upon him, that he had his daughter's future to mak,e secure. Gaiety took the place of dulness in the old ancestral mansion, and Nora became the idol of her lather's heart. Suitors came flocking for the young girl's hand, some drawn by, her charms and beauty, Jmt the gi eater number by tantalising visions of a dowry. She rejected all, much to the, amiusement of Sir "Richard, / for she was, quite young, and throuphi time, Ihe catch' of the.srason would be hers. But his aerial dreams- were destin-d to be rudely dissolved. About a year after Nora's home coining, -Walter Driscote, the baronet's sec-: retary, .a bashful young fellow of twenty-three, whom nobody ever noticed, actually told Sir- Richard that, he loved Nora, and that she was quite willing to have him. . 'Tt was the surprise of my lifej'. said Sir Richard whos-* story I will now continue in his own words :— ' Yet, what could I do ? I told him to wait until T should think the matter ' over. .1 talked to Nora remonstrated with her, went so far as to swear at her bit it was all no use. That night I meditated a cruel .Ha". Next day I told Driscote, much to his surprise - T think, that I gave my consent freely. Nora was de^" lighted. She flung* her arms ro.und^mv" neck kissed meand.inurmured, "dear, good, kind datidv." May God .forgive me for my act. I took her little face radiant with new-born joy, between my hands, and pressed a kiss, a treacherous Judas kiss, upon Tier smiling ling.

They were -married ;q)uietly : one morning, and on I the Same day I dismissed Dr.scoie and cast him and my own child adrift on the world. on their bridal morn, it was a cruel day's worK, sir, but I did not. stop there. No sooner was Driscote set. led in any position he chanced to get, wh.n,l swooped down, lii:e the -vulture on its prey, and had him turned adrift again. Wealth, no matter who communds it, sir, has an influence that character and ability are powerless to combat. About a year after his marriage, Driscote left Nora in the care of his sister, a teacher in a day school, and started for America in the hopes of making a homo and a fortune for his wife and sitter, but the liner took lire in mid ocean, and he went down forever from .all earthly struggles in a wii.d.ng sheet of flame to a cold and dismal grave. I was content ih.n, and went on liling up my wealth with renewed energy. I had no thoughts to waste en Nora.' He paused for a time, and pressed his hands 'between his knees and rocked himself sadly to • and fro, ■while the tears rolled down his cheeks. j