For Love’s Sweet Sake

New Zealand Tablet, 18 December 1913, Page 11 (Supplement)

For Love’s Sweet Sake

' Tlie old farmhouse I see again— Its low, dark eaves, the twittering wren It nested long ago. And I breathe once mure the south wind's balm, And sit and watch in the twilight's calm The bat flit to and fro.' Mullaghmoyle could not be called picturesque or beautiful. There are no towering mountains rising in

solitary grandeur towards the blue sky ; no deep valleys or romantic glens, with sheltered nooks and shady paths for lovers to ramble through. It is a flat, quiet, peaceful place, with no pretension to grandeur or —nothing to attract or hold the attention of the casual observer. But Mullaghmoyle has a charm and attraction all its own. The gently rising eminences, the sheltered fields stretching away for miles, and dotted

her© and there with little cabins and thatched farmhouses, present a picture of sweet home life suggestive of rural comfort and rural happiness. Moreover, it has the ruins of an old castle, and an old monastery, and a fairy fort, and in the eyes of Mullaghmoyle these things are great, conveying to the imaginative mind visions of other daysvisions of the shadowy past in Erin.

Hard by the broad road that runs through the heart of Mullaghmoyle, from one prosperous Ulster town to another, three farmhouses stand, only a shortdistance apart, like three beads on a string. Once they were trim and neat, with trellised porches and

gardens filled with lovely flowers, bearing striking testimony to the artistic taste and industrious habits of the owners; and not very many years ago there were not three happier families in Mullaghmoyle than the inhabitants of those three houses. They had lived on terms of close intimacy, and it was the belief of all Mullaghmoyle that their friendship would be strengthened by still stronger ties.

Richard O’Neill’s two daughters, Fannie and Sheila, were two of the prettiest girls in the district. Sheila, the younger, was gay, lively, and fascinating in her manner; but Fannie was more beautiful, also more serious and womanly. Since the days of their childhood Frank Hagan and Jim Casey had been friends and companions of the two sisters, and succeeding years saw an ever-increasing friendship between them. Roth girls had a great many admirers, particularly Fannie, whose lovers were legion but Frank O’Hagan had ever been her ideal, and held first place in her affections. Unasked and unencouraged, save by the marked deference with which he always treated her, she blushed to acknowledge, even in secret, how

much she admired him, and she was happy in the thought that he loved her. Love had ever been an unspoken word between them : but his glad smile when ho met her expressed more than mere friendship, and t he tone of his voice as lie addressed her had a significant tenderness that told as plainly as words the true state of his feelings towards her. Yet he fancied his secret well kept, and refrained from giving utterance to the love that was like a. steady flame in his soul, because his prospects were not settled. He was the youngest son of a largo family, and was, practically speaking, penniless; while, on the other hand, Fannie was an heiress in a small way. Her father’s extensive

farm would one day bo hers, besides a large sum of money in the bank, and Frank dreaded that the world would say, and even Fannie herself might think, that it was on account of her wealth he wished to make her his wife.

Fannie, with mingled feelings of vexation and pleasure, understood why he would not speak, read all the pride that was the barrier between his comparative poverty and her wealth; but feeling somewhat piqued at his coldness, she took a lover’s pleasure in keeping him in suspense, never doubting but at last his love for her would gain mastery over his pride, and that he would one day whisper in her ear the oft-told tale. But she under-estimated the strength of Frank’s will-

power. Though ever in dread lest some rich suitor might step in and carry off the prize he so much longed to possess, he had made a resolution not to make mention of his love to Fannie until there came a change in his fortunes.

Matters stood thus, when a short time before Christmas an incident occurred that materially changed all things for him —changed his calm, uneventful, but withal happy existence, for a life of trouble, and wellnigh brought ruin to them all. A frost had set in, accompanied by a slight fall of snow, and Frank, who was a devotee of all out-door sports, was returning after spending the day, with dog and gun, on Altmore

Mountain, some three miles distant from Mullaghmoyle. His way home led past the old monastery, and ere he had reached it darkness had fallen. The night was cold and chilly, and a north wind was blowing, which whispered eerily in the ivy on the ruined walls of the old building. An involuntary shudder passed through him as he listened to the sighing wail of the wind, for the old monastery was associated in the minds of the peasantry with ghosts, spirits, and horrible phantoms of the unseen world, and there were few in Mullaghmoyle who

would pass it after dark. Frank had quickened his step on aproaching the ruin, and was almost past it, when a loud groan sounded from the other side of the wall that separated the grounds around the monastery from the road. He was the last man in the world to shrink from danger if coming from any natural cause —from any source that he could meet and battle with ; but, in common with the other inhabitants of Mullaghmoyle, he had a dread of the supernatural, and regarded with awe those mysterious beings that haunt this earth, and that have given such unmistak-

able proof of their existence to many whose veracity we cannot doubt. He now felt really frightened. In a few moments the groan was repeated, louder and more sepulchral than before. This increased his terror, for no doubt was in his mind but the unearthly groans come from some spirit in distress, or else that it was a ruse on the part of some mischievous members of the ‘ fairy host ’ that wished to lure him for some sinister purpose into the old ruin. For the third time the groan was repeated, followed by a loud cry for help, and at last Frank began

to think he might be astray in believing the groans to be the result of any supernatural agency, but perhaps came from someone who had met with an accident, and was calling for assistance. The thought that some person might be in need of help quickly banished his fears, and without delay he vaulted over the wall. 11. The moon was at the full, but dark clouds scurrying across the sky obscured her light at times, and it was only intermittingly that she cast a shadowy and

uncertain light on the mouldering ruins, and on the spectral-looking headstones in the old graveyard. Strange, hissing, whispering sounds reached his ears, as if all around him in the semi-darkness lurked ghosts and goblins and wicked spirits bent on his destruction; but presently he discovered that these sounds were caused by the wind, as it swept through the long withered grass. Then a series of low, moaning sounds issued, apparently, from underneath the tombstone beside where he stood, suddenly rising into a wild shriek, and eventually dying down to a long-drawn, tremulous sob of pain. For a space there was silence, and Frank stood horrified, utterly unable to move or speak.

‘Help! Help!’ came the agonising cry again, and suddenly the moon shone brightly, revealing to him the form of a man lying close beside the tombstone. Still in doubt whether the prostrate form was really mortal or not, ho stooped down and inquired: ‘ In heaven’s name, what is the matter with you?’ ‘ My leg is broken, I think,’ came the response, in a voice of pain, ‘ and my head — oh, my head ! I can’t bear it!’

Frank now stooped lower to get a view of the man's features, and to his surprise saw that it was no less a personage than Sir Aubrey Travers. He had fired from the road, he told Frank, at a hare which he had seen hopping leisurely over the graves, and having only wounded it, he jumped over the wall, intent on securing the quarry ere it escaped, not noticing, in his excitement, the drop on the inside of the wall. Instead of alighting on his feet on solid earth, he fell heavily forward on the old tombstone, breaking his leg and almost fracturing his skull. Frank saw that he would be obliged to seek assistance to get him removed to some place where he could be suitably attended to, and explaining this to Sir Aubrey, hastened off to procure help from a neighboring farmer’s house. Half an hour later Sir Aubrey was borne into Richard O’Neill’s comfortable kitchen. O’Neill’s house was chosen by Frank, as he knew the injured man was sure of better attendance there than in any other house conveniently near. A

doctor was sent for without delay, and on examining Sir Aubrey, announced that there was no danger of his injuries proving fatal ; but it was most necessary, he said, that he should be allowed to remain where he was for a few days.

It was with feelings of regret that four days later Sir Aubrey left that unpretentious abode for his own stately residence. Fannie’s sweet, serious blue eyes haunted him night and day, and as soon as he was sufficiently recovered he found his way back to her home. He chanced to see her very often, and she seemed not averse to his attention, though, as a matter of fact, she was only playing a part, trying to kindle the fire of love with the flame of jealousy. She knew it would arouse a feeling of jealousy in Frank’s breast to see her acknowledging Sir Aubrey’s marked attentions, and perhaps be the means of making him forget his pride and his poverty, and cause him to tell her what she so much longed to hear. ' Frank noted with consternation the progress of events, saw, as he thought, a marked change in Fannie’s manner towards himself, and believed, with

an awful feeling of despair at his heart, that there was

little chance for the success of his cherished hopes. Thus the winter and spring passed, she watching with mischievous enjoyment her lover’s sad looks and hopeless mien; but at the same time feeling disappointed and angry with him for his coldness, that he could thus allow her to receive attentions from another man, and not make an effort to win her for himself.

111. Under the trees in the orchard, under the clear blue sky of a May night, with tangled, flower-starred grasses beneath their feet, and the apple boughs, laden with fragrant blossoms above, stood Frank and Fannie. She was just after parting with Sir Aubrey Travers, and Frank had watched for her in the orchard, knowing she would have to pass through it returning to the house. Standing directly in her path, and speaking in a slightly imperious tone, he told her that he wished to say a few words to her. Her heart beat fast with

delight. Had he had last overcome his cold, restraining pride, and was he going to tell her he loved her, and claim her for his own ?

‘ Do you ?’ she asked him quietly, but with a slow, shy glance at him from her shadowy blue eyes. That one glance into his cold, stern face, however, quickly destroyed her new-born hopes. He looked more like an angry father about to rebuke a wayward child for some act of folly, than an impassioned lover. Never before had he ventured to give her any advice with regard to Sir Aubrey; but with a woman’s quick intuition, she guessed what was coming now, and as she stood in silence, waiting for him to speak, she wondered vaguely what strange whim had taken him. ‘ Fannie, he said, ‘ I have often longed to speak to you about allowing that man to meet and talk with you, but I relied on your good sense, thinking you would at last see the folly of your conduct, and give him up. I see I have been sadly mistaken in you ; I believe you are really encouraging him. Being an old friend of yours, and one whom you know wishes you well,’ here his voice faltered a little, ‘ I hope you will not feel offended with me for giving you an advice to stop his company. No good ever came of such intercourse as he and you are carrying on.’

‘ You mean to say,’ she replied coldly, ‘ that I am not good enough to speak to, or associate on terms of intimacy with a personage like Sir Aubrey Travers?’ ‘ That is not my meaning, Fannie,’ he answered. ‘ I mean to say that you are a hundred thousand times too good for him : that you are as far above him as the stars, shining so pure and bright in the blue sky, are above this sordid, matter-of-fact old world of ours; almost as the throne of the Infinite is above the lowest pit of the Infernal.’

‘ And am I such a paragon of perfection in your eyes that you think me too good for a man who has a title? You know if I became his wife I would be Lady Travers? Doesn’t it sound nice, “My Lady!”’ She laughed softly as she spoke, and, coming a step closer to him. she laid her little white hand on his arm. •

‘ If he had a hundred titles he would not be good enough for von, Fannie,’ Frank said warmly. She laughed —a little nervous laugh.

‘ And why. may I ask. do you think me too good for him? Besides having a title, he is very handsome: while I am only a poor girl, and I can lay no special claim to being pretty, can I?’

‘ It was really an invitation for him to tell her she was handsome; she meant it for such.

‘ You,’ he said, a passionate tone creeping into his voice, ‘ arc altogether beautiful. All earth’s loveliness of shine and shade and tender coloring is incarnate in you.’

She raised sinning eyes to his face. It was the first time he ever paid her such a high compliment. For a moment his self-control went from him. The rapture of her very nearness made him forget his pride, and all his brave resolutions; and with a sudden, uncontrollable movement, he caught her hands in his. ‘Fannie!’ he said, low and passionately, ‘Fannie!’ Holding both her hands in his, his face transfigured with the light of love, he looked into her eyes that somehow had to meet his. There was a breathless pause, and the girl, standing so close beside him, thought that he must hear her heart beating. At last her dream was coming true, she thought ; but alas ! the happiness she longed for was not to be hers. All at once the eager love and transfiguring light died out of his countenance, and once more cold reason asserted its sway. Dropping her hands, he moved back a step. ‘Forgive me, Fannie!’ he said, abruptly. I forgot something that I should always remember.’

Fannie experienced an overwhelming feeling of disappointment and wounded pride. It was the very irony of fate that the only man she cared for should be strong enough to stifle his love for her. Utterly shamed in her own eyes, and angry with him that his pride had conquered his love, she decided to let him see that she, too, could be proud. ' I think you have gone a little too far,' she said, ' and taken liberties Tor which you owe me an apology. T don't see that you have any right to counsel me with regard to my actions, and I wish you to know that I shall do just as I please.' The next moment she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the moonlit orchard. For over a week they did not meet, he having no desire to speak to her after what had occurred, and she seeming studiously to avoid him. Fannie, who possessed a more refined and a more artistic taste than any of the other girls in Mullaghmoyle, was always chosen to decorate our Lady's altar in the little chapel, and one evening towards the end of May she had a large quantity of flowers cut and arranged for taking with her. When all were collected, they made a very great armful, and Sheila, who was present also, seeing Frank pass the gate, ordered him to come and carry the flowers for Fannie. He begged to be excused, saying he had other pressing business to attend to, but Sheila was a little lady accustomed to having her own way in most things, and would not be denied. Fannie, seeing the hesitation in Frank's eyes, declared she was quite able to carry them herself; but Sheila would not hear of her doing so. ' It would be a shame,' she said, ( to see a big fellow like him walking about at his ease, and a young girl carrying such a heavy burden.' So there was nothing left for Frank but to go, and needless to say, he did not think it an unpleasant task carrying that fragrant armful—those great red and pink" and yellow buds just bursting into bloom, and those glistening snow-white and scarlet blossoms, every one of which, he knew, Fannie's soft hands had touched. But he had refused to go with her, thinking she dicT not want his company. ' I am very sorry you were forced into carrying them,' Fannie said haughtilv, as they stepped out on the white road, all flecked bv the evening sun, and cool, green-tree shadows. 'I wanted to come!' Tb* words escaped his lips involuntarilv. One glance at Fannie, gowned in softest, filmiest white muslin, with a little handful of pink held against her breast, and looking, for all her firb'sh heicrht and slimness. like a veritable child, with her pale blue sash, elbow sleeves, and pretty straightbrimmed hat. made him forget evervthine in the world save tliA sweet, allunrif charm of her presence. 'Did you, indeed!' she asked coldly. 'Only that I understand your nature too well to doubt your

word, i would say that you were telling an untruth, if, as you say, you wanted to come, you have the very strangest way of showing it — an entirely different way from that of other young men I have known.’ ‘ L suppose,’ he said, in a voice tense and hard, ‘ I am different from those other men.’

' Very different,’ she agreed, and a little flush rose in her pure face, a-s she reflected that to her there was no other man like him in all the world. The conversation was taking a dangerous turn for Frank. Had he answered her his words would have been wild ones—words that he should wish unsaid the moment they were uttered, and he walked on in silence by her side. He remained in the little church while she arranged the flowers, and as he watched her move through the sacred, edifice with reverential step, a look of spiritual gravity in her sweet, serious blue eyes, he felt more in love with her than ever. As they walked homeward, the sun had dipped below the horison, but all the western sky was glowiim gold and crimson, and little shafts of deepest ambershot through the cool green of the trees that arched over the quiet road. The air was full of the fragrance of damp ferns and moss in the ditches, and the* birds called soft good-nights to each other from their nests in the deepening twilight. Fannie, who took in every detail of the scene, drew a long breath of pure enjoyment. ‘ How lovely it is!’ she said softly. Lovely beyond all words,’ he agreed: bill lor once he had no eyes for Nature’s beauties. He had yielded to the seductive glamor of the spell that her presence seemed to have cast around him, and felt wholly absorbed in the divine, ecstatic rapture of the moment— dreaming the while of the happiness that would be his if he still could have this sweetest girl in all the world by his side. On reaching the orchard beside Fannie’s house, they stopped. The evening light was on the girl’s hail the flickering leaf-shadows trembling across her lace, and creeping into her blue eyes. The flush was gone from her cheeks, the smile from her lips, and with a little sigh she allowed her gaze to rest for a moment on Franks face; then she raised her small, pure face towards the blue sky. The last remnant of his selfcontrol was fast slipping away under the influence of that dreamy hour. The subtle fragrance of flowers and ti ees and shrubs floated to him, and took his senses captive, and, looking at the slight, white-gowned figure at his side, his eyes grew dark and dreamy and passionate.

It was for the last time, lie told himself, he would ever look in her eyes. In future he would avoid her; then there would be no temptation, only loneliness and a torturing memory. The girl, feeling his burning gaze, lowered her head, and gave him one swift glance. At the sight of the white misery in his face, a great rush of pity, born of the mother instinct in every sensitive woman's breast, filled her heart. ' Why should she not make one more bid for love and happiness? Why should he, for a foolish scruple, spoil both their lives? He loved her, and surely she could tempt him beyond his strength.' ' You,' she said softly, standing slender, shy, and surely irresistible beside" him, 'look troubled. It makes me sad to think of you as being unhappy.' It was the last straw. In the sweetness of her solicitude for him, the little proprietary air that brought back the dream of a moment ago, he forgot his pride and his poverty—forgot everything save that he wanted her for himself. ' Fannie,' he said passionately, ' shall I tell you why I feel troubled?' 'Yes, do,' she answered: 'I shall be very glad to be your confidante.' ' It is because I dread to see you in the society of a man whom I know is one to be avoided : and Fannie, you must give him up!' The color swept from her face, and she drew away from him, a half fear of him in this passionate mood mingling with her triumphant gladness. 'May I ask why?' she inquired, somewhat coldly.

‘ Because he is not fit. to touch your hand; he is not an honorable man, Fannie.’ Your reasonsnot that 1 .admit your right, to argue the point at allare insufficient. 1 shall keep his society as long as I choose.’ ( Oh, Fannie, surely you do not mean that.’ ‘ Once more, may 1 ask why, and by what rmht do you interfere in the matter at all ?’ ° .Because, Fannie, I love you, and I want you for myself; because I could not endure to see you another man’s wife.’

At last everything that had so long held them apart was by him forgotten, and there in the twilight his arms went round her swiftly. The girl’s head lay back against his shoulder, her great, beautiful eyes searching his face shyly, and her lips parted in a little shuddering sigh. Yes, I love you, Fannie, and I want you for my wife; but you are rich and beautiful, and I am poor, and have nothing to offer you but my love. There are many who would say that it was not for love I wished to marry you.’ As he spoke he released her gently from his arms. ‘ Probably out of all the men who love you, I am the least likely to be chosen by you.’ Standing a little way off from him, her slender hands clasped in front of her, Fannie looked at him demurely. You,’ she said, ‘ are very sure of everything. I don’t like people who take things for granted.’ ' Fannie,’ he breathed, coming a step nearer, is it possible you mean ’

' I mean I care nothing for what anyone says, and you might ask me what I believe, and I mean that your last reasons why I should not keen Sir Aubrey's society are sufficient for me.' 'O, Fannie, my darling!' he cried softly, and caught her in his arms once more. ***** A week had passed, a week of unutterable bliss for Frank and Fannie : and be, walking through the orchard, in the dreamy hush of a June twilight, his feet falling noiselessly on the velvety grass, heard voices from amid the trees. He paused to listen, for he recognised Fannie's voice, and also that of Sir Aubrey Travers. ' You told me you loved —if, indeed, you loved me, you would surely grant my request; you would not do what you know will break my heart. Oh, how can you be so cruel and so heartless?' 'I cannot grant you your request,' the man said with a sneering laugh. ' And you have only yourself to blame, and that young fool whom you have raised to the seventh heaven of delight by making him think you lovo him. If he only knew '

(Concluded on page 57.)