A CARDIFF VALENTINE

       It was Thursday, St. Valentine's Day, and she had just returned from a shopping excursion to find that the postman had left her two letters and a small parcel during her absence. She opened the letters and found they were merely feminine communications from a couple of friends; then she opened the parcel. It proved to contain a small, beautifully bound pocket edition of Moore's "Irish Melodies," with a neat bookmark between the pages of —

When he who adores thee has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind.

       She read the lyric through; then turned to the flyleaf to see who had sent it. But the leaf bore no name, and she turned the pages over in search of some clue, but found none. She laid the book on the table, and in doing so discovered a slip of paper which had fallen from between the pages unnoticed by her. She picked up the paper and opened it, and read:—

"21, —— street, Roath, Feb. 13, 1894.       

       DEARIE, — I am house-bound. Will you come and see me? Only a formal call. Will you come for a few minutes and brighten my room with the sunshine of your smile? I would not ask you if I could get out. Will you come? —

Yours,              
NOEL.       

       The note was short and required but little understanding to grasp its meaning. And when she lifted her head after reading it her heart was beating much faster than when she opened the parcel, and her eyes had a hungry look in them. For a moment she glanced at the gemmed ring on the third finger of her left hand, then her eyes sought the note again, and again she read it through. From the note her thoughts went to the poem marked in the book, and crumpling the note in her hand she lifted the little volume from the table and opened it where the bookmark lay, and read on to the last two lines. Then she paused for a moment, and continued:—

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

       "Good heavens! Can he be dying, I wonder?" she mentally ejaculated, and the look in her big expressive eye grew stronger. "I know he would not tell me in so many words if he were seriously ill, and perhaps he is so. I'll go and —," and she stopped abruptly as her eye caught the glitter of the ring on her finger. . . "Would it be right?" she murmured, and opening the note again she re-read it. Then picking up the book she placed it mechanically between the pages where the bookmark lay, and closed the volume, while the yearning, wistful gaze returned to her eye and her whole being hungered to obey the request of the note.

       Laying the book on table she turned away irresolute for a moment. Then with a sudden gesture, half impatient and half defiant at that restraint she alone at this moment could see was standing by and silently rebuking her, she hurriedly donned her hat and cloak, and telling the maid to inform her mother that she would be home again in an hour she left the house and bent her steps towards —— street.

       On arriving at the house she rang the bell and asked to see Mr. Griffiths, and was at once shown into the parlour, where she found the man she sought lying on the couch and covered with a rug. His face was pale and haggard. There was a hectic spot on his cheek, and his eyes were strangely sunken and marked with lines of dark purple. For a moment she stood and gazed at him, her whole sympathetic soul in her eyes. Then starting forward she murmured, between her short, quick breaths —

       "Oh! Noel, how long have you been ill? Why did you not let me know before?" And she dropped unconsciously on one knee by the side of the couch, and gently pushed his hair back from his forehead, while she gazed into his unnaturally bright eyes with a world of pathos in her own.

       "I did not think it necessary, little one. I've only been ill a few days — or at least confined to the house a few days," he answered slowly, and with an apparent effort.

       "What is the matter, Noel? What are you ill with?" anxiously and eagerly.

       "It began with a cold — a chill, I think, on the ice after skating and the doctor says it has got to my lungs."

       "Then you must be careful. You want proper nursing, or it may result in something more serious." And again she pressed the clustering hair back from his feverish brow, while her thoughts were busy with the terrible change which two short weeks had made in him.

       "Oh, it isn't much, petit Mignon," he replied with a faint, wan smile. "I shall soon be well; but I thought I would like to see your winsome face again, and the craving was too irresistible to be crushed down." And drawing a thin wasted hand from under the rug he caressed her soft cheek weakly, and murmured,

       "Kiss me, Mignon. . . I will not ask you again."

       "It is not right, you know, Noel," she said gently. "You ought not to ask me to do this," and she cast her lustrous eyes downward.

       "I know that, dear Abdiel; but I cannot keep back the desire now. . . . I — I am weak where I should be strong. . . Kiss me, Mignon, and I won't ask again."

       And he gently endeavoured to draw her head towards him. She lifted her eyes and the pleading look in his was too strong for her. In spite of the ring on her finger she loved him: loved him as she could not love the giver of the golden bond which had of late become as a shackle of cold iron. And when their eyes met, with the look of passionate pleading and hungry love in his and love and sympathy in hers, she was powerless to resist the temptation to grant his request; and lightly — ever so lightly — and tenderly her lips touched his for a brief part of a minute. Then taking her soft cheeks gently between his thin hands he pressed his lips to her forehead as reverentially as a priest would his to that of a saint.

       Then rising to her feet she took a chair and sat down by him and talked with him of the future he had planned out for himself, and of which he had often talked to her, until the afternoon was far advanced.

.       .       .       .      .

       Two hours after Mignon, as Noel called her, left her home in —— Gardens, the doorbell was rung by a smartly-dressed young fellow, who said to the maid as the door was opened to him —

       "Is Miss Phillips in?"

       "No, sir; but she won't be long. She said as she shouldn't be more'n a hour gone."

       "And how long is that ago?

       "Full two hours, sir."

       "Oh, then I'll come in and wait. She won't be long now, I suppose," he said with a nonchalant air as he crossed the threshold. "Is Mrs Phillips in?" he added.

       "No, sir; she's just gone out."

       "Very well. Tell Miss Phillips, when she comes in, that I'm here," and pushing open the door of the little drawing-room he entered and swung the door behind him.

       Walking up to the table he picked up the first thing that came to his hand — a book. He opened it and muttered —

       "Ugh! More beastly poetry!" As he did so a slip of paper fell out and dropped on to the table. He took it in his hand — written side uppermost. It was the note that had caused Mignon to leave home so hurriedly. He glanced it over. He felt no hesitation at doing so, and his face clouded over until it was almost purple with suppressed rage. Although he had never met the writer he knew who had sent it, and he surmised to where Mignon — his promised wife — had gone.

       "The devil!" he muttered between his teeth, "I wonder if she has gone there." And for some moments he stood gazing at the note, while his evil temper went up to fever heat. Then crumpling the note in his hand, he swung round on his heel; his small eyes flashed, and he muttered —

       "Come what may, I'll go and see!" And with quick, impatient strides he left the house, banging the door to behind him, and strode off in the direction of —— street.

       On arriving at the house where Noel lived he rang the bell and enquired of the person who opened the door —

       "Is Mr Griffiths in?"

       "Yes, sir," answered Noel's landlady.

       "He has a lady with him, has he not?"

       "Yes, I think so.

       "A young lady?"

       "Yes."

       "I've come to see him; but you need not announce me. It's all right. Which room is he in?" and he entered the house and stepped past the woman.

       "That one," said the woman in some astonishment, indicating the door of the parlour. With an abrupt movement he opened the door, entered the room, and closed the door behind him.

       "So this is how you pass your time, is it? Visiting sick lovers? A nice thing for an engaged woman to do?" he burst out with a sneer.

       "How dare you insult me in this manner!" said Mignon, starting from her seat with flashing eyes and cut to her heart's core by the biting sarcasm and insinuation.

       "Insult you! I should think it's no insult to tell you the truth. You've no right to be here!"

       "I came here on an errand of mercy, as any other Christian woman would. And if you were a man, and had any real love for me, you would not have followed me in this mean way."

       "I have a right to follow you. And you will leave here at once and come home with me."

       "I will do such thing. I will go when I am ready, and if you cannot trust me then find someone whom you can."

       "You will come now."

       "Leave my room, sir, and at once," said Noel, with in effort, and slipping the rug off he struggled to his feet, his nostrils dilated with anger. "This lady is my guest, and while here she shall not be insulted by anyone."

       "Indeed?" sneered the other.

       "Leave my room, I tell you," clenching his white, weak hands.

       "Get your hat and cloak on," said the new-comer, disregarding Noel. "You're coming home with me. I'll see whether you'll go philandering about with my ring on or not.

       "Will you leave this house and cease to insult Miss Phillips?" inquired Noel, his passion rising to an ungovernable pitch.

       "No! I will not leave your room until she comes with me."

       "Then, I'll make you," and before Mignon could stop him he had moved towards the intruder by the door. But only one step. His foot caught in the rug he had slipped off when he arose from the couch, and he went headlong, heavily to the floor, where he lay motionless.

       "Oh! Noel, Noel," cried Mignon, taken off her guard by the accident, and rushing forward she stooped and endeavoured to raise the fallen man, but the most she could do was to turn him over. This she did, and was horrified to see that blood was pouring in a thick stream from his mouth and nostrils. Hurriedly snatching the pillow from the couch she thrust it under Noel's head and ran to the door and called for the mistress of the house and bade her send at once for the doctor. Then she returned to the stricken man who loved her with a whole heart's love, and for the sake of whom she had endangered her reputation. In a little time the medical man arrived, and Noel was lifted to the couch. The doctor examined him and announced the fact that he was dead. The shock had ruptured his weak, affected lungs, and he had died instantly.

       The stiffening limbs were composed, a cloth was spread over the white face, now washed of its bloodstains, and the doctor and landlady left the room. For a minute Mignon gazed through her gathering tears at the man who stood halfway between herself and the door, and who had been a passive spectator of the whole affair. Then drawing the ring from her finger she stepped forward, and laying it on the table by him, she said, "Take your bond. I have worn it by force for some months, now I will wear it no longer. Had you given me back my promise when I asked you — when I told you I did not love you well enough to marry you, his death would not have rested with you. Now go your way and leave me in peace. I wish never to see you again." And turning towards the corpse of her dead love she gave way to the tears which would be held back no longer.

       "You — you don't mean this, do you?" he said in a staggered way.

       "Yes, I mean it," she answered, half turning round. "Go your way, and if you wish to please me, never let me see you again. I loved him" — pointing to the dead form on the couch — "from the moment I saw him as I could never learn to love you. And when I knew that he loved me I asked you to honourably release me, because of the change in my feelings towards you, and which I could in no wise prevent, but you refused. Now he is dead his death lies at your door."

       For a moment he stood looking at her; then, mechanically picking up the ring, he turned and left the house, leaving the sorrowing Mignon alone with the body of her dead love. And as night lowered her sable mantle the mourning woman knelt reverently by the side of the death couch and prayed for the soul of the departed one and strength to bear her trouble, until the room was filled with the soul of her whispered prayer.

E. PATTERSON.       

(THE END)