SHORT STORY

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 360, 2 April 1903, Page 7

SHORT STORY

'At last! At last: To Bertha Holden toe bride of John Holden, owner of the many-acred estate known aa Harborough Towers, the home coming after the honey-moon was sheer unalloyed happiness. The torchlight procession of tenants on horseback, servants, b>b urera, and tradespeople; the fantastic light of the great flaming flambeaux that outlined the gnarled and wrinkled oaks of the avenue; the bonfires that crowned the neighbouring heights; the address of welcome read by the oldest pensioner on the estate in the dark-panelled hall of the mansion) all these tilings kept the young bride in a thrill of delighted ecstasy from start to 'John, John.' she murmured, taking bcthhia hands in hers, 'how I have longed for this 1 Home at last I Was ever bride as happy aa I ?' John Holden, who had gone through all the formalitioß of the splendid reception with an air of constraint, which was neither boredom, not weariness, nor discomfort, but a subtle combination ef all these, roused himself to respond to his wife's gesture of affection. 'I am glad, little woman/ he said, 'if x, you are glad. . Harborough Towers is fortunate in ita new chatelaine. Long may ahe reign 1' There waa an accent, a note of forced gaiety in hia response whieh did not escape Bertba'a keen penetration. 'Bat aren't yon nappy on your own account, John?' she inquired,shrewdly. 'To be lord of all these broad acres, master of this glorious old mansion, protector of the poor in a dozen parishes, to be feted and welcomed and cheered as we have been to-day should surely satisfy the ambition of the most fastidious.' ' And why don't you add, Bertha,' he queried fondly, with ardent and genuine feeling,' to be husband of anch a wife as yon are t I am afraid in my case, the satisfaction of ambition would amount to very little without you. And the time did Beem so long, did it not, dearest P' 'Ah, well, John,' she replied, with a responsive caress, * yon know the old proverb, 'Everything comes to him who knows how to wait' We waited and the thing came: and here we are.' To this he made no answer. And ehe, Etly unclasping hia arms from about ,tripped away with a light smile to change into her evening toilette. Whether John Holden had known how to wait is a point upon which the reader will be in a better position to judge later on. It is quite certain, however, that on the evening of the day on which, with his beautiful bride at his side, he entered npoß formal possession of his great inheritance, he was depressed, distrait, and nervous, when) according to all precedents, he should nave bean in the highest of spirits, hopefn l , h< ppy, and without a care in the world. * * • It ia no ose denying it John Holden's career up to the time when he succeeded to the great estate of Harborough Towers, on the unexpectedly sudden death of his cousin, had been a ghastly failure; and it waa judt one of those failures that the world find it so difficult to explain. John Holden had apparently everything in his favour. He was well-born, well-bred, welleducated. He had ability, energy,'and JBJBwaee. If he was not well off, he was only relatively poor; and his lack ef wealth should, one would have thought, have just given 'him the needed stimulus to make the most of his opportunities and Lis MaMJfc And that he did werk, that he did make an effort, was as plain as the day to everyone.

Oa leaving Oxford he devoted himself with extraordinary assiduity to . the mastery of dry and musty legal precedents and principles of Lincoln's Inn, and literally swept the board of all the prizes and honours that were to be gained there. And then, just when his friende were prophesying for him a brilliant career at the Bar, he threw up the whole thing in disgust, and started off to Canada to undertake the editorship of a daily newspaper founded upon novel and unconventional linea. The enterprise was by no means a promising one; but he threw himself into its management with such zeal and devotion that after twelve months* uphill he carried it to a triumphant and established succass, and then relinquished hispestion and returned to England. His next venture was made in Government famnloy, his friends having exerted tbeir influence to obtain for him an important appointment in the Consular service. Here, an before, he did remarkably gcod work, and earned the thanrs of the Foreign Office for his conduct of a particularly difficult and delicate negotiation with a Continental Power. And when everyone thought he had at last found, his true vocation, and that he must rapidly rise to the highest rank in the Diplomatic service, he sent in his resignation and declared his intention of becoming a Church of England priest. After that it is almost impossible to follow the number and variety of callings he essayed. Of course he was never ordained, certain scruples of conscience cropping up at the last moment to prevent *~ him. He applied himself to the study of medicine, and actually qualified as a doctor. He next wrote a book oa some abstruse philosophical subject, which was pronounced to be a masterpiece of erudition and insight by skilled and competent critics; and then changed his vie wb and wrote another book demolishing all tho contentions and arguments he had been at such pains to establish in the first one. By this time he was thirty years of age. He had exhausted his modest fortane, and had come to look upon himself as a martyr to circumstances and ill-luck, whereas in reality his failures were due to defects in his own character, which ordinary strenuousness of purpose might hare remedied. At this time, too, he became enamoured of Bertha Gordon, the lady who altarwards became his wife.

Her parents made no objection to the engagement, but stipulated that there should be no suggestion of marriage until

A MTSTfiEY.

he had secured an assured and suitable income. But what was he te do P What was there left for him to try P . These were the helpless questions he was constantly asking himself; and when his cousin Lambert offered him a home and a pittance at Harborough Towers, on condition that he took off the former's hands the care and tbe management of the estate, he gladly accepted the offer aa being the only thing he was fit for. And so his engagement dragged on for two years, he making ne definite effort to comply with the reasonable conditions upon which his marriage depended; and Bertha, in spite of all persuasion to the contrary, remaining true to him. Here he seems to have settled down to a brooding contemplation of the disparity of fortune between himself and his cousin Lambert. Lambert—a nervous recluse, a bookworm, % chronic invalid—was t v e possessor of a huge fortune, which he was incapable of enjoying; while he, John Holden, with all the tastes and inclinations and aspirations of an accomplished man of the world, had to eat hia heart out with hope deferred, waiting for the time when he might marry the beautiful woman that was so tenderly and staunchly attached to him. At the and of two years Lambert d'ed, with the suddenness already hinted at,' and John Holden, as tho nearest male heir, succeeded to the vast estate known as Harbor < ugh Towers. He and Bertha Gordon were promptly married, and went away on a prolonged Continental tour for their honeymoon. After three months of sightseeing, Beitha, not unnaturally, expressed a wißh to return and settle down permanently in her stately and beautiful home at Harborough ; but for some reason or another John perpetually put the question aside and postponed the home-coming; and it was not until six months had elapsed, and imperative matters of business, which he could not ignore, called for his presence, tbat he reluctantly consented to return to England. Bat the fact remains, John Holden was not happy, nor comfortable, ncr easy in his mind, and would have given half his fortune to be a thousand miles away from Harborough Towers at that moment. 11. Bertha Holden, tired out by the manifold excitements and labours of the * home-coming» day. had retired early to bed. She lay for a long time unable to sleep, her brain disagreeably active, passing in review the hundred-aad-one incidents of the last twelve hours. She scarcely knew what wsb the matter, but she found herself vaguely restless, filled with aforeboding of impending calamity, which she was quite incapable of accounting for. Was it anxiety in connection with her husbandP No, she would not admit that it was. John had been depressed and gloomy earlier in the evening, bat he had brightened up wonderfully towards the close of it, and she had left him in the library, in an arm-chair drawn-up close bathe fire, with a book and a pipe, in an unusually cheery and contented frame of mind. What was it? She puzzled, and puzzled, and puzzled; and presently,- annoyed by the foolish train of thought into which she had fallen, she made a great effort to throw off the uncanny feeling that weighed upon her, and dropped into a troubled slumber. she awoke—it was with a start and a fright—ehe found herself sitting up in bed, shivering and listening. A peal of bells! a muffled peal; the bells of the little old church that nestled in the hollow within a stone's throw of the great house! She looked at her watch, and saw that it was a few minutes after midnight. Then why were the bells ringing P She listened; she felt constrained to listen. It was a method of ringing bells tbat was quite new to her. And why were the bells muffled! There was a fantastic diablerie about the peal. A succession of quick changes, begun and never ended. A weird, mysterious clanging, horribly discordant, yet fearfully haunting; a mockery of the joy-bellß that had clashed out their salvo of welcome at the * homecoming. She eat thus, rigidly upright, while the dreadful din of bells danced—as it seemed to her—Borne hideous dance of death. What did it mean! Was it a pitiful joke on the part of some night roysterers P Had the belfry been invaded by a band of escaped lunatics P Ah, there it was now, faster and louder, faster still. Surely some of the servants would get up and go out and remove the idiotic disturbers of the nighf s peace. Clang! clash! clatter! jerky, spasmodic, horrible. She could stand it no longer, and clapped her hands to her ears to shut out the tormentingly haunting sound of the muffled peal. But it was not to be shut out. It was just as clear and penetrating as ever. She became panic-stricken. She dared not remain in the room alone. And so, throwing her dressing-gown about her, and thrusting her feet into slippers, she darted out into the corridor and down the grand stair-case to the library. ■ Where was John P' The window was open, and the room empty. She stared out into the night, and presently saw a figure approaching the house from the hollow. She recognised her husband. Doubtless he had been disturbed, as she had been, by the muffled peal, and had gone down to the little church to evict the mad ringers. How strangely silent the • great house waß! And why were none of the servants roused by tho bideous clatter P And . . Oh! . . something was the matter with John. He was staggering and floundering along like a drunken man, swaying and lurchiag from aide to side as though he had lost control of his limbs. •John, what iB it? Tb.3 bells!' she cried. He tottered ia, his face haggard and drawn, his lips and eyelids twitching, and sank panting into a chair. ' God forgive me ! you hear it, too ?' he gteped presently. ' Yes, of course I hear it,' she replied, with i touch of impatience,' why didn't yon send them away V His breathing was dreadfully labored, bat he managed to whispjr:

' There is no one to send away,' And all the time the devilish din continued—growing every moment faster, lender, and more maddening. Bat she almost foxgot it in her terror at her husband's condition. ' Don't!' he cried, suddenly. She had moved across to tie bell by the fire-place to summen assistance, and he bad divined her purpose. •Don't,' he repeated; 'it is no good! My time has ccme! 'Tfs the muffled peal which rings when the heir of Har bo tough dies!' Eecalled instantly to his Bide by the strangeness of his manner, she knelt by the chair. And the bells persistently galloped and danced in an orgie of sound. ' Ton hear them!' he muttered faintly. ' And so they iaßg on the night that Lambert died.' She gazed at him, dumb with fear, while he went on half unconsciously : 'The time had been so long, Bertha; the waiting was so weary, and I thought you and I would never be married. And Lambert was such a poor, weak, nervous, superstitious fool. And he knew of this strange legend of the muffled peal, and often talked about it And one night I hired men to ring the bells, in the hope—yes, let me confess it—that tb e shock would frighten him into his grave. It was done. He was afflie'ed with heart failure, and the shock killed him with awful suddenness. I was the heir to Harborough Towers.' His wife's hands clasped his, and she felt them rapidly becoming cold. The muffled bells pealed incessantly. 'And when T heard them to-night, Bertha, I thought someone was playing the same horrible practical joke with me. And I rushed out and entered the church and mounted to the belfry, and I saw—no. one. The bells were ringing of their own accord.' His figure stiffened in the chair. Then his head drooped forward on to his chest. The bells rose into one culminating peal of fiendish triumph, and stopped dead. And in tbe moment of their stopping John Holden's spirit fled from his body. Not the least remarkable point in this extraordinary occurrence was that no one else in the house, save only John Holden and his wife Bertha, heard the ringing of the muffled peal on that fatal night.— F. F.