SHORT STORY.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 446, 3 November 1904, Page 7

SHORT STORY.

AUTUIff LOVERS.

By G, B. Bckglv

/ **%A#E are always very much hurt if f f casual visitors toßenfield do not at once grasp all the salient points of that interesting town. Our usual method with distinguished foreigners is to take them to the bridge, and, pointing to the zigzag coursa of the New River, with the little bridge over it leading to Miss Prudence Pembarthy's house, ask them what foreign •ity it at once brings to mind. Then they look round at the new Methodist church—the village green, gay with gray-and-white geese and grotesque ganders—the old elmtrees, full of sable-coated denizens, and reply, with the air of folk who have at once guessed the problem: « What does it remind us of? Oh, Peckham Rye, or the Hampstead Ponds.' We dissemble our disgust, and say encouragingly : « Think again. Now, the bridge mr instance, hasn't it a foreign air? Doesn't it remind you of ' I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,' and all that sort of thing, only it's a foreign bridge?' Benfield's picturesque resemblance to Venice was the chief point which induced Miss Patience Pembarthy to settle among us. She had lost most of her tin. (Pray, do not for a moment imagine that I, Cicely Reade, am indulging in slangy jokes about money. Miss Pembarthy's father had owned a tin mine; but one fine morning the tin moved on, or gave out, or did something unexpected, which altogether dissipated its customary remunerative properties.) When the mine failed to respond to the demands made upon it, old Mr Pembarthy took to his bed and died. Miss Prudence saved a hundred a year from the wreck, or, rather, her Cornish friends settled that amount on her, and, by dint of the most unblushing statements, indnced her to believe that it was the last act of reparation which the fickle tin had made before moving on to some unexpected place where it could not be got at. Miss Pembarthy was overwhelmed when this blow happened to her. She said that she could no longer remain in a district where so elusive a metal she wasn't quite sure whether tin was a metal or a mineral—would always remind her of the fickleness of things. Besides, she was intensely proud. She humbly prayed to her Maker to forgive such a weakness; but the mere thought of giving up her family pew at Tregarthen church and seeing it occupied by others who could afford to pay for it, filled her with anguish. In all the ordered sweetness of her days—she was forty-five, but didn't look it —she had taken precedence at Tregarthen; now, she could not afford to live there any longer, and came to Benfield with her small maid. I am not an imaginative person; but when I went to Miss Pembarthy and began to pour out my love troubles in her sympathetic ear, it seemed to me as if the walls of her little sitting-room floated away," and that I was in heaven. She had such sweet blue eyes, such a lovely peach-like complexion, that I always wanted to kiss her, but feared to take so great a liberty. Whenever I felt I must yield to the impulse, I looked at her nose, which was aquiline and somewhat strongly defined, and retrained. One day, however, when my troubles were unusually bitter-I am not going to tell you about them —she suddenly opened her arms and held me tightly until I felt better. After that, I loved her more fondly than ever, and was not surprised when she consulted me about Mr Trelawny, who had come to settle in Benfield a fortnight before her arrival. He occupied a little house at the other end of the village, but never failed every afternoon to call at. Miss Pembarthy's and leave a punctilious message to the effect that he hoped the climate did not incommode her. Miss Pembarthy invariably sent out a message in return thanking him for his courtesy, and saying that at present the climate had not inconvenienced her in the least. On the first of every month, Miss Pembarthy received callers. Mr Trelawny invariably stayed to tea afterwards, only to be ignominiously defeated at backgammon by Miss Pembarthy. I conceived exaggerated ideas of Miss Pembarthy's prowess at this redoubtable game, until papa informed me that Mr Trelawny could beat the village doctor with superlative ease, who was supposed to be the best backgammon player in the United Kingdom. Then it suddenly dawned upon me that here was a romance going on right under my nose—a romance which was developing Blowly but surely. I gathered from Miss Pembarthy that Mr Trelawny must have lost all his tin also, as, next to the Pembarthys, he had held the leading place in Tregarthen society. Indeed, he had been for years a constant visitor at the Pembarthy mansion. It was easy to see that Miss Pembarthy was a little troubled in her mind by Mr Trelawny's settling down at Benfield. She missed her great house, her servants and carriages, her customary benevolences, the deference which had always greeted her whenever she took her walks or drives abroad. Somehow, Mr Trelawny's handsome face brought it all. back to her. He was fair and florid, with an old-world courtesy which strongly resembled her own. And as for his age, he could not have been more than fifty. He never alluded to his own losses; but when people pointed out that the small house wherein he lived was not particularly commodious, he answered, with a certain amount of well-bred impatience, that he would not presume to live in a better dwelling than his accomplished neighbour, Mistress Pembarthy. If she could endure the miasmatic fog, laden with the odour of decaying cabbages, which came from the New River, he esteemed it a privilege to breathe it also. As time went on, it was easy to see that Mr Trelawny's presence afforded Miss Pembarthy a great deal of comfort in every way. He had taken the most prominent and xpensive pew in Benfield church —the pew generally reserved for the leading county family—in order to place it at her disposal. Miss Pe/nbarthy was greatly distressed by this kindness, but did not know how to avail herself of it. ' You see, my dear,' she said to me, : Mr Trelawny is so impetuous, but with the kindest heart in the world. If I appear in his pew with him, it nvght give rise to scandal. People will presume to talk about us, and look upon mo as giddy. What would you advise me to do V

I pointed out to Miss Pembarthy it would be a gracious thing for her to appear in Mr Trelawny's pew with me next Sunday, and that she could sit in mine on other occasions. But on the following Sunday, Mr Trelawny did not come to church at all, and Miss Pembarthy and myself were, consequently, the sole occupants of the pew. She was greatly distressed by this. ' I have no right, my dear,' she said, 'to come between this gentleman and the duty he owes his Maker. Will you kindly explain this to him, and' —she blushed faintly —• that the tender kindness of years would make his presence agreeable to me, were it not that we are in a strange town where people might presume to criticise our actions ?'

I went upon my errand to Mr Trelawny, but he remained obdurate until it was arranged that they should occupy the pew alternately. When Miss Pembarthy sat

there Mr Trelawny entered my pew; and when he occupied his own pew, Miss Pembarthy came to me. Thus, propriety was not outraged, and no one could do more than dumbly wonder at such an arrangement. People were surprised that Mr Trelawy could afford to pay for so expensive a few; but, with the most uncharitable motives, put it down to pride and a desire to oust the Bottelars—the Bottelars are our county family—we have only one—from their proud position. Besides, Miss Pembarthy had a far more imposing effect as she sat in the great pew, with the curtains drawn aside, than Mrs Bottelar, who always shut the curtains close, and refused to come out until the congregation had dispersed. Matters continued thus for some months. I began to take far more interest in my own love affairs, and concluded that nothing fresh would ever happen to. alter the relative positions of Miss Pembarthy and Mr Trelawny. And I doubt very much whether anything would have given him the courage to speak out, had it not been that one Sunday, Miss Pembarthy forgot that it was his turn to occupy the big pew. Being a very punctual man, he had entered the church as the clock struck eleven, and modestly retreated behind the curtains in one corner, in accordance with his invariable custom. Miss Pembarthy came sailing up the aisle with her customary air of dignified humility. Human beings are but weak after all, even the best of them, and this was the one moment in her life which brought to mind her former greatness- As she opened the pew door, I noticed her give a little start, hesitate for a moment, and then irresolutely enter, She did not, as was her wont, draw back the curtains, and for the rest of the service I lost sight of her.

After the service was over and the congregation had dispersed, I went over to Miss Pembarthy's pew to ask if she were ill. When I looked in, she sat near the door. Mr Trelawny, looking the picture of conscious guilt, although it wasn't his fault at all, sat bolt upright in the opposite corner. And each waited for the other to move.

I solved the difficulty by affecting not to see Mr Trelawny, and drew Miss Pembarthy away. She usually dined with us on Sundays: but on this occasien walked past our house and went straight on towards her own little dwelling in a way that showed she was greatly agitated and scarcely knew what to do. As I followed Miss Pembarthy up-stairs into her little bedroom, she faced me, the corners of her mouth curiously set and rigid. 'My dear,' she said, ' I must leave Benfield. I have disgraced myself. I shall never be able to survive the —the impropriety of entering a gentleman's pew by myself when he was there.' A few tears ran down her cheeks. I had never seen Miss Pembarthy cry before. ' I was becoming quite happy here,' she said. ' People did not presume on my misfortunes. I have grown to love the little children, to make dear friends. Now I must go away from you all and live my solitary life elsewhere. Mr Trelawny will never forgive me. He did not even bow as I came away. He must think me an immodest woman.'

I tried to soothe her, but in vain. At that moment some one knocked at the door. Miss Pembarthy started in alarm. ' What can it be ?' she asked, clinging to me, thoroughly unnerved. The little maid came up-stairs. 'lf you please, mistress,' she said, ' Mr Trelawny requests the pleasure of five minutes' conversation with you on a rather delicate matter.'

Miss Pembarthy clung to me. ' What shall I do, my dear ? What shall I do ?' ' Say that you will be happy to see him, dear Miss Pembarthy,' I suggested. 'lt is better for you both that some understanding should be arrived at.' Miss Pembarthy consented to see Mr Trelawny on the condition that I was present at the interview. I was a little frightened myself; but with my strong love for Miss Pembarthy, I could not desert her in such trying circumstances. So, after re-arranging the old-fashioned point lace round Miss Pembarthy's white throat, I took her hand and led her gently down-stairs to where Mr Trelawny awaited us, somewhat nervously, standing on the hearthrug, and almost filling the room with his majestic presence.

He looked a little disconcerted at seeing me ; but Miss Pembarthy's hand clung to mine so tightly that I dared not leave her. She was trembling also. In response to Mr Trelawny's oldfashioned bow, Miss Pembarthy made an equally-fashioned 'courtesie,' bending back and recovering herself with a grace born of long and arduous studies in deportment. They had both of them the «grand air' which is now so quickly disappearing from among us.

' This young lady is kind enough to be present at our interview, Mr Trelawny,' said Miss Pembarthy, ' and to witness my apology for my intrusion of this morning—an intrusion which Mr Trelawny scarcely needs my assurance to be aware was occasioned by my unpardonable forgetfulness.' Mr Trela-vny took her hand and bowed over it with courtly grace. Now that she had broached the subject, his nervousness disappeared. ' Madam,' he said, ' when you were good enough to enter the pew this morning, I was praying to my Maker that He would give me the courage to inform you of what was in my heart. Will you be good enough to listen to the two courses which present themselves to me, and deign to approve of one of them ?' Miss Pembarthy bowed assent. Mr Trelawny placed chairs for us both, but himself remained standing. 'lt had occurred to me, madam,' he said, ' that, owing to my unpardonable ! mistake of this morning' Miss Pembarthy interrupted him. ' Nay, mine,' she said. But Mr Trelawny 'was resolute tbat she should the blame upon herself, although there was no doubt about it. 'Owing to my unpardonable mistake of this morning,' he repeated, ' there are but two courses open to me in order to save you pain and distress. One is to go away from here, and never to return ; the other'—he hesitated a moment; but I looked at him encouragingly, and, with another bow, he continued —' the other is, to lay my poor fortunes and unworthy self at your feet.' Miss Pembarthy's sweet eyes shone. She made another stately reverence, and gave him her hand, which he raised tenderly to his lips. ' I accept the latter proposal you are good enough to offer me,' she said. But human nature was too much for the somewhat frigid atmosphere in which she had been reared. ' Your patient goodness shames me. lam unworthy of so delicate a devotion.'

' madam,' he answered ; ' it is you who have taught me how to live. Will you perfect the lesson by bestowing on mo this hand?' and he again raised hers to his lips. I left the room. Presently, Miss Pembarthy fluttered upstairs to where I awaited her coming. She was greatly agitated. • He is not poor at all, my dear,' she said, ' He simply gave up everything to be near me—took a mean little house—lived humbly for my sake; and would have continued to do so all his days, had I not entered his pew this morning. He thought that to propose to me now would bo to take advantage of my misfortunes, and nothing else would have made him do it except for the thought that

I should be driven away from here by the accident of tbis morning.' She sank on her knees by the side of her bed, and again I stole away.

The little house upon the bridge is empty now, for Tregarthen has its own again. I love to linger by the river and fancy that I see Miss Pembarthy's shadow on the blind ; but she has gone from out my daily life, and I am left upon the threshold oi the great mystery of Love until my lover comes to claim me for his own. When •my own poor heart is full of doubt and fear, I think upon these autumn lovers and grow strong. Shall I not be faithful also, and endure with patience to the end I