THE HERMIT.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 45, 16 November 1907, Page 14

THE HERMIT.

It was not long before the chill coming of winter. In sight was the towering peak of Kosciusko, and in tho folds of solitary ranges, where a deep tarn or pool shone, overhung on ono side by rocks, a man stood brooding. Ho was .young, dressed in natty tourist's garb, but ho frowned upon the prospect with an air very different from that of the'pleasure-seeking wanderer. Black care sat upon him. As ho looked, ho muttered, unconsciously, no doubt, but the words wero audible

"Tliero aro quick ways," he said, "as well as slow. Why would it not be better to roll soberly off this. ledge, and seo whether a strong will could stifle a man's natural instinct to swim for his life." Ho extended himself ,■;{ ace downwards, upon the rocky platform, and peered into tho water below. Snow wators l poured into this huge receptacle from tho peaks around. Icy cold, for all the sunlight that sometimes bathed them; as silont mysterious as the grave.

"First thoughts," said tho young man, seating himself in an attitude which enabled him to nurse his knees restfully, "are often as not best thoughts, the proverb notwithstanding. Tho plan, as first conceived, is as perfect a plan as need bo. Lot it stand." Ho rose presently, and, pushing aside tho bushes at tho rear of the ledge, disclosed a small tent, neatly rigged on a patch of open ground, just largo onough for its accommodation. Emerging from this six foot by four domicile, with various small packages in his hand, ho ranged them sido by sido, and began mentally to check off their contents: Sardinns, biscuits, potted meats, sugar, tea. Ho gradually summed them all up, and then wrought a simple calculation. "A week nt liberal rations, ten days with frugality. Shall wo take a tardy opportunity of practising a very useful virtue, and decido for .frugality and ton days?" S|»fil with the same grim look upon his fact), he cut ten notches at regular intervals upon a walking-cane, and planted it firmly in «ho ground. ■....■.. "iChatj" he said, with a touch of grim humour, "is the orthodox device of all hermits. No other calendar would be proper under the circumstances. Now to prepare tho hermit's roptist." ■ T|io lighting of a , fire, a simple enough process,, to practised fingers, is a labour requiring labiHous attention from tho unskilful. This, and tho fact that ho made much unnecessary stir among the dry sticks, prevented tho yo::ng man from hearing a movement in the bushes bohind him, or observing that they presently parted, so as to frame a rather singul ir figure. The sound of a l,ong breath, oxpjlled in such a manner as to produce a su'bjuod whistle, caused him to turn at last, and 'jazo in astonishment at his visitor. Tlm newcomer,, whoso lips had emitted the low "whew." was a girl, clad in a slovenly dress, which hung about her in ungraceful folds; nearly, but not quite, as low as her ankles. On her head was a straw hat, much battened; on her feet boots that had covered many'miles in their timo, and had not many moi'l to cover. The girl's face, which was coar}o and plain in feature, carried an expression, half of defiance, half of curiosity. For a".moment tho man regarded her in qnfr.tioning silence; then removed his hat wifm a very fino irony. "xhis is fortunate, indeed," ho'said; 'visitors iflro a pleasure I did not look for." ' "jfo'll bo troubled with no moro. There's fow Bias any call down this path, and how you [lot hero licks me.". "I am enjoying," said the young man, still with'.much grim ceremony, "a short respito from tho fatigues.of city life. Allow mo to offor you a cup of ten. There is but one cup, a tin one. lako it. 'Place aux dames/ which means 'Ladies first.'"

■V-I don't care what it. means," said the girl; "but I am dry." She took the cup, looking at him askance, and r.entod horsolf upon .a boulder, swingi ig one loot awkwardly in the air. The young man noted tho sign as bctokenjng a primitive kind of embarassment. "It is quite tho regular thing that yon shoulil have dropped in," he remarked, "at tho timo.for an afternoon call; but, not having mot you before, Miss, Miss " "You're .welcome to my naino, if it's any, good to you, though you're close enough abou i yours. They call me Meg—that is, some ,does. My brother, who works on. tho sluicing claim down yonder, he calls me that when he's sober, and ' whcii ho's drunk ho calls me somothing a good deal longer, and not near so protty." The young man looked at her with a touch of compassion. "Is that the sort of lifo?" ho muttered. " Then here is one, at least, who is not so much to bo envied." "Confidence for confidence," ho said, aloud. "I will tpll you my name in return for yours. It is a longer and different sounding ono, but worth no more for that. What do you say to Talbot Henry Murdistono?" [ For the-second tinio Meg vented a long, loud whistle. Then she laughed, but with no great ease. "Talbot Henry I That is enough for one mouthful. I will get that first bit off pat beforo I try tho rest." "Good-byo," he said, settling himself once more to gazo down into tho pool. "Wait, though, Meg. 'Tako a- souvenir of our acquaintance, and do not show it to tho brute of a brothor you describe." Ho drew from his pocket a handful of sovereigns, and, selecting one, hold it out. "There is no call to pay me for coming or going," she said. " Come to that, I may as well pay you for drinking your tea." "Just, as you please," ho replied. "It is better luck after all for you to have refused than accepted." Balancing tho coin at the end of- his fingers and thumb, he spun it carelessly into the air, and watched it 'fait into the water below. "Some , people, Talbot Henry." remarked tho girl, severely; "has too much money and too little brains." ' "During my career," ho answored, shortly, "I have found it just the other way. Goodbye."

There was no response, yet, turning his head presently, ho saw that his visitor had gone. The air was darkening, and the place seemed to have growfn strangely lonely even by the loss of her companionship, a sign that, to preser-vo the spirit of the true recluse, casual callers should bo denied. "The last link uniting mo to civilisation," murmured Mr. Murdistbno; "was a rudo one; „but it was something." ' ■ P m cs ? ntly tlle gathered in earnest, muffled up the mountain tops, as ' though there were need for their hurried concealment, and stole swiftly down to smother the valleys as well. • ■ • '■ •■ .' ;

A few days lator tho bushes which covered the rear of tho camping placo wero again stirred, and to admit the same visitor. She hesitated a while before emerging from the screen of foliage "Come forward, Meg," cried the hermit when his first surprise had passed. "Still hero, Tdlbot Henry ?" said : the girl with what appeared to bo a clumsy effort at badinage "What doing?" "Thinking." So much might havo been guessed, for thoro wero to bo seen ncithor books, fishing tackle, nor any other-recognised means of making solitude bearable A dismal camp indeed. ' ' The face of tho man was rather moro drawn. He showed now the need of a barber's son-ices, and the distinction between himself and his visitor was less marked. Glancing at the girl, he noticed that her dress was now less slovenly, and her skin of cleanlier hue. "You saw no smoke this time, at least," he ronmrkod, as if to ask what elso might have brought her. "Nary a whiff, and, what's more, there .lin't been no firo here of late," she replied, kicking over what was left of the charred sticks. "It soemed almost impossible that you should be mooning here still, so I came, to see." "I said good-byo, if I remember rightly, at our last parting." "But I didn't." "And, thoreforo, have come to say it now? Do you know, Meg, that is a very delicate attention. I would romove my hat in acknowledgment, but, unfortunately, it blew away last night, and I havo not another with mo." "Thero'll bo more blown away than yer hat if you stay hero much longor. The season's a bit too far gono for holiday-makin' of this sort hereabouts.": "The 'season, truly, is far gone," ho replied, with a solemnity whioti mifiht bo

mocking. "But my holiday-making is nearly over, too. You sco that stick." He pointed to the one driven into tho ground near the tent-flap. Hall' tho notches had now been whittled away. "■\Vhat are those cuts?" demanded Meg. "They are days. Each ono a day of twenty-four hours. There are fivo left. It is singular how valuable si (lay seems when you knock it off in this way. How very important these five seem, for example, compared with the thousands of others that havo been thrown away and forgotten. If you had a turn for poetry, Meg, which I should judge you havo not, I might quote you Rossetti —" "Who might ho be?" "A" man who wrote verses, some in particular, about the lost days of my life. Ho called 'each ono a murdered self/ and imagined each lost day wailing out 'lam thyself; what hast thou done to mo.' A rather grisly fancy, eh, Meg?" "There is pleasanter sort of things to think of and talk about than the likq of that," said the girl, shrinking a little. "Folks that can throw sovereigns away, and has your lot of friends, might be a bit moro spry in their looks arid sayings." "All, my friends, Meg, that raises a point which I had forgotten." Ho drew out his watch, and consulted it with ostentatious carefulness. Tho pity seemed to be that thoro was about all this young man said or did something artificial and ostentatious. "In this case," he continued, "dates mako all the difference At our last meeting, I certainly had friends—troops of them; but that was days ago. ■ Most likely I still have them. Yet, when the fow notchos left on that stick are gone, not ono acquaintance in all that extensive circlo would seo mo, if ho could conveniently look another way; and certainly not one would shako my hand if anybody could by any chance seo him do it: An unkind world, eh,-Meg?"

"Talbot Henry," said the girl, drawing closer,- and regarding him with a now look in her eyes of intolligonco and alarm. "What havo you done that tho likes of them has a right to give you the go-by?" "It is a prejudice, Meg; a mero sordid prejudico," replied Mr. Murdistone, lightly. "You wonld not care to have the story." "I guess I would," said the girl, with quickened breathing. , "Lot us put it then as a matter of sovereigns—tho dross you looked at the other day, and saw mo flip away. ,Thero wero many of such coins. ■ Oh, very, very many, Meg. Were —thero aro not now." ' "Yes. You wore ono of tho rich ] uns." "Should have boon; ought to have been; but you see they didn't happen to be exactly mino. .Fiduciary capacity; no, those aro not words you will understand; but somehow the sovereigns, very, very many, you know, got very, very few." 1 "You didn't spin 'om all away into a pool, Talbot Henry?" % ■ ■ , ■ "Perhaps that is not so very far from tho fact," he replied. "But the chief trouble, Meg, was a mistake in choice —in what I choso to put in placo of them." , "What did you choose?" "Tho Timo o' Day," replied Murdistone, with a short laugh! "That is a mine, Meg, a good bit bigger probably than tho claim you say your brother works on; but not so good'; I'll wager. It was a rotter, Meg, but I-had a liking for the scrip, and so you see I put Time o' Day shares where people aro still oxpeoting to find tho sovereigns. Waste paper, instead of gold,'.my girl.'When they know they will not bo ploased. Thoro will be unpleasantness—for them, at any rate -" .

"And for you, Talbot Henry?" "Not for mo, my girl; because I have found a way to avoid it." "How?" "By listening to the ticking of the clock. That is tho right thing, isn't it, for a man to do who has the. ill-luck to invest other people's money in Timo o' Days without their authority? Let him hoar tho clock tick out." "You're queer," said the girl. "Whero's tho clock?" ; "Thero," replied Mr. Murdistono, pointing to Jiis notched stick, "ticking out bravely, Meg." "I can't make out what you're after," said she, with a shade of fear in her face. "But strike this here camp and get. There's had weather coming; likely enough- your tent'll blow to Kingdom Come." "It will last out my time," retorted tho young man, with a trace of irritation. "No offence," he added a moment : later, "but these cold nights under canvas try the temper. Shako hands. You've been a constant' visitor, and I am sorry to part. • Beware of compliments as a rule, but you' may take that one'as true/if you never hear another true one. You may, upon my —well, yes, upon my honour," said Mr. Murdistone, with a slightly damaging pause.'. 'They shook hands awkwardly on her side, with some grotesque pretence of ceremony on his. "If modesty did not forbid; I would flatter myself that you are sorry, too. Still, tho best of friends, you know, must part." \"I'll own I ain't over glad, Talbot Henry. Nobody, as, 1 remember, ever spoke tho same kind o' way to mo before. And ye'ro no one's enemy but yer own, if you won't take a hint when it's given." She flitted then, and 1 left' him standing alone upon the ledge of rock. Once or twice she looked back in doubt or anxiety, then breasted the hill like one mountain-bred.

It was days later, and Murdistoiie had still clung to liis solitude, although the last of the sunlight had blinked itself suddenly out, and a gathering frown spread over the' hills. Tho.wmd had played havoc, and only a scanty show- of wreckage marked' the spot whore the tent had stood. But the stick was there and of the notches onl>*ono was left. Cold, lightly clad,, exhausted by scanty food and lonely watcliings, it was time for the derelict to make a push for shelter now, if a push were to he made at all. Yet lie lingered. Once more he stretched himself at full length, and looked over the brink of the rocks into the gloomy water. Then ho raised himself, "shivering, and gazed with haggard eyes at the woods, tho mountains, the grey sky. So half an hour— an hour—passed. He drank in with the eyes all there was to see. A gloomy prospect; still he devoured it hungrily. "Nothing more to look at," he muttered, and, rousing himself presently, after long gazing, "nothing more to thiiik'of, nothing more to wait for."

This being so, ho turned his attention now to business, and business of so miserable a kind that only fools can ever be found to metldlo with it. From a mahogany case he drew forth a small revolver, and bent over it■■ for somo minutes with attention. . "Hand steady," murmured Mr. Murdistone, with grim satisfaction. "A sign of firmness and resolution. The same qualities exercised at an earlier stago might have brought a bettor finish."' It being too late-to profit practically by reflections of this kind, the young man some moments > later raised his arm, and set the weapon to his head. While a spectator, if there were one. might have caught breath in expectation of the report, a crackling of brushwood sounded only a yard or two away, and a figure almost fell into the little clearing. With a start Mr. Murdistonc dropped his pistol, and was conscious of a flnsh of relief that ho had not been observed. Meg—for it was she—had plainly tripped over her ragged skirt, and had too much difficulty in preserving her foothold to 'understand the scene she had disturbed. This was confirmed by her words and manner. ' None had seen the girl's mad race through scrub and undergrowth, am! none now, noticed the fierce panting of her bosom, mid the throbbing of the blood in her oars. The clutch she took at the neck of her coarse frock appeared to steady her as she held out a soiled newspaper rolled in her other band. "Isy the way, Talbot Henry," she said, "would them folks you talked about feel different if Time o' Days wore real sovereigns again instead of paper? I thought I'd drop in and ask you." The gaunt, unshaven face before her looked wolfish as he snatched the paper. "What stuff are you talking! How dare you come back here," ho exclaimed. "Bead there," said Meg; "read here. Jim and the rest up there," she jerked her thumb, "wore all full of it, and I just thought you'd like to know. Time o , Day WM the name you said, and Timeo' Day has

struck it rich. Oh, rich ain't no word for it." Mr. Murdistono tore open tho sheet, and his eye travelled down the page. A gasping breath escaped him, and he made a movement as if to tear open "tho collar of his shirt. It is not easy for a wretch, standing one moment on tho drop, to realise in the next that he is translated to' freedom and wealth. . There was a dnzed look in his eyes as he let fall the paper. Ho groped a little with his hands, like a man seeking .to grasp something which eludes him. Ho faced about, and began to stumble along the track the girl had como; slowly at first, then walking faster, as his gait was steady. Then ho began to run, jerkily, and scramble up tho obstacles in tho path with hands and feet; but his head never turned back. . In a few minutes tho bush hid him. Among the fern and litter of the campingplaco lay tho revolver. Meg kicked it with her foot. Then, suddenly, she flung the skirt of her coarse dross over her head and face, and throw herself on the ground in a passion of weeping. "My God!" she moaned. "If I hadn't tore down it would have, been too late. It wouldn't a'cost him much to say a "Thank you, Meg."—N.G.G., in the "Australasian."