THE PASSER-BY.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1860, 20 September 1913, Page 12

THE PASSER-BY.

MOSSITER— Julian Rossiter—who had been, more than a brother to me since our • Harrow and Oxford days, broko down badly soon after he had been raised to tho judicial bench, and was shipped off by his cold, grand-lady wifd to tjte sweet solitary Somersetshire villago over which I exercised tho office of pastor.' , . : In Cadogan Square Eossiter f moves among the very elect, and exercises authority over an army of retainers; but success and tho affluence born'of sufceoss havo in nowise spoilt himy _and in. a'wfiek. ■ho was' as much" a I'ocoasibn ' >in: my - simple establishment as he is lii his own imposing sphere. -" ' As he recovered strength he amused himself by strolling about'the country side and making friends with tlio jIU lagers. Such excellent stories he brought nie.of their sayings, and ho told thorn •inimitably. : ':>Y 1 "I've pickednip ;a local legend this morning," he informed ine,ai.luiiQh one day, "which I • don't believe-would bo considered meet for clerical ears—it's bo fantastic." "Tho 'Here Ghrost' and 'The Yellow Pony' are ' about the. extent - of my, psychio "lore," I admitted. "Exactly: ' Well, hero we rise above clap-trap spookism. You know Dead Man's Fir?"' ■ "On the knoll overhanging the Camborne Road—rather 1" . .- '.'They strung up. highwaymen there in the good old days, so-far as I can discover?"- t . . - ' "Highwaymen and other marauders. Tho branch .still .exists which, was scraped by tho rope." ""Well, • in caso of- an obscure local wlien'the assassin is difficult to trace, you may like .for future, reference to know'that the real- culprit hangs on that fir free'for three consecutive nights before the trial." "I don't quite understand ——. ~, . "Nor do I/-but there---it is; "'.His I wraith—his shadow—his subliminal self appears dangling prophetically from Dead Man's Fir, and gives, so to speak, tho corporeal self It's very subtle, but-rather picturesque. One or two miscarriages "of . justice naive beciiprevented in this way. Oh 1 before your time, my dear Jack." - Eossiter referred to iomo scribbled memoranda in a notebook. If doubt there be wlio dealt the Wow, On Dead Man's Fir his form shall show. "There you have it in a nutshell! Lot mo see —unv— er ——. Oh, hero it is. In 1794 old Airs. Fairway's grandmother was shot—so all the village belioved— by tho. squire's gamekeeper, who ' had pressed'/his attentions upon her, but at t'ne penultimate hour —just in time to save the gamekeeper's neck —her own [husband appeared swinging, from the branch of Fate, and ' . ' "My dear Judge," I broke in, anu you are a lovel-hoaded ■ scion of. the law!" i "No one disputes it. Im only warning you." / "Very thoughtful; but ours is not a murdonng vilTago. Wo aren't awake enough. Wo'vo liad one case of assault and another .of.cattle, maiming in'fif.te&n years, and that's our' sum total in ;M.W'Up..to,datc." "Alltho-same, you -never can tell, said Rossiter,. and he lit a cigar.

- And'just a fortnight after mv foolish boast Virtue Brookman —beautiful, wayward Virtue' (not too appropriately christened, some said)—was done to death in Tandale Copse, where the nightingales make melody through the brief Bummer nights, arid the bees hold high carnival by day. ' , Mrs. Luokly, my' housekeeper, brought the news to Rossiter and me as we sat facing one another.across th 9 breakfast-table. We were both, as u chanced, a little silent and distrait . perhaps unconsciously feeling tragely m the air. We exclaimed "Good God! in horrified unison when she dumped tho tidings at us with tho coffee pot. Sho •was bursting with it, and she told tho ghastly story with the relish of her class. Virtue had been discovered by a little boy set to scare birds. He had been so badly scared himsolf by tho sight of her poor battered head that he ha-1 run away, and had not-had courage to t discloso his find for many hours. VirI tuo was our "villago belle—a beautiful >wayward thing born to be some man's undoing. Only two days'before Rossiter had said that if circumstances had made him an artist instead of a nowl yfledged judge ho would have painted tho cirl as Daphne fleeing from Apollo, and have made his name by, it. Tho remark camo about through our meeting I lior in the Long Aero, running with a ■ mocking laugh away from John S'eo ("grov John" as his neighbours called him, because-of his prematurely silvered hair). He had apparently tried to steal a kiss' and been slapped, for his pains. .... "It's a strange thing/ my lord," said Mrs. Luckly, in tho toneless voico of prophecy,' addressing herself to/my • friend (like everyone else she adored him) as she nudged the toast rack into position; "but last time as I 'ad haiiy conversation with tho poro thing I said to hor, 'Virt'uo,' I said,'just ii 3 _ 1 might bo speaking to you, sir, 'you'll aggravate some man into cutting yo.ur throat for you, you,- will, . some, day— you mark my words;' Ah,' well- —" Then Mrs. Luckly vanished to hold high inquest with the housemaid and boot boy over their sovoral rashers. ■ Over, our own Rossiter and I ate less than wo talked; and we talked beneath our breath, as. if tho aloughtered girl were lying in an adjacent room. The thing was too! terrible. , Even Rossitor's at all times pale face had taken on a paler shade. Though ho dealt, ill tho way of business;' .with horrors of evoryjeind, his soul was,still sensitive. Personally T felt utterly unnerved. I had prepared Virtue Brookman for confirmation. She, had been an irregular, sharp', : q'ii'osti6nirig, and 'I' am ' bound to say member of my 3'oung women's Bible class. I believe thoro were thoso whose superior-clay, revolted at her prescribe, but tlfe'-'natiiro of their objections seemed to me the very grounds for Holding her to oven tho slender anchor of a wcokly exposition whilst I could. And, oh I sho had beon lovely. , Tho perfect, passionate, 'gloriously-tinted faco seemed to smile at me full-lipped and rosy, as I. tried to force down. a. few' undesired mouthfuls of food.

There are some people whom it is difficult to fancy dead. Virtue was one of them.

Rossiter pushed away his half-con-sumed egg, and his handsome tired eyes —lie was always dispatching mo to bed nnd burning the midnight oil over abstruso law books, even during a convalescent's holiday like the present— aiid searched my face sympathetically. "Poor old chap!" he said in that wondorful voice of his, which had hypnotised many a jury. "When the sheep rtray the shopherd .is troubled, oh? Was sho a flirt, my Daphne?" "I suppose so," I said. "Iler lessfavoured sisters certainly called her one. Yos, she drew men on, and thon laughed at them. She did treat Slee badly—l'm bound to admit it. She was on with him ono month and off-tho next. I wonder" —-I stoppod, and stared at a gleam of sunlight which ' was concentrating itsolf on the mother- / o'-pearl handle'(if tho.buttor-knife, and turner! it into diamonds.

. , A SHORT STORY, -'"— : : 0

"You don't suspect"—Rossiter paused —"him—Sice?" _ "God forgive me," I groaned. "I do. He has a Spanish strain somewhere, due to a maternal grandmother. He's a hot-tempered, - headstrong follow, quite unlike oiir mild villagers; and lie's been madly in lovo with Virtue ever since they wore at school together. She may havo taunted him beyond endurance." _ "My dear old chap, you're quite agitated," my friend said, coming round and laying a hand 011 my shoulder. "In all likelihood it's not one of your folk at all —some passer-by possibly, -with \vhom tho girl may have had secret assignations. It is often so. Remember how unreliable tho obvious is. Of course, much may como out at the inquest, but at a rough-guess I should say that all the circumstances are in favour of an alien lover, unguessed at by most of you, who has called and gone—and will be exceedingly difficult to traco. , Thero's expert opinion for you —given offhand, I grant but not to be despised." Ho spoke with extraordinary earnestness, almost as if he were back at tho Bar and pleading the cause of Slee. "Heaven send that it may bo so!" said I, for I loved my. flock —sheep and goats aliko. •

But my intuition had not, deceived mo. IfJ was to the obvious that' I.he authorities turned after all. Before tho day was over fileo was arrested on suspicion. He K'd. not slept at homo tho night before, and his account of himself was altogether confused and unsatisfactory. He said tho news had "fair 'mazed'him," and ho frankly owned to me (for I was allowed by the clemency of tho police to interview him) that he. had not up in the night to search for one of his cow« which he heard lowing as if in trouble. There were some other fragments of oircumstantial evidenqe, and things looked black against him. Tho whole village, which knew far more than I did as to the ins and outs of his relations with Virtue Brookman, firmly believed him guilty. He had-never been popular. His Alien blood had prejudiced him in the eyes of his associates, and now they turned on him. Tho day after the inquest Rossiter went'back to town. Ho looked little better for his change and rest, and for this I blamed myself; for I had kept him tip to uuconsoionable hours discuss: ing the "Lopham tragedy," as the papers called it. At tho police court proceedingss John Slea 'was _ committed for trial, and for the fortnight preceding that trial I was terribly worried. In my own mind I condemned him with the rest—and yet, and yet—l didn't want him to die. Guilty he was, in all probability, but he had —I made no doubt of it—been sorely tried. Mrs. Luckly was right; Virtue Brookman had been of a kind which maddens even good men, and John Slee was not a good man. / And then a ray of light illuminated my horizon. I saw by tho papers that owing to the serious illness of Mr. Justice Holme another judge was appointed to take his circuit and would preside (at the lopham murder trial. And who- should that other judge be but llossitor.iHer©. was rather' an' unusual state .of.- affairs. The 'final issues wore' to bo in the - hands of one who had been on the very spot in mufti, so to speak, and whoso unofficial opinion I knew'to be in favour of tho accused's innocence. I wrote a note to Rossiter, telling him liotv comforted I was at tho thought that the whole dreadful matter was in his capable, hands." '

It was night before the County Assizes began, and the chief item on their programme was, of course, the trial of John Hardman Slee for the wilful murder of Virtue Brookman.

I had occasion to visit a sick man on the borders of the next village, and the .sick man (between intervals of coughing) and the sick man's wifo, with no intervals at all, could talk'of nothing else.

"He's guilty right enough," they said over and over again. "He's a stranger, too. 'Tain't in the Lopham breed to spill blood."

"A man is innocent," said I, "till he is pronounced guilty. Heaven forbid that you or'l should condemn him?"

Tho wife saw; me out. She was beginning to purse her mouth and wax mysterious.

"You'll be passing Dead Man's Fir on your way back, sir," she whispered. "They do say that Dead Man's Fir can't lie. Perhaps you'll see sommat, if tho night's clear." !, "Good night, Mrs. Dexter," I made answer sevprely, for these pagan fancies must not be countenanced by tho Church. I. All tho same I tramped tho hill (the very hill in question where tho fir tree stands sentinel) with my head full of John SJee, prisoner. What wore his feelings to-night? What would be his feelings if things went against him on the morrow, and that golden voice that had won my heart at Harrow and warmed it still to a kindlier beating,_ must let those words of fate fall pitifully down? I saw all the scene"in my mind's eye. I. heard tho break in my old friend's tones when,the "And may Got! Almighty have mercy upon your soul" fe11..,,.;,,',.. To be hanged by tho neck —hanged by tho neck—hanged by tho neck! My footsteps falling on the hard road seemed to beat out the refrain. And I had kno.wn John Sleo when ho was a.sohoolboy, w'ith ail insolent manner and a morose face. To bo hanged 1 I had reached a point from which tho jutting mound overhanging tho road was dimly visible. From out the mound roso tho fir tree. It lifted its thin, black branches on high like despairing arms, which cried to heaven for mercy. As I ■ moved nearer I saw that thoro was a half-lopped branch which dangled irresponsibly—an obstinate heavy branch—and it jerked slowly to and fro and even turned half round now and again. ' . Yes, it 'was a branch—of course—it 'should be—lit must bo a branch. >.

; l think I said determinedly and earnestly words like these • aloud. I was certainly speaking when the moon least off her trailing mantle of clouds and withered mv sophistries with a silver finger. Nb, it was not a brancfli; and with my breath rattling unevenly and the awful oxhaustiionof fear in every liinb, I came to a standstill. I I stood an hour —a day—a .year, I cannot toll; and the Thing which was 'not a branch bobbed to and fro at tlio will of the .night wind. Then the moon fell a captive once more to the eager clouds, and strength came back to me. I laughed aloud, because I had got Virtue Brookman'a murder so much on rny brain, and it was foolish for a robust level-headed man of forty-five with an excellent digestion to fall a victim to an hallucination. I would climb the hill, stroll round the tree, and sot my own nervous system at defiance. So I ran, bccauso walking seemed tc irk me, and I stood on a level with Dead Man's Fir just as the rest!esr. moon crept out once more. But- the branch which, was n °fc a branch was still there, and I saw now —saw even after I had rubbed my eyes and called myself unkind names with a dry tongue —that it had broad tweedelad shoulders and hair of silver grey. It's faco was from mo, but I knew I must see that face. 1 waited patiently a fow minutes for that sickening crcak

and twist which should satisfy my awful curiosity. ' "It is Slee," I said, or something said it for me, for my tongue by then was stiff in tlio mouth—"John Sice —m Torminster Gaol. It is Aud then I slid out a hand and caught at the Thing, and laughed again, because I was seeking to touch tho untouchable. And as I livo and shall live 011 yet, because I have already endured moro. than most men and can still sleep, eat, and even laugh at times —my lingers camo to anchor on. marblo encased in cloth, and in another second I had rcachcd out tlio other hand and was gazing into tho face of his lordship—o, my God! —his lordship, Mr. Justice Rossiter! Julian Rossiter, my friend —with his cold, grand-lady wife — his golden voico and liis passion for study, which had kept him awako when other men were sleeping. I do not know why an exact explanation was vouchsafed to me then —but so-it was. I saw the decline and fall of the man I loved, saw it, I tell you, down to its hideous end in the Tnndale copse. I think for a short while tho cords which hold tho sano to their sanity were loosened; for I stood on tip-toe and whispered to the corpse, "Some passer-by, some passerby!" And then I descended into Hell, because my brain settled into its normal groove, and I completely understood all it would mean to me. With the awful indecency of modern times the- whole thing flamed' across England on the morrow. The letter addressed to me which thev found in his pocket I road only through the medium of my morning newspaper. All the world has seen it, so why be Teticcnt ? Hero it is: — "Dear Jack,—l killed Virtue Brookman. : (How absurd it looks written down!) Let mo repeat it, though, for tho sake of tho poor wr-otch who loved her too. There must bo no mistake — I killed Virtuo Brookman. I have novel- deliberately injured any living thing before. It was a curious experience. Till tho Powers of Evil ordained' that your parish should bo my restcuro I havo nevor attempted tho task of self-understanding. I knew there were heights and breadths and lengths, and depths unexplored, but I was content to leave it so, and I had my work. . "And oh! my God, the depths wore very deep, and I probed them to tho uttermost, as 3110 know and you know now. Yet in a queer, back-hand way I am an altruist, for I, havo saved anotlier man —other men, it- may be—from ■unclean hands. I think, like the pearl of great price (not in tho Biblo, I forget its title)) she was born to be tho curse of those who looked on hor too matter. I am returning Fate's lead; I am rounding off the irony; and perhaps somewhero, when I havo made due libations, I may bo permitted to cxnlore further. "God (if He will listen to suoli as I) bless you. . |(J R „ ; There is nothing more to 'add, even if I had tho heart to add it. Tho cold, grand-lady wifo came in for so much sympathy fiat she grew almost condescending. Jolm Slee was acquittal without a stain upon Iris character, but. 110 did not seem to greatly value his liberty.