THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2707, 11 December 1882, Page 4

THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS

BY B. L. FARJEON. Author of “ Blades-o’-Grass,” “Joshua Marvel,” “ Bread and Cheese and Kisses,” “ Grif,” “ London’s Heart,” &c., &c.

(Continued.)

“ Mr Hartrich suggested that he might have experienced a disappointment in love. But I rejected the suggestion, for Balcombe and I have for years exchanged confidences in which much of men’s inner nature is revealed, and he would have confided in me. I have never in my life known a man more likely to inspire love in a woman than Balcombe, and I have sometimes thought it strange he had not met with one to whom he was drawn by an irresistible influence, and who would have exercised over him a great power for good. Of an impure passion I believe him incapable. But he expects too much. The man who seeks what does not exist—perfection —is likely to fall into the other extreme; and Balcombe would stand in danger of such a fall were he a butterfly man, a man of society. Write to him to-night, and urge him to come to us—tell him, indeed, that he must come, unless he is engaged on an epic.” . “ If you wrote to him also, it would he as well.” “ I will do so. Give mo his address—no, never mind ; I will give you my letter, and you can send it with yours. _ How do you get along with your uew maid “ Charmingly. She is perfection.” “ Which I said just now,” ho said, pleasantly, “ does not exist. I must be mistaken.”

“ I should like to keep her with me always.” “ It is best that she should remain where she is. For a simple maid a country life is the happiest and best —indeed, for any maid, or any man, young or old.” “ Why do you not adopt it ?” “ Too late. My course was fixed a generation ago, and a man must follow his star. I should die of inaction in the country. And you, my dear, what would become of you were I to condemn you to it P” “ How little you understand me! I adore the country.” “ For an hour and a day at a time. I know you better, Adelaide, than you know yourself.” Until the Alpine peaks were tipped with the fire of the rising sun, the Advocate remained in his study, investigating the case of Gautran. Only once did he leave it to give to his wife the letter he wrote to Balcombe. Newspaper after newspaper was read and laid aside, and at length, the long labor at an end, the student and enthusiast rose and retired to his bed. Before another day had passed it was known that the celebrated Advocate, who had come to Geneva for rest from long and weary professional toil, had undertaken the defence of a wretch upon whose soul, in the belief of every flunking man and woman, the guilt of blood lay heavily. From that moment the trial of Gautran was invested with an importance which elevated it into an absorbing theme with every class of society.

Chapteb VII. TWO LETTERS —PKOM FRIEND, TO FRIEND, FROM LOVER TO LOVER. I. “My dearßalcombe, —Wo have been here three days, and are comfortably established in your singularly-named villa, the House of White Shadows. Upon entering it I saw at a glance how desirous you wore to make the place agreeable to us. Your labor is not thrown away; I fully appreciate the mark of friendship and affection. You have also accomplished a work which pleases me; I dislike to see property fall into decay. With a house, as with the mind, it is well occasionally to sweep away the cobwebs. Your villa is a perfect country residence, and the scenery around it is I am told charming. I have, as you are aware, no eyes for the beauty of nature; human nature and human motive alone interest me ; and my impressions of the surrounding country are derived from the descriptions of my wife, who enjoys novelty with the enthusiasm of a child. It appears that she was enchanted when she heard from your lips that your house was haunted by shadows; up to this time, however, none have appeared to her, nor has my composure been disturbed by supernatural visions. At a convenient time I shall take an opportunity of learning why your villa has received its singular appellation ; you yourself may enlighten me ; and you may also relate to me the story of the sign of the little inn close by, the Inn of the Seven Liars. Those stories must have a human interest.

“I have travelled hither for rest, and no sooner am I here than I become interested in a case which is coming on shortly for trial. It is a case of murder, and a man is charged with its commission. He has no friends; he has no money; he is undoubtedly a vicious creature of the commonest and lowest order. Left to himself, it appears to me that ho will be condemned, for public opinion is dead against him, and there is nothing in him to recommend him to favor; ho is a creature to avoid. But those are not the points to be considered. Is the man guilty or not guilty? Ho is pronounced guilty by the universal public voice; but there is a feature in the case which has taken powerful possession of me, and which appears not to have occurred to others. I intend to devote the whole of to-night to a study of all the circumstances of the crime, and it is likely I shall undertake the defence of the repulsive being—l have no doubt much to his astonishment. There is a mystery in the matter, and to endeavor to unravel it will afford me pleasure. Change of air and scene has already done mo good, and I am physically renovated; occupation of mind will help mo on ; so when you hear —if you have the opportunity of hearing any nows at all from the world in the mountain fiistness in which you are intrenched —that I have undertaken the defence of a man named Giiutrau, accused of the murder of a flower girl named Madeline, do not he surprised. ■ “Now, .what is troubling mo is what is my wife to do, how is she to occupy her time, during our stay in Petit Sarconnex ? At present she is full of animation and delight in the now faces and new scenery which surround her; hut the novelty will wear off, and then she will he dull. Save me from self-reproach by taking up your residence with us, if not for the whole time wo remain hero (which I should much prefer) at least for a few weeks. By so doing you will confer a service upon all of us. My wife enjoys your society; I love

you ; and personal association with sincere friends will he of real benefit to you. I urge it earnestly upon you. Were you engaged in the preparation of any cherished work with which you intend to surprise us and the world, I should not desire you fo come to us, but I have an impression that you are brooding upon unhealthy fancies, and that you have sought solitude for the purpose of struggling with one of those ordinary though oppressive maladies of the mind to which sensitive natures are prone. You will not conquer it in solitude; you cannot grow strong in solitude ; silence and seclusion will not help you to a victory over yourself. Come and unbosom yourself to me, if you have anything to unbosom, and do not fear that I shall intrude myself upon you against your inclination. If you have a grief, meet it in the company of those who love you ; there is a medicine in a friendly smile, in a friendly word, in a friendly shake of the hand, even in silent friendly propinquity, which you cannot find in solitude. One needs sometimes, not the sunshine of fair weather, but the sunshine of the soul; here it awaits you, and should you bring dark vapours with you, I promise you they will soon be dispelled. X am disposed to insist upon your coming, and to take it as an act of unfriendliness if you refuse me. When the case of Gautrau is at an end I shall be an idle man. It may be a long time before another opportunity occurs of our passing a few weeks in each other’s society, undisturbed by the cares and duties of the profession to which I am devoted. Add an inestimable value to your hospitality by coming hero at once and sweetening my leisure. “ Your friend, “ Edward.”

“My Own I—My husband is uneasy about you, and has imposed a task upon me. You shall judge for yourself whether it is a disagreeable one. lam to write to you immediately, and insist upon your coming to us without an hour’s delay. You have not the option of refusal. Tho Advocate insists upon it, and I also insist upon it. You must come. Upon tho receipt of this letter you will pack up your portmanteau and travel hither in the swiftest possible way, by tho shortest possible route. Be sure that you do not disobey mo. You arc to come at once without an hour’s, nay, without a moment’s delay. If you fail, I will not answerfor the consequences. Forwhat reason, do you suppose, did I accept your offer of your villa in this strangely quiet spot, where one feels as if one were out of the world, unless it was in tho hope and the belief that we should be near each other ? And now that lam here, pledged to remain, unable to leave without an exhibition of the most dreadful vacillation (which would not matter were I to have my own way, and were everything to bo exactly as I w ish it), you are bound to fly swiftly to the side of one who loves you with all her heart and soul. Do not be angry with me for my disregard of your caution to be careful in my manner of writing to you. I cannot help it; I think of you day and night, and if you wish mo not to write what you fear other eyes than yours might see, you must come and talk to me, than there will bo no need to write letters to you. I shall count the minutes till you aro bore. When the Advocate said he had an idea you would have taken up your quarters with us in this delightful villa (he did say so indeed), I made an excuse for you, and said it was most likely because it was your house that your felt a delicacy in coming without an invitation. That was nicely put, was it not ? Come then, immediately. I cannot live without you. “Yes, the Advocate is uneasy about you. He asked mo tho strangest questions. One was whether I thought you had any special reason for melancholy. Could anything in the world be more absurd ? Reason for melancholy ! Do I not love you ? Do you not love me ? Have we not vowed to be true to each other ? Parted we are in one sense by cruel fate, but it cannot stop the beating of our hearts; only death can do that, and my heart will beat for you, and for you alone, till I am an old, old woman. Think of me as I shall be then, an old woman with white hair, walking with a crutch stick, as they do on the stage. But no, I do not think I shall live to be old ; I cannot endure the reflection. I have seen such dreadful, dreadful old women, and I would rather die than be like them. I shall make up my mind not to think of the future j there is happiness enough in to-day when you are with me. As for your being melancholy, it is ridiculous. There can bo no possible reason for it. “ Stop, though. A friend of yours, a banker in Geneva, suggested to the Advocate that you might have had a disappointment in love. Now this sets me thinking. You have told mo that I am the only one woman in tho world you have loved. But are you to be believed ? It is tho usual thing for a man to play a woman false. Are you like the others ? if I thought so —if I thought so for a moment—

“ Now, I am going to torment myself. Why have you chosen to hide yourself in the mountains, away from me ? Have you been there before ? Is there some pretty girl there to attract • you, from whom you find it impossible to tear yourself ? If it is so, let her beware of mo. You have no idea of what I should be capable if you made me jealous. A pretty girl, with eyes like mine, with hair like mine—you would pay me that compliment, at all events a pretty simple girl, pensive or smiling ? which ? I can be both, you know. Younger than I am, though I am not so old, sir—with hands—ah, I am easier in my mind ; her hands must be coarse, for she can be nothing.but a peasant. But a peasant might fall in love with you —there are more unlikely things than that. Shall I tell you what the Advocate said of you this evening ? It will make you vain, but nevermind. ‘I have never in my life known a man more likely to inspire love in a woman.’ There, sir; his very words. How true they are! All. my darling ! How cruel was the chance that separated us from each other, and brought us together again when I was another man’s wife ! Too late, but not too late for love ! O, if I had only known ! If some fairy had told me that the man who, when I was a child, enthralled mo with his beautiful fancies and won my heart, and who then, as it seemed, passed out of my life —-if I had suspected that after many years he would return home from his wanderings with the resolve to seek out the child and make her his wife —do you think I would not have waited for him ? Do you think it possible I could ever have accepted the love of another man ? No, it could not have been, for even as a child I used to dream of you, and held you in my heart above all other human beings. But you were gone — I never thought of seeing you again—and I was so young that I could have had no foreshadowing of what was to come. Have you ever reflected, my dear, upon what you owe me ? It is more than you ever can repay. Have you ever considered how utterly different my life might have been had you not crossed it? Not that I reproach you for it—do not for a moment think that; your love is more precious to me than all the world besides. But how strangely things turn out without the principal actor—in this instance an actress, my dear —having anything to do with them ! It is exactly like sitting down quietly by yourself and seeing all sorts of wonderful tilings occur in whicfli you have no hand, although if you were not in existence they would never have taken place. That proves to me that wo are ruled by Pate, and that it is useless to resist it If it had not happened that you knew me when I was a child, and loved me then, as you have since told me (my own feelings at that time were the feelings of a child, not of a woman, but you wore a man, remember) —if it had not happened that your restless spirit drove you abroad, where you remained for I don’t know how many years—if it had not happened that, wearied with wandering and tired of a lonely life, you resolved to come and seek out the child you used to pet and make love to (but she did not know the meaning of love then) —if it had not happened that, entirely ignorant of what was passing in your mind, the child, grown into a pretty woman(l think I may say that without vanity) was persuaded by her friends that to refuse an offer of marriage made to her by a great lawyer, famous and rich, was something too shocking to contemplate—if it had not happened that she, knowing nothing of the world, knowing nothing of her own heart, allowed herself to be guided by those cold, calculating friends to accept a man utterly unsuited to her—if it had not happened that this man and you were friends. There, my dear, follow it out for yourself, and think kow different our lives might have been if things had happened in the way they ought to have done. Till I saw you, Arthur, after I had become a wife, i did not know what love was ; I was cheated and tricked into a marriage with a man whoso heart is as cold as ice ; I am bound to him for life, but I am yours till death. “ Are you angry with me for putting all this on paper ? You must not bo, for I cannot help it if I am not wise. When I think of you, when I write to you, when I speak of yon, I only know that I love you. And I declare to you, if you do not come at once to the House ;of White Shadows, that I will steal from it in the night, and will make my way to the mountains to see what wonderful attraction it is that keeps you in loneliness, and separates mo from the man who has sworn undying love for mo. What food for scandal! Save me from its possibility as you are a true man. “ You have made the villa beautiful. As I walk about the house and grounds I am

filled with delight to think that you have effected such a magic transformation for my sake. What pains you must have taken ! And how strange that you did it all by deputy, and that you have not set foot in Petit Sarconnex for years! You see 1 know all ! Who told me ? My new maid Dionctta. Do you remember, iu one of the letters you received from your agent, that something was said about the old housekeeper, Mother Denise, and a pretty granddaughter ? I made up my mind at the time that the pretty grand-daughter should be my maid. And she is, and her name is Dionetta. Is it not pretty ? —but not prettier than the owner. Will that tempt you? I dare say you have forgotten that her name, and her grandmother’s, and Fritz the Fool’s, were mentioned in the letter you gave mo to read; you must learn that women take notice of every trifle. I have sent my town maid home, so I am here absolutely alone, with none but strangers around me. I could continue my gossip uutil daylight, but I have already lost an hour of my beauty sleep. My heart goes with this letter; bring it back to mo. With undying love, “ Yours for ever, “ Adelaide.”

Chapter VII. THE STRUGGLE OP LOVE AND BUTT,

In his lonely room in the mountain hut, in which ho had taken up his quarters, Arthur Balcombe sat, writing. It was early morning; he had risen before the sun. During the past week he had struggled earnestly with tho terror which possessed him ; his suffering had been great, but lie was conquering, as he believed. The task he had imposed upon himself of setting his duty before him in clear terms afforded him consolation; the book in which he was writing contained the record of a love which had filled him with unrest, and threatened to bring dishonour into his life. " I thank God,” he wrote, “ that I am calmer than I have been for several days. Absence and silence have proved inestimable blessings. Looking upon my love as dead, I can even love without dishonor. “ But there is no fever in it now. I have not betrayed my friend. “Ho would press me to his heart if he were acquainted with my mad passion, and my struggle to overcome it. But not if he know all —not if he knew that tho woman he worshipped looked upon him with aversion, and gave her love to the friend whom he trusted as a brother.

“ There was the error. To listen to her confession of love, and to make confession of my own. “ How, then, can I say that I have not betrayed my friend ? It was a base act, committed in a moment of maduess. “If I were sure she would not suffer —if I wore sure that she would forget mo—it would wound me, yes, but it would be the best happiness that could befal me. Cold-ness-neglect—they are sharp daggers, but I deserve to bleed.

“ Still I cry out against my fate. I committed no crime. Love came to mo and tortured me. But it is man’s duty to fly from temptation. I will strive to do mine. Then in years to come I shall bo able to think of the past without shame. “ I have destroyed her portrait: I could not look upon her face and forget her.” A voice from another room caused him to lay aside his pen. It was the peasant, the master of the hut, calling to him, and asking if he was ready. He went out to tho man.

“I heard you stirring,” said the peasant, and my young ones are waiting to show you where the edelweiss can be found.” Two children, a boy and a girl, looked eagerly at Arthur Balcombe. It had been arranged on the previous day that the three should go on a mountain excursion in search of the flower that brought good luck and good fortune to the finder. The children were sturdy-limbed and ruddy-faced, and were impatient to bo off. “ Breakfast first,” said Arthur Balcombe. Brown bread, honey, goat’s milk, and an omelette were on the table, and the stranger, who had been as a God-send to tho poor family, enjoyed tho homely fare. The peasant had already calculated that if the gentleman lived a year in the hut they could save five hundred francs—a fortune. Then their lodger was generous to the children, in whose eyes ho was something more than mortal. Money is a magic power. (To be continued on Thursday.)