CHAPTER XX. THE OLD MILL.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 157, 19 June 1886, Page 2

CHAPTER XX. THE OLD MILL.

Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak ; I'll go no further. --Hamlet. I did not sleep well that night, but this did not prevent me from beginning work early in the morning. The sermon T had been interupted in the afternoon before, hod to be completed that day ; and I was hard at work upon it when there canie a knock at my study door, I arose with anything but alacrity and opened it, Dwight Pollard stood bofore me. It was a surprise that called up a flush to my cheeks ; but daylight was shining upon this interview, and I knew none of those sonsations which had unnerved mo the night before. I was simply on my guard, and saw him seat himself in my own chair, without any other feeling than that of curiI osifcy as to the nature of his errand. He likewise was extremely self-possessed, and looked at me calmly for some instants before speaking. "Last night," ho began, "you refused a request which my mother made of you." I bowed. "It was a mistake," he continued, " The paper which my father gave you cannot bo ono which he in his right senses would wish seen by tho public. You should havo trusted my mother, y> ho knew my father much better than you did. " "It was not a matter of trust," Iprotested. " A document had been given me by f», dying man, with an injunction to put it into certain hands. I bad no choice but to fulfil hi 3 wishes in this regard. Your mother herself would have despised me if I had yielded to her importunities and left it behind me." " My mother," hs commenced. " Your mother is your mother." I put in. "Let ua have respect for her vidowhood, and leave her out of this converse 'ion." He looked at me closely, and I utu *rstood his glance. "I cannot return you four father's \, ill," I declared, firmly. He held my glance with his, "Have you it still ?" he asked. " I cannot return it to you," I repeated. He arose and approached me courteously. "You are doing what you consider to be your duty," said he. "In other words than my mother used, I simply add, on our hoads must be the consequences." And his grave look, at once half -pad and half-determined, impressed me for the first time with a certain sort of sympathy for this unhappy family. " This leads me to the purpose of my call," he proceeded, deferentially. " I am Lore at my mother's wish, and I bring you her apologies, Though you have dono and are doing wrong by your persistence in carrying out my poor father's wishes to tho detriment of his memory, my mother regret^ that she spoke to you In tho manner she di A , and hopes you will not allow it to stanr 1 in the way of your conducting the fu; era services." "Mr Pollard," I replied, "your father was my friend, and to no other man could I delegate the privilege of uttering prayers over his remains. But I would not bo frank to you nor true to myself if I did not add that it will take more than an apology from your mother to convince me that she wishes me well, or is, indeed s *anylhing but the enemy her looks proclaimed her to be last night " " I am sorry " he began, but meeting my eye, stopped. "You possess a moral courage which I envoy you," he declared And waiving the subject' of his mother, he proceeded to inform me concerning the funeral and the arrangements which had been made.

I listened calmly. In the presence of this man I felt strong. Though he knew nay weakuess, and possibly despised me for it, he also knew what indeed he had just acknowledged, that in some respects I was on a par with him. The arrangoments wero soon made, and he took his leave without any further allusion to personal matters. "But I noticed that at the door he stopped and cast a look of inquiry around tho room. It disconcerted^ me somewhat ; and while I found it difficult to express to myselt tho nature of apprehensions which it caused, I inwardly resolved to lid myself as soon as possible of the responsibility of holding Mr Pollard's will. If Mr Nicholls did not, icturn by tho day of the funeral, I would go myself to Boston and find him. No occurrence worth mentioning followed this interview with D',\ ight Pollard. I conducted tho services as I had promised, but found nothing t > relate concerning them, save the fiet that Mrs Pollard was not present. She had bron very aiuch prostrated by her husband's death, and was not ablu to leave her room, or so it nas paid. I mistrusted tho truth of this, however, buttnust acknovlodge I was glad to be relieved cf a presence not only so obnoxious to myself, but so out of tune with the occasion. I could ignore Guy, subtle and i-eerctasho was, but this woman could not. be ignored Where- she was, thero brooder! something dark, mysterious, and threatening ; and whether t-he smiled or frowned, vha influence of her spirit was felt by a vague- oppres-ion at once impossible to analyse or escape from. Fron the cpmetorv I wont immediately to my hou<?e. Tho day was a drear y one, "ml I feifc chilled Tho r;r;sy of tho shy was ia my spirit, nnd everything seemed unreal and da\k and I \v;»s in .s, melau choly mood, and unlike my-ol ton ofhcrsimilar occasions, did not feel thrfc drawing towards the one dear he--.it vlnch hitheifo h.nl afforded ma solaca and supp-irr. I lvid not got usjd to my new e>r jet, and till I did, t } ->o smile of her t lo^'i wr* moio of a reproach to mo *han r> ro- „1 i^-n I was stop-vd at the garo by Mrs Binks. She h my n;xt door neighbour, and in the absence of my landlady^ who had gi :>o to visit some friends, took charge of anj- mr=;sage which murht be left for me while I was out Shu looked flurried and rnvs torious. " You ha^e a visitor," -he announced. As s-ho paused and looked as if sho expected to be questioned, 1 naturJ.ly a-hed who it wa~. "Sho paid ppo vas your sister," sho declared. '-A t?!l woman with a thick veil over her face. > ho went right up to your study, but I think sho must havo got tired of wailing, Tor she weot a.raya '.ray again a few moments ago." My sister ! I had no sister. I looked at Mrs Banks in amazement. '* Describe her more particularly," said "That I cannot do," the returned. "Her veil hid her fcutaies too completely for me to sco them. I could not even toll her age, but I should 3iy, from tho way ehe walked, that s^c v.rf oM r than you." A chill, which did not come emirely fiom the oast wind then blowing, ran •-havply through my vin^ "I thank yon," said I, somewhat incoherently, and ran hastily upstairs I had a presentiment ai to the identity of this womar, At the dpor of my "Uidy I pau-eel r.nd looked hurriedly around. No pi^i jof any disturbance met my eye. Crossing over to my desk, I purveyed the papois which I had left scattered somewhat iooreiv over it. They had been moved. I knew it by tho position of the blotter, which I left vinder a certain sheet of paper, and which now lay on top. Hot and oold at orca, I v.ent imf mediately to the spot where I hid concealed Mr Pollard's will. It "vas in mv rle< k, but underneath a drawer instead of in v, and by this simple precaution, perhaps, I had saved it from destruction ; for I found it lying in its place undkturbci, though tho hand which had crept -o near its hJdingplace was, as I felc certain, no other than that of Mis Pollard, searching for thi^ very document. It gave me a shuddering cense of disquiet to think that the veiled figure of this portentous woman had elided over my floors, reflected itself in my mirrors, and hung, dark and mysterious in its veiling drapery, over my de«k and the papers v, hich I had handled myself so lately. I wa3 struck, too, by the immovable determination to compass her own ends ct any and every risk, which -was manifested by this incident ; and, n-ond6ring more and more ag to what had been the nature of tho offence for which Mr Pollard tought to make reparation in his will, I on'y waited for a moment of leisure hi order ro mako another effort at enlightenment by a second study of the prayer-book which my dying friend had placed so earnestly in my hands. It came, as I supposed, about eight o'clock that evening. The speciil duties of the day were done, and I knew of nothing else 'hat demanded my attention. I therefore took the book from my pocket, whero I had fortunately kept it, and was on the point of opening its pag t, when there camo a ring at the door-bsil belo'v As I have said before, my landlady was away. I consequently went to the door myself, whero I was met by an unexpected visitor in the shops of the idiot boy, Colwell. Somewhat disconcerted at tho eight of a face so repugnant to me, I was Btill more thrown off my balance v. hen 1 heard this errand. Ho had been sent, ho said, by a man who had been thrown from hia waggon on the north road, and was nnw lying in a dyincr condition inside the old mill, befoie which ho was picked up. Would I come and see him ? He had but an hour or so to live, and wished very much for a clergyman's consolation, It was a call anything but agreeable to me. I was tired ; I was interested in the attempt which I was about to make to solve a mystery that was not altogether disconnected with my own personal welfare, and — let me acknowledge it, since events have proved I had reason to fear this spot - 1 did not like the old mill. But I was far from conceiving what a wretched experience lay before me, nor did the fact that the unwelcome request came through the medium of an imbecile aroueo any suspicion in my mind a3 to the truth of tho message he brought. For, foolish as he is in some regards, hio reliability &s an errand-boy is universally known, while his partiality for roaming, as well as for excitements of all kinds, fully accounted for the fact of his being upon the scene of accident. £ had, then, nothing but my own disinclinations to contend with, and these, Btrong as they were, could not, at that time, and in that mood which my late experience had induced, long etand'in the.way of a duty so apparent. 1 consequently testified my willingness to go to the mill, and in a few minutes later set out for the spot with a mind comparatively free from disagreeable forebodings. But an we approached the mill, and 1 caught a glimpse of its frowning walls glooming so darkly from out the cluster of trees that environed them, I own that a sensation akin to that which had been awakened in me by Mrs Pollard's threats, and the portentous darkness of her sombre mansion, once again swept with its chilling effects over my nerves.

Shocked, disgusted with myself at the rocurrenco of a weakness for which I had so little sympathy, 1 crushed down the feel ings I experienced, and advanced to the door. A tall and slim figure mot me, clothed in some dark enveloping [garment, and carrying a lantern. "The injured man is within," said he. Something in his voice made me look up. His faeo was entirely in shadow. " Who are you ?" I asked. He did het reply. " Let us po in," ho said. A week before I would havo refused to do this without knowing moro ot my man. But the shame from which I had suffered for the last few days had made me so distrustful of myself that I was ready to impute to cowardice even the most ordinary instinct of solf-preservation. I accordingly followed the man, though wiUi each stop th&ti I took I felt my apprehensions increaso To pierce in thismanner a depth of sombro darkness, with only tho ditn oatliue of an unknown man moving silently before me, was anything but encouraging in itself. Then the way wa? too -ong, and tho spot too far from the door. /V imliy injured man could not bo carried beyond the first room, 1 ihoucrht, and wo had already taken stops enough to bo halfway through the building. At last I felt that even cowardico was excusable under these circumstances, and, putting out my hand, I touched the man before me on tho bhoulder. " Whoic nro \>« going ?" I demanded. bio continued to move on without reply. '•' F shall follow you no longer if you do iiot -^peuk," 1 erkd again. " This midnight journey through an old building roady to Sail into ruios hciiis to mo not only un-ploa-.nu but, ha/aidou^." Still ro answei. " I K.irnecl you," I s-aid and stopped, but the \\o\t moment I gave an almost frantic b.'iuid forv.aid. A form had come up agdinst me from behind, and 1 found that a itkui \<.a= following a a elo?ely upon my step 3 a-i i mut botu following tho^o of tho poison who stalked before me. TJio ihrili ot this dkcovcry will novor be fo» gotten by mo. For a moment I could net t>psak, and y hon I did, tho sound oi my voico o:j!/ ;icidcd to my terrors "'. ou have me iv a tiap," taid I ; " who a«.*o yon, and what uro your intentions with mo ?" ' Wu havo you whore wo can reason with j ou,'' exclaimed the voico of him who pressed <>gaiu-t m) back ; and at tho sound of tlio.-o L'o.nlctnanly tonos with their undoi lying novo ot sarcasm, 1 understood that my hour had oomo. It was the voico and intonation of (luy Pollard