CHAPTER XXXVI. NEW QUARTERS.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 246, 14 March 1888, Page 8

CHAPTER XXXVI. NEW QUARTERS.

"Ahd this is whab they .call the jocund morn," Walter Lindsay remarked to himself as lie was leisurely dressing by gaslight. It was about nine o'clock. Outside, the great) world of London lay steeped in a heavy and slumberous fog, dense, imraovablo, mysterious, with here and there a

black ghost passing through tho saffronhued darkness. And yet he aid not complain over much. There were other and more cheerful visions oefore lih oyoa. He was about to tako a little run clown into Surroy, just to recall what an English winter was like in tho country ; and it was quite possible that he might be led into making a serios of water-colour studios—extonding over several months, indeed— if only ho could find convenient quarters. Nor did he at all seek to conceal from himself that his main purpose in going down into the country was that ho might perhaps have Sabina for neighbour. No ; on tho , contrary, ho strove to persuade himself that ho should approach her without any anxiety or mi&giving whatever. Why should there be any embarrassment? Eg would havo nothing to do with trembling hopes and foars. It was for Sabina herself to decido what their relationship should be — of tho simplest, if so sho wished it. But sho could hardly rofuso him her friendship. Sho would not turn away from him without a roason. And it would bo a very ploasant thing for him to know that this beau tifulsis tor and companion— or acquaintance, oven, if sho preferred that— was not more than an hour or two'ri walk away. Perhaps she would give him a cup of tea as he parsed. They might meet at church of a Sunday morning, and stroll homeward together, lie could leavo little presents for tho boy, or illustrated papers and magazines for hci self, or a basket of fruit, perhaps, got down tram Covent Gulden. Sister and friend, if so she wished it : he was content. And so ho looked forward to meeting Sabina with equanimity and a light heart. During tho morning matters outsido mended somewhat ; tho fog grew gradually thinner ; and by tho time he issued forth, the him was actually visible — appearing like a small Hispado-Aloresquo plate in an atmosphere of opaque milky-white. It was a long way across London to Waterloo Station ; when ho roached that hollow-resound-ing place, with its cold platforms and shivering porters, there was even a faint suggestion of blue in tho sky : he Mas now secure of a bright day for his fir&t dip into Surrey. He had made up his mind that on this occasion he would not seek to see Sabin. Ho would merely have a look round tho neighbourhood to discover, whether it would suit his purpose. Hia own dim recollection of it was that it was pretty flat— heathy commons, ponds, scattered villages, and so forth. But in any case thero was moro variety a little way faither lo the south — by Box-Hill and Mickleham Downs ; and then again it was atmospheric effect ho was aiming at rather than pronounced landscape. Frosty moonlight nights, snowscenes, wan wintry sunrises, and tho like : thoso wero what he was after ; he could afford, in this series of studies at least, to dispense with the conventionally picturesque. And if he did happen to meet Sabina on this journey of exploration, of course he would speak to her. She would hardly be surprised. It was a landscapepainter's business to be about the country in all seasons. He would tell her his aims. And she would understand that his choice of this neighbourhood was dictated chiefly by the fact of there being a convenient little hotel at Burford Bridge, which would afford him excellent headquarters. But still— still — as the train jogged on its way through the wintry English landscape — with its irregular little fields and tall hedges, its dank raw greens and reds, its pale sunshine and vaporous distances— he becan to be less convinced that he should meet Sabina in this easy and matter-of-fact fashion. There were somo things he could not quite forget. He could not forget how, in former days, when Sabina made her appearance — whether at the top of tho ftairs at the Royal Academy, or alighting from her cab in front of his own house, or as he casually encountered her in Kensington High-street- there was a kind of bowiiderment caused by the straightforward look of her clear, beautiful, bland eyes. He could not forget the glamour of her presence as she sat beside him at tho supper-table, the charm of her smile, tho desperato anxiety to be kind to her and to entertain her in every possible way. Things were change J, it is true. Then she was the admired of all —radiant, and beautiful, and queenly ; conferring favour by the mere touch of her hand ; bringing with her an atmosphere of light and happiness and sunshine whifcheraoever she went ; now slie was solitary, and apart from friends, and a widow. And then he remembered —in these rather wistful reveries, as he sat and looked out on the ever-changing wintry landscape— that Monna Giovanna was a widow when at last Federigo won her love. But then Monna Giovanna was rich and had everything to give ; where is Federigo, when he had sacrificed his falcon for her sake, had parted with the last of his jxmessions. And then again he recalled Janie's often-repeated saying, "There is but t.he one way of winning Sabio's love, and that is through her pity." He was in no promising case, then. In honest truth, he could not compassionate himself about anything. Ho was in the best of health, with the years still lying lightly on his shoulders ; he had won for himself a position as an artist which he considered quite commensurate with his merits ; ho was of go<xl descent ; he had more "money than met. his needs ; he had lots of friends. He knew of no particular reason why he should be pitied ; except, perhaps, that he had tho misfortuno to be very much in love with a woman— and even in that direction he did not struggle hard with his fate. " Witstead !" The sudden sound startled him out of these reveries ; and involuntarily and quickly ho glanced round the little platform. But there was no one going away by tho train ; and he was the only person who alighted. When he had given up his ticket and passed through the small building, he found himself alone, with the road lying before him towards the village. And here he paused in dire uncertainty, almost in fear. It was one thing to think of Sabina when he was three or four thousand miles away ; it was another to find himself almost within a stones-t hrow of her, so that any moment he might find himself confronted by her startled oyes. If only ho could at once go forward, and take her hand, and say, " Dear friend, don'fc bo alarmed. It is true I have come to see you —to be near you. But I will vex you with no importunities. You sh<»U bo my sister, if you wish it - my sister and friend ; and I will ask you to leb me see you occasionally, and to help you in any way that may arise ?" But would not these very explanations be embarrassing —nay, impossible? And now he wished he had gone on to Burford Bridge, and remained there until the arrival of his painting material*. He had not even X & noto-book and pencil with him to make jSrefcence,* supposing ho were suddenly to meet Sabina, and* have to tell his tale. ' And 1 what it she were to resent his coming thus unannounced and uninvited? Ho began to think it would be better for him to avoid Witstead ; there would be some othor route by which he could make his way to Burford Bridge. And yat an overpowering; fascination of curiosity drew him on, bit by b\t*. foyoxds, t.he village. He regarded the moati 'trivial things around him with. tho. keenest interest. This rood, now— crUp and hard it

was in the grip of the frosts, and the msfc [ mado by the carfc-wheels were gleaming white with ice— this was the. road Sabina would come along each time she went to London. And of courso she would be quite familiar with all these things— the wintry hedges, the wide stretch of common, with, its patches of dork-green gorse, the pond now rufllert into silver by a slighb wind from the north. And still he went on, with an eyo cast well forward. If only he could see her cottage, then he would go away content. But how was lie to make out which of these straggling houses was hers ? He met no one ; and so could not ask. A.s he drew nearer, ho could see two or three small children playing about ; otherwise, the main thoroughfare seemed quite deserted ; for although there were two heavily-ladensi wains in front of the Checker,*., the driver.* had gone inside. Finally, after a moment's hesitation, he took heait of giace, walked boldly forward, crossed the load, and entered the inn. He was received by the daughter of thehouso, a pretty, buxom, bluo-cyed little wench, who seemed to regaid tr-e tall r bronzed, black-eyed stianger with much and evident favour. For not only did she politely invite him into the bar-parlour, but hhe oileicd him a newspaper, and poked up the lire for him ; and when she brought him the ale and biscuits and cheese he lTad ordered (in the meantime she had snatched! a moment to look at her hair, and arrange her smart little culls), she seemed quite willing to wait and be asked questions, which she answered smiling and graciously. And this led to a notable discovery. "Oh, yes, it is a very quiet neighbourhood," she was saying ; and then she added, with a little laugh ; " But it wasn't last week. You know sve got our man in, sir." " No, I didn't know," he said— though h» snspected from certain damaged placards he had seen, that there had been a county election recently. " I have been away from England for two or three years and hare just come back." "Have you indeed, sir?" she exclaimed, 8 if that were a veiy temarkable ocurrence. " And who was the lucky candidate ?"" he continued. "Sir Tyrrell Drake, sir." " Oh, really," he said with some surprise. " Well, he is a good man." "He is a very kind gentleman— he is very much liked about here," sho said, pleasantly. " Bub you don't mean that he i 3 still at Beaver Court? — I thought that he had taken it for only a reason or two, for tha shooting." "He has bought the Court, sir. Oh, yes, that was about eighteen month ago, I think." " Really !" he said ; and for a minute or two the amiable young lady's volunteered information about Beaver Court and its connection with local politics received remarkably small attention. His mind was off on a rapid little trip. Of course Sabina would be known to the clergyman of the parish ; of course the clergyman would be known tothe owner of Beaver Court, "which was one of the great houses in the neighbourhood ; Lindsay had become very friendly with thi* Sir Tyrrell Drake through meeting him afc more than one shooting-box in Scotland ; and so what- more simple than to have conveyed to Sabina in this way the information that he was established at Burford Bridge and that there would be nothing remarkable if she should happen to meet him ? She would be prepared. Th^re would b« no danger of startling her. Their friendshipwould be resumed in an easy and natural way ; it would be no matter for wonder if ho called upon her, and took the little presents for the boy. When he had paid his shot, and was about to leave, he said to the gracious and friendly handmaiden : — " Do you happen to know a Mrs Foster who lives about here ?" "Indeed I do, sir,' 1 was the in.stant answer." The poor dear lady is *cry lonely now ; she io a widow now, perhaps you know, sir ?" " Yes," ho said, absently. And then he added: "Is her house in th© village, or outside?" •' If you stop into the road, I will show you." He followed her, and she pointed out to him the cottage, which stood somewhat aparb from the rest of the place, with a bib of ground in front, and apparently a larger space of garden behind. Ho was rather glad that he could go on his way without passing the cottage ; but he stood lookingat it — until, indeed, he was recalled to his senses by the young lady of the ran saying to him — " Good morning, sir, and thank you." " Oh, good morning — and thank you very much !" he said — and therewith she tripped into the hostelry, with jusfc on» brief, swift, and perhaps casual glance, from the doorstep, at the handsome stranger who was now walking briskly away southward. And he was well cdntent now that he knew the actual and veritable house that held Sabina ; and he was glad to be in the neighbourhood ; and whenever chance brought him that way, he would know the precise spot that his eyes would seek for. Indeed, so well satisfied was he with hia morning's work that, as he'got further and further down into the country, he began to devote his mind to other things and to hay& a look about him for possible subjects. To , an ordinary observer there was not much that was promising ; for although there was a perfectly cloudless sky overhead, an the pale December sunlight was flooding the land, wintry desolation was too apparent, the woods wore leafless, the trees nearer at hand looked black ; but to the trained eye of a landscape-painter there is nothing black in the country— except th© rooks : as regarded these very trees, he was noting with delight the golden green of their stems on the sunward side and the beautiful deep rose- purple of their sprtading masses of branches and twigs. Indeed, for him there was no lack of colour anywhere. There was the ruddy bronze of the fallen beach-leaves; there was the dull yellow of the foliage of the scrub-oak ; there was the sparkling green of ivy and laurel, and the heavier green of the firs; the tall hedges were starred with the red or purple-red berries of the haw thorn, the wild rose and the yew ; hero and there the high banks were hanging with the silvery-grey fluff of the wild clematis. Oh, yes, he should have plenty of employment. There were greater things than these to tax his skill. The everchanging heavens would present him witk their slow-moving transformations, from the lovely splendour of the dawn to the coming night; the snow and the frost would be his" companions j the moonlit wopds would have aeorebs- to reveal.'/ And he Was especially fortunate in this, that tK© public were very good to him, and did nob grumble when he would insist on doing his in his own way. He might be as patient and faithful and minute as he chose r-or as elusive and subtil© and faintly suggestive — and they did not complain, poubtlens they knew they could get chromolithographs elsewhere. When he got down to Box-Hill, he first of ill had * look round the neighbourhood, and s&w~>bhere whatr— with » Httle«v-s^ncalni»g o? conscience— served to, confirm him fcifc

purpose. Then he proceeded to tho Burford Bridge Hotel, and managed to secme whatsoemed to him very snug and comfortable rooms. And finally he ascertained that Sir Tyrrell Drake was then living at Beaver Court ; though they could not tell him whether Sir Tyrrell had got through his pheasant shooting of tho yea.r The fact- is, Lindsay, though ho had to say " For I must to the greenwood go, 1 ' hud no thought of going as "a banished man." He expected to spend tho time very pleasantly in this retreat : and if his work should hold him mainly bound to these more southern regions, still there were Sundays and other occasional holidays when a little ttip northwaid would atVord him relaxation. In the meanwhile, he walked on to Heading, and took tiain back to London, anxious to get his preparations made as soon as possible, and himself installed in these new quartern In a couple of da\s' time, he thought, he should be established at Bui foul Bridge. (To lit roaianud. )