THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 61, 14 December 1907, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER.

"A VOICE FROM THE DEEP." The rain was descending in torrents, and the wind howling in weird discord as I struggled in pursuit of a Kilburu omnibus. " "L'rrj* up, sir," bawled the conductor, and I, breathless and dripping, at last reached it, and staggered down its length to the only unoccupied scat it contained. "Full inside, Bill," shouted the man, and onward we lumbered. It was past seven. As we gradually left it behind us, the city looked a dismal and desolate waste whence all who could were flying. With the rain rattling against the windows, we passed Chagc«ry Lane, Oxford street, and the -Circus without a change. Nobody got out, and we therefore made no stoppages of any kind. At the Marble Arch we came to a halt, and I heard the conductor assuring someone with stern suavity that there was alisolutcly no room within the conveyance.

'"l'm truly sorry, miss, but look for yourself," he said. "Will any gentleman ride outside to oblige a lady?" he added, turning round. No one moved. The prospect of a Beat on the outside of an omnibus on •uch a night as this nipped the instincts of politeness in the bud. At the conductor's invitation, the lady had mounted the footboard, and stood gazing despairingly within. I raised my head, and saw the sweetest face I had ever encountered. A young face, with great blue eyes, which seemed to res: mournfully upon my own. For one moment I hesitated, and then rose. "Allow me to offer you my seat," I said sadly—gladly—sadly. "Oh, thank you so much," exclaimed the owner of the blue eyes, giving me a ravishing smile. I handed her in, watched her until she was seated, caught a last look of gratitude from her, and then claml>ered up J to the roof in the darkness an the rain without another regret. There I sat under my dripping umbrella while we threaded our way down the Edgeware road and out into Maida Vale. Several times we stopped to disgorge a passenger or to pick up one, but the owner of the blue eyes still remained within. My destination was not far off now. As we neared it I s : ghed to think that she and I would have to part, perhaps without a glance, never to meet again! Filled with this regret, I descended, and. as the bus stopped, came into collision with someone in the doorway. A pair of arms clutched me, a soft voice tnurmureil apologies, and the moment later I was standing in the roadway beside the object of my thoughts. As the bus rumbled on the turned towards me. "How can I thank you sufficiently for yonr kindness?" she sweetly said. I made some deprecating reply, and »he continued: "But you are wet through, and it's my fault." She touched my sleeve. Was it that which sent a thrill through me, or the piercing cold? I could not distinguish. "No, no," I said quickly. "I was wet before I went outside. It's nothing." "Yon most make haste home," she murmured in tones of solicitude, "and take your things off. and have some hot brandy and water," It was an unpoetic but sensible suggestion. Certainly 1 wonld adopt it. "But perhaps you are a teetotaller?'' she hesitated.

"No, no," I hurriedly assured her. "But we most not stand stilt. You most be anxious to reach your home. May I ask in what direction it lies!" She indicated the locality, and, oh. 'joy! her house was near my own. 'Ton will permit me to see vou to your door?" I asked. "If you will be so good. I have no umbrella." In a moment mine was covering her tender figure. She crept close beneath its shelter; her hand confidingly sought my arm; and, where it lightly lay, a gentle warmth sprang up. making' mv pulses throb. Thus we began our walk. The street lamps as we passed showed me as dainty and as neatly-dressed a maiden as it hail ever been my lot to meet. My eyes fed upon ber face, until, aware of my gaxe, and with what seemed a ■lightly nervous laugh, she said: "Bo yon fancy yon have seen me liefore somewhere?" "Yes—no—that is, in church, perhaps," I stammered awkwardly. Heaven forgive me! I pass my Sundavs at mv club. "Very likely," she returned. "I hope I am not taking you out of vonr wav. Your friends will wonder w"hat keen* yon." "Not at all; nobody expeets me. I Shall spend my evening in solitude." "Ah! If I could but do the same!" she cried, clasping l»oth her hands on my arm, with childish regret in her simple face.

Tour relatives, parents »" I said. "I hare neither. I am only a governess—a domestic servant, without a servant's liberty, and " She buried her face on my eleeve. "It's an abominable shame!" I detland.

"New mind," said she, wiping her eyes.

aPeor little »oul. I tried to cheer hei Bat thare wooU be time for that wften "J* "K at « d » «oft'y- Never had it Handed like that before. "That is where I live," said she, al mow at the same moment. "May I call and see you?" I asked eagerly.

"No, no," she demurred. "You forget, _I am only a governess." Then putting her little hand in mine, "But on Snndaya I am free. Perhaps we may meet in church." "Which church?" I entreated. "St Thomas's. Good-night, Mr. liastin, and thank you for your kindness}' I tore myself away, and walked humMi of compassion for the tender little soul, whom I pictured the skve of a host of rude and tiresome children. treated like a servant by her mistress and by the uervants with disdain. . "i grew sad with pity as I contemplated the misery of her existence. A delu-t should not kep me from church on Sunday. It did not.

Through the mud and puddles I sought St Thomas's. Kitty \va» there. \\'c met in the porch alter the service, ami for tie second time took joint excrete under my umbrella. For many SiuuJ.ivafter that we spent pleasant hour.-, though mostly wet ones, in each other's company. Kitty acquainted me during these walk* with the story 01 iier lin-. It was a sad one.

Her father had been in the army. il,. .was either a general or a colonel - I sometimes one, sometimes the tit her, she never seemed quite crtain on this point. Her mother she never knew, but believed her to be a lady oi title. Her childhood was a dream, yet a dream of splendour and pomp. Hiien she was sixteen a terrible disaster occurred. Uer father was killed in a battle, and she was turned out of her ancestral home by- a cruel and rapacious uncle. Alone and pennile?-. -he Xacd the world, and after many cruel trials and privations found an a-yluin in a convent. There wae a breat in her story here. Her lips were sealed, .-lie ■aid, concerning the events of Ok next few years. I must ask her no questions. Ultimately circumstance:* compelled her to accept her present situation, which was in the house of a wealthy but illiterate female, who, as 1 surmised, treated her shamefully. This was the pith of her story, told in such mournful tones that it brought tears to my eyes. I asked her the name of the battle in which her father fell. After much cogitation, she thought it ■was Waterloo, but it might have Iwcn the battle of the Xile! Poor child! the bitterness of her loss had impaired her memory. Xeitlier could she recall her mother's maiden name, the place of licr birth, of her father's mansion, or his regiment. "Some terrible secret hangs over thiyoung life!" I groaned. "Oh, that I could penetrate it, and so restore lier to her proper position!" Why I put off asking her to be my wife I scarcely know. To sit and dream of love seemed happiness enough, and I hesitated to make her a formal offer of my hand. As Christmas approached I noticed my Kitty growing m'ire and more low-spirited. I exerted myself tcr' dispel this dejection, which I believe arose from thoughts of her early sufferings. "Why should you dwell upon those unhappy days?" I said. "Ah!" she sighed, "you do not know what makes me sad." "Yes, I know," f declared, 'ft U tlie bitter recollection of the pa=l. Your father's death at the Kittle of Thermnplyae, your uncle's cruelty, the penances ft your convent life, the—-"

"No, no," she interrupted. "It's the children!" she sighed again. "And their mother and the servants. My life i s miserable with theni. They treat ine shamefully!" Poor child! It was the old, old story of the friendless girl made into a kind of domestic slave in the name of charity!

1 had made up my mind what to do. I would release her from her bondage without delay. I said nothing of my intention, however. I saw Kitty to her door that Sunday evening, tilled with determination to rescue her or perish in the attempt. I was comfortably wound up to the proper valorous pitch next day when I rang the bell at Treloar House, Kitty's temporary home. I rang it loudly, so that the house resounded to my summons. A servant, with scared face, came quickl yto the door. "I wish to sc Mrs. Smith,' I Baid, in commanding tones. The woman hesitated, but, awed by my steady gaze, ushered me in. '"What name, please?" she asked, tremulously. I informed her how to an nounce me, and she retired.

"Now," I thought, "I must assume my most severe manner. This Mrs. Smith must be given to understand that in constituting myself Kitty's protector f will stand no nonsense. The brazenfaced creature shall not impose up-

on Just then the door opened, admitting a lady of such unassuming aspect that my unfinished ihrc.il" abruptly left my mind. With a grave bow, she inquired the nature of my business. "H'm!'' I fOinmcnccd, rising. "There is some mistake. I think. 1 desired to ■*e Mrs. Smith." "I am Mrs. Smith." she replied gently- ' "I thought—that is. I was given to understand that she—that is—now, my lady, "cannot we argue this matter out quietly, without violence of anykind ?"

Keeping her eyes steadily on mine, she moved steadily to the bell, and placed her hand upon it. "I do not understand yon. Pray sit down?" she said presently, growing a trifle pale. "Then, madam," I said, 'the sooner I explain myself the better. I am here to champion the cause of that unhappy girl whom it has been your plea-

sure these many months to maltreat most shamefully. I am here to demand an explanation of conduct that is outrageous and inexcusable; and I will have it before I leave this house." Then I sat down and watched the effect my words had" on this hardened creature. For, I said to myself, I would not allow appearances to favour any other view of her. "To what do you allude?" she asked, with a tremor in her voic?. "Oh, it is a wilful business!" I cried, getting up again, "to pretend that you do not understand. You have in your house a young and* beautiful girl, the scion of a noble race; a gentle creature whom Heaven has endowed with every exquisite quality of the mind and heart, who, for the mere pitiful wage of a sempstress, slaves the lifelong day amongst a horde of unruly children, anil who in return is treated with obloquy and disdain by you and yours. That, madam, is my charge; and is what I have come to expose. And all I have now to say is that I will wait until Miss Cleveland can pack her trunk and accompany me, her affianced husband, out of your house."

1 could have said a gifat deal more, but I saw by her face 1 had made the requisite impression; so I paused. "Cleveland? Was that the name you mentioned?" she asked. "It was, madam; Miss Catherine Cleveland, your unhappy governess." ■lioverness!" she echoed. 'I have no governess." "I suppose you "will assure mc next th.it you have no children?"

"Most certainly, none!" "Madam, beware how you trifle with me. lam not in the humour for pleasantry!" "But I am quite serious. And you are labouring under some very great mistake. I have neither children not governess. I have been a widow for fifteen years!" 1 was not convinced. Yet, if it should be as she said—a widow of fifteen vears cannot well have a lot of children! "Do you deny all knowledge of Miss Cleveland then?" I asked, after a pause.

"No, I admit I know a person of that name." "Ah!" I exclaimed. "But she cannot well '_■(■ the one you arc interested in. SlieS not a governess." "In Heaven's name, what, then, is she?" 1 asked in desperation. "A housemaid." "Whose housemaid?" "Mine." 'Rubbish, madam! "Would you like to see her?" she inquired. "Perhaps you will believe mc then." "It is absurd," I said, with a shrug. ■Still, if you wish it " She rang the bell. The maid who had ldmitted me answered it. "Tell Cleveland I wish to see her —here," said Mrs. Smith.

The girl withdrew, and we waited in silence. I felt annoyed at being compelled to differentiate between my Kittv and a household drudge. Presently there was a tap at the door, the handle turn. Ed, there .was a' rustle of ikirts, andjfl next mnmpnf my head was '""Vaii^H

'-jug* ■u» i apiUfllr!m nava eottOnjroH ana pnsun cap. of-Kittyi «■» •She had caught sight of me as she entered, given a gasp of recognition, and then, pale as a statue, and as immovable, paused, regarding me with cold and stony eyes. "What"is this! What does it mean?" I heard Mrs. Smith's voice ask n 3\ What , doc 3 " mean? " J whispered hoarsely.

There was no response. The figure that wore my Kitty's face was silent. "Speak!" I cried, "and dispel this horrible nightmare. Speak! and let your voice assure me tint you are not the Kitty whom I have hived—and now seem to have lost. Speak!" "What's the good?" Those were her words, spoken sullenly. I shuddered, for the voice was KittyV. And there she stood, the object of my adoration, the being upon whom I had lavished the holiest and most tender of passions, she who had inspired me with hope and now doomed me to despair.

"Can you indeed be that sweet maid " f murmured brokenly, "whose life ronunce touched me to the vorv soul whose father was a famous warrior who' fought and died at Trov, whose noble mother left you to the niercv of a black-browed uncle who robbed " von of your fair heritage and cast von'on a cruel world. Have those lips indeed touched mine in lingering caress? Those eye* which told of worlds well !o-t for love? Have —"

"Oh. nit it short, do," came that voice once more. "If you'd not come fooling here, as I advised vou. you'd had nothing to complain of." Tt's" all your own fault: and now see what you've done. Made a fool of yourself, ind lost me my place. It's perfectlv 'lisgnsting!'' T waited to hear no more. T rushed from the house, wandered into the Regent's Park, reached a bridge, and.with>ut a moment's hesitation, cast mvself into tlm canal! N T o one saw the deed, and mv bodv 'ics there to this dav.