THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 296, 24 January 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

| , loyk's uurnn way. j ".'i-vi-i.! in Kxcclsis Deo! (;i>r. ia! Giorii:" The voices of tin- choir in the little lireton church sent fort'.i the wonderful hym : wii.li speeiai jubilation in 1 he joyous, Iriuii!j'lian(: tunc-!; the tinkling of the hell shaken by the palsied hand of iu; old sister caught up something of the spirit of the voices, u new ton- to express gladness seemed to be added 10 its worn tongue. and -the low. earnest respou-e- of tlte sisters merged into further cadences with the homelier yt rs of the small congregation 01 villagers until every corner seemed to send i a el-: echoes of one earnest devotional note. \ ''t the scene which created this atmosphere of joy and triumph was one which the materialist ever views with sadness and hit.ternes-s. A girl in tup prime of youth ami beauty was kneeling before the altar, robed in the garments of a bride. ' \"o detail of toilette was omitted; tlie i white gloves lilted without a wrinkle, the hnidiieri-hief was bordered with real !:u-e. a id the delicate odour of j famous periiunc mingled with the smoke of inc:i:s;' w'lH-ii enveloped hey. She was arraved in the richest garments a br eonld procure. because her marriage was to be of h":iven. The clothes, however, were merely -symbolic—the portion demanded by 1 iie sacred bridegroom was s- .f-KSU-rili:.•> ami renunciation; the gay •t;-;' iii'l w;:-' ns.-iinicd bv the bride for the pic tsiire of eating it aside. Tito iiicv.-.ent !;a,l :>o:r.c for Margaret Ptopford when one word would seal the which meant abandonment, of 1 I ii::- world and all its works ami pomr,;. Th" vii!ag"rs strain ! heir necks ,';o oatc'i a better view of tile 'iii-hop. who in hi : brightest canonical vestments. des:-cv! the ssfej:-' of (.he :;finr to s'.an:! fare to fewith ynwig wninsn a* she; > akes j moment, sta'ejy and ! •.■iinfifu!: a. glow <>: r.-;u!;;:i!; fcel'tig j»> Iter face, such as i- rare'-- seen on the face <:i e. brine of earthly spouse. Her lips tremble ;; utile a* she begins {lie responses <vt>V v.ill cut her oIV for ever from a!j hope "1 t.io l:e-; which ;rake tip other women's ''ves. i-;i; tiier-- is deep si'icritv in the t,:"o'''o!ng emotion of her low. full voic Ciang! clang! clang! It is on I r i he sound of 'he convent doer be'. I. which breaks with harsh discordance over the quiet, prayer-fili-cd eiuriit: 'but it causes p. momentary )>iT!ise in the ceremonial of the nun's profession. . Clans! clang! clang! Purely door bell never rang so loud before—its imperious message drowns the voices of priest and postulant, and prayers rest unfinished on every lip; an involuntary sigh of relief escapes; from all when it ceases. No sooner, however, is the peremptory clamor of the world's message over than a nun. with a pale face and halting steps, enters the church and whispers something to the reverend mother. Then immediately the tension which gives warning that something unex- ; pectcd is- going to happen is broken by the sound of a man's voice. '"But I must see her, I cannot wait. It is peremptory that 1 .see her at once —at once." | Everyone in the little -church hears the words, and the girl in the bridal lobes is -seen to put her hand to her heart and to shake on her prie dieu as if she were about to fall. The reverend mother speaks in low tones to the white-haired bishop; then she puts her arm round the trembling girl and leads her from the altar. A few moments later the clinrch is silent and empty, but groups of wide-eyed women ia the street outside tell one another wondrous tales of the interruption which prevented the taking of a nun's vows. In the bare, whitewashed parlor of the convent a scene is taking place more strange and move moving than anything t.i'lit the popular imagination has invented. A man who has been mourned as' dead for two years is holding the handthe girl in the bridal robes, and his eyes a:e sending into hers all the. strength of unsatisfied longing which has been burning in their depths since the day o; their parting, .site returns this look of love with one of puzzled wonder. Though she listens to her lover's tale of his capture by savages, his long imprisonment, and his ultimate escape, she cannot associate him with living, sentient beings. To her lie still seems to < elong to the spirit world, where she has; been praying for him. She tries to explain something of this, and the man gives a hearty, vibrant laugh which shakes the crucifix on the small wooilen table. "We'll soon scatter these mystic cobwebs, my darling," he says, and he makes a movement as if to take her face between his hands. But she shrinks away, and looks, as if for help, towards the reverend mother and the bishop, who are standing near. "What am I to do? what am I to say?" she cries. The man made an impatient gesture, but the nun held up her hand with a commanding dignity. "You know nothing about this," she said: "please be si-leht." llien, turning to the girl, she said: "It is best that you go, my child: it is clearly Rod's will." And. seeing an expression of dissent pass over the girl's face, she continued: 'A on came to us thinking your lianeee was dead. You must see his being alive changes' everything," "I have been very happy,", said the gill. "And you will be very happy still, -aid the old nun: then she added; and there was a ring of pride iu her voice: "Cod does no), want a divided heart." iu: hard Moorfiehl paced up and down <

the narrow strip of loose boarding which served as a platform for the station of JSorellcs. with quick, spnmry strides. Jle was consumed bv the sweetest of ail impatience—a desire lor the company of the woman he loved. His every thought v.as with her. How , lovi !y she looked--his bride in her b; id icbcs! How her hair in its soft, wavy mas-es glittered about her face! \\ t majesty was in the swei p of her long while throat! And, with all her lovehI ness and abounding life, what a timorous sprite she was and how dc and constant. The loss of him had left, no consolation to'her but a convent. Hew she loved him! blui was nlwavs a n ligious little tiling, he thought;; win', in the early days he simply caught her up in the whirlwind of his pa.siou, and then carried 'her along whether she would or not! Richard stopped suddenly in his rer.iini- cc nces. p was coming. A vehicle just liV ( a huge black box and drawn bv a small black ponv with a strong resemblance to a goat had been pulled up at the platform. Only :: convent could send forth such a carriage, '-rt is just four house since I saw yon." he -said as he he'd out his hand for Margaret to descend. { Alone at last! As' the train move;! out of the station Richard Moorheid. with the impulse which characterised most of his actions, put his arm closelv round the shoulder o? the woman he loved, and with his disengaged hand •• quickly lifted up the veil ' with which " l sh" had swathed her head. He was coniron ted with a. face fu'l of sadness and k terror. "Mv darling. T have frightened von.' iie mid. ' r "It is all so strange, so unreal," s,n r the girl. "Forgive me." The kiss Richard Me.or ' 'ie' I had bu-rir ig on his lips was froze-; by the inireopor.sivenc-ss in Ihe inr:■■ ■ grey eyes which looked so •.•.ppealisiu'. lie gave a little whimsical smile. '1 shall have to do my courtship ove; * again," he thought. Yet as iie looked the woman b--1 "' s there came chill of -Tesch!:- ' meni that t:;is second courtship wo;;!;; be more diii'ieult than the first. ]mi such love as his knew how to wait and '■■e,o. as the train whirled alone-. Richard Mooilie.'d still smiled and ' dnamed dreams, while Margaret linger. d her beads-an,! sent un her praveiv, hi heaven lor g;;.dance. ( ongratulation- poured ia o:i Richard Mooriield. '.t ne romantic circumstances of his marriage made un appeal to u.j; even as he went along tiie village st.iei he could hear couimi-.its and conlidcn.es which plainly showed he was the hero of the hour, and that his love suir,was going through as many editions as there were people to listen'to it. It was considered on all side., a righ. and proper ending that the ii.... should have been to take place on a month from the day of his lian.| rescue, from the coin cut. Everything j had planned out iu the nicest possible way —then; had not been a hitcn irom the lirst moment to the last. *et, enviously enough, whenever Richard ; Held thought of his marriage, the .ul- ; miring words of one of his lrieiut.-. stantly came to his mind. "Jit was bue taking her from a tomb, mv boy." The words came more prominently than ever before his mind on a dav just a week before his marriage, lie mm been loitering in the garden of Margaret's home, and, seeing her at ... window, he had hastened into the or ing-room. She was dressed in 'black, and her face was of marble whiten;;.- j and impassivity. No smile came into I her eves' as she greeted hint; no response j came from her lips as lie kissed her, and 1 her 'lirst words were: "Nellie has been dying for you to come. She wants to go for a long tramp over the hills." A frown lowered over Moon'ielcl's face. 1 ' and Margaret, seeing, it, hastened to say apologetically; _ "1 have got out of things so much, 1 like to be alone and quiet." Richard seized her hand. "Tell me, Margaret, that you reallv and truly love me." he said. She looked distressed. "If I did not love you, would I marry you?" she replied. A few moments later lie was tramping along the road with his sister-in-law to be, Nellie. They walked on in ■silence .for nearly half an hour. s. > denlv Richard Moorfield stooped, tl n.!. ' laying his hand on his companion's shoulder, said: "Nellie, do you think Margaret ioveme?;' "I am sure she does." "Why do you think so?" "Because slit' is planning for vour hap.piness all the. time." Then,'seeing a shadow on his face, she continued: ' i;e member how long she was grieviiig for you. and how strange everything must be to Iter. 1 see her day by clay gradually growing back to you." Then iu low. trembling tones the girl added "Ho not fail her." Richard looked intently at the girl, and -seemed for a moment as if he wen going to say something, then walked oil' quickly in the direction of the hills, leaving Nellie standing alone. He rushed on and on, never darin" to look even once behind him. A mo,r of blinding realisation had come to him as he had -stood with hi s ha„d ou til ,. girl s shoulder, and thoughts that for weeks had been kept steadily repres.se.. came forth in such strength that they threatened to overthrow all his reason and his judgment. For hours he wandered over the paths that went winding through the undulations of hill and valley. The loneliness and stillness helped him to brins; order into the mental chaos which had come from the shock of the discovery that lie no longer loved Margaret, and that the love he had had for her had been »i V en to her sister, lie went over alt the steps' that had led to this emotion-,I ' crisis.

How vividly lie remembered all; his first impulsive rush to the woman he loved- ;--\.'r waiting for or

summons, -o eager was lie to surprise the loo\ o: welcome in her eves and the kis-e- of love on her lips. Then when ii' riitered the hall of her home, it w;ls Ned'ie who met him. -Nellie who had gro>.'n into so close a likeness ot .Margaret that iie had taken her in arms ami kissed her before she had time to give iinv explanations. Afterwards had come nis wil! journe,- to i.nun.,

to snatch iiis lianeee from her livinc death.

Tin re was no mistake about his passion and his lendcrnes, then: on th? nigh,. lie had brought her home so fair, so fragile, -o spirit-like, lie had walked for hours over these same hills that now saw his despair, planning joys for their future together, defining schemethat would bring back the glow of interest to her eyes, the spring to her bent :rit. It was only a month ago. What had happened U> make lum chang. lie had just at lirst. accepted Margaret's excuse that siie could noi at once get into the old bustle of the worid after her year of convent life, lie had quietly fallen into the habit o' Xiliie's companionship —they had gone for walks, they had played at games, tiny had thrust and parried iu convi r-a.iie.n. often they had sat for hours while the bright, beautiful child, wi'.li her eyes l'uil of curiosity, had coaxed fro;;; him tale after tale of adventure. The evening would be spent listening dreaniiiv to the church music whieli A!arg:'.;et loved. lie thought he was happy localise of the pale spiritual iau which now and again sent him a sad smile a.-:«)ss the room. Now he knew that he. was happy because of the glr: whose abounding young lit',' niiswcrc. tii hj- own strongiy beatim; pulse, ji. •!<> poet to love moon.,earns ami shadows and melancholic interludes .Marg.;r.\ had never reaily loved him as hj: had ioved in r—siie would ncv< ; love aiiv man. lei in a week she was to he his wile. All his analysis of Iceiillgs u-;»t eircuut s;-,inu-s did not ige. him away from that fact. iie had broken : nto .Margate! < iife of : rayer and pence—she loved hiir. or she "ould never have come to him. Surely, he thought, this madness wouiu pass—-Nellie must never know that i.. had been traitor to her sister even i: thought. .For the few remaining days ne wouid see as little of her as possible, and give up all his tone to Aiargaret. lie had wandered nuiriv miles over !.■- hill 'before he came to this resolution. W lien hj" set his face homewards m felt world-weary and hopeless for the lirst ti:ne iu his life.

i»igifi manrully did lliciiard set about rectifying the wrong which he had unconsciously done to his lianeee. He spared himself no hour of the da v. He allowed no excuse to drive liini from her side; he became a model of devotion and attention. Nellie, it is true, helped him in the change! she was nearly all the time out of the house—"looking after the wedding linery," siie laughingly asserted. ' Richard, in the few looks he permitted

himself to take, noticed that-she was

looking pale and tired, while Margaret seemed at last to lie getting into contact with life. She took on a mothering, anxious manner towards .Richard; she gave him little uninvited caresses, and he caught her sometimes looking at him with an affectionate yearning that went to his heart. In response to one su look Richard went to her, and, putting his arm round her, said:

"Are you happy? \Vhy do you look at me like tliatV'

.Margaret gave a little sigh. 'I am happy." she said; "but I 1 wish I. could love you as much as you love me." Then, seeing a look of surprise in his face, she added: "1 do love you very, very dearly, better than anything else in this world."

Richard kissed her, but though she was more tender than he had ever seen her, yet he felt the impassable barrier of spirit between him and her as elearlv as in the railway-carriage when they stuVtcd on their journey front the convan t.. And it was only two days iron their marriage day. Kven as he stood with his arms clasped round her and his lips bent to her ihe tragical irony ot the situation struck him/

At that . moment Nellie entered the room, and Margaret in her new mood ot softness called to her and said: "Yoi; are getting a sister as well as a v-ilc. dear. I hope voti will give mv little girl some of your love." liiciiard felt that many fa nit must be wiped out by the pain of the mome'lt which followed. Margaret had nut ner disengaged arm round Nellie so that she l-!oii'.;:iL tne 'wo quite close together; as they were both taller than she, their heads almost touched. Richard gave one despairing farewell -look at whose cheek just rested a-ainst his coat. Her eyes met his. Jle' held them tor tiie tlasii ot a second, then 'she looked down, A few hours later Margaret was sleeping the peaci nil sleep of the ju,'., blither sister Nellie was weeping sileiltlv and hopelessly as she gazed out into the darkness of the night,'and i:t the in;;'., ill u by Richard wa.s restlessly tossing on his bed, letting wave niter'wave of futile sorrow amf rage sweep mei liim. lie was bitterly eur-ing lite and fate. .During the moment that he looked into Nellies eyes her soul had answered to his—he had learned t.'iat. she loved him.

The homv tolled on (hut brougnt Richard to the night before his weddingday. All his thoughts had bwimie absorbed in the wish to have t) u > muiTi;i< r over and to get a\v;iy. Once away, lie would forget ; he would'not return for » long time, and Nellie wouhl liave settled down into a home of her own. He was sitting on a beiu-ii in the jjar den, and so full were his thought the girl that, when she came along auci sat on the bench beside iiim. she appeared to liiin more as the embodiment of his dream than a. reality. She looked very pale and white; shy 'smiled at him bravely, and he knew from the sweet resoluteness of her iaee that, mic |,ai; something special to sav to him. \fter ;i moment's silence she'spoke, but wna evident ell'ort,

"I think you iia\'c 110 i , a , ry ]]a| . lately, she said. "\ou jemeinlier a-k-

mg me a week ago if L thought j| ar . gai-et really loved you su. I should like to tell you s.iiiiething I. ha\e just M -e • ller wedding-dress came an hour a-o" and she insisted on lifting it on LhouW there is a superstition agaiiis!. it. | went up to lier room to see how i looked, and a-, l> entered I s , lu - !„;■ k;s,. illg the hem of the veil am! '!> ■ fo! U of the gown. She looked so lovely and so happ\ ; there was a Hush oil her |;i and her eyes were shining.'' Not a word more was .said bet ween them; but sneh is the freemasonry of love, 'both understood that this confession meant ' I know you love mo and that I love you; there was some excuse for our madness while we 'believed Margaret not love you, but now that excus'o is over," " Instinctively they

clasped Tiands—a silejtb acceptation -' self-sacrifice and farewell. As tlicv did so tlicv heard Margaret's voice railing ' their names.

llichard stood up. -Manlike, he lott the woman to face the situation

"I cannot see her just now," lie muttered huskily. '"Tell her I have gone to the shrubbery, and that 1 shall he. batk presently." He stole aiong in the s'hadow of the jfrees, until lie came to the border ot the river which made a boundary to the grounds. The moon was shining throng' clouds, and the water looked calm ami grey, with faint gleams of light dickering r>n its surface. Richard stood looking at it. It. reminded him of Margaret —even her love, he thought, would he merely like the reflections on the water, an infallible silver lining to life. And lie wanted rich, glowing, golden voutn and life. He looked again at the river. Wouldn't it be better for him to end all in one cold, swift, deadly embrace o"i the waters than to wear on through the chilling years? Hp knew what the sent nations of drowning were like. It was a. grim joke that he should be recallhi" them with pleasure on the eve of h.s marriage.

As he gazed at the water, knowing even as lie speculated on its fascination, that: such an end was not for a man of his type, he became conscious of a figure m white moving towards him over the grass. It was 1 Margaret, and as site came close to him lie realised, with a feeling half repulsion, half pity, that she was wearing her wedding dress. lie went forward (o meet her. She looked beautiful, with the ethereal beauty M'hich he had got to bate more tluu an.vthinir else on_ earth. .She held on* her hands to him'; lie clasped them, and lie s.iw that her eyes were shining wuu the liyht Xcilie had seen: hut to him that only made her look more ghostlike than ever. T:iis new warmth 111 her face and manner made him fee! like a murderer. To hi- horror, he, Richard Moorlield. w!io*» life had always been a sermon of kindness and toleration '■

wards men. had an insane desire to grip the long waite throat of the woman beside, him and silence her for ever. She wa-' talking, and her soft, monotonous voice dragged over his torn nerves witn agonising slowness. Why had her tones suddenly become so eager and so warm, her gestures so sweeping and energetic? He listened for some moments before he understood.

"I fear you can never forgive me,"' sac was saying. ''But the impossibility of it all onjv came to me when h put on this wedding gown. I knew. then, why I have never 'been really happy, even foi an hour. Ihe convent came back to me. 1 stood again in the church, anil there came rushing over me the or.lv arnith nt real joy J have ever known--11l a llasli I smv what a mistake I was making. Earthly marriage is not for me. 1. who was so nearly united to the eternal, could never be happy except m a convent. 1 am sorry for you. Try to torsive me and forget me."

The miction brought about by the-u words. \\ns fo terrific that it toe! jtowey (if -;;icci]i fr<>m Richard MonrlicM. It en,ililcd h:iu. however. to make : i di"nilio.l exit. Mo |iic->oi] hix H|k in silence and with ;>a~sionato fervor to the hand-; ho still had in his clasp. -As he was | urniiio awav. .Manjarct took from his l.iittoiih(do a'small white )0.-o that -lie hail given him earlier in the day. 'Just as a little souvenir ot Tom' love." she said.

In a convent in Mrittany a nun. as slie turns over her will jiaii.se for a moment when she comes to the leaves which contain a pressed white rose Jeai to oiler up a |>rnycr for the man who loved her so dearly and whom -lie abandoned on the eve of he weddintr

"Who will l>e«r,id<ro her the breath or worldly romance? 'Snrciy least c' •>'.

Richard Aloorfield n.ud liis wife Xelli By Irances Malion, h M.A.P.