The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LVII, Issue 119, 13 October 1914, Page 6

The Storyteller.

A NEW STAR. I (By Lady Gilbert, in Birmingham Post). Marian Winterfield, a widow with an only son, was as lonely in her beautiful house in her ancient park as any childless woman living in a poor lodging in a tenement on a few shillings a week. More so, for such a lodger hears sounds of life in a neighboring apartment, meets children on the stairs, and smells smoko from home-coming workmen, an odor of warmth and approaching comradeship that comforts many a watching heart. Marian's solitude was the solitude of invisible bolts and oars. Her servants lived in remote regions of the vast house. Their laughter and their gossip went out of her hearing. Tliey came and went around her like figures in a cinematograph, as noiseless, as mechanical. Her son, though he lived in her house, was as far removed from her as the star he worshipped from his perch on the observatory which he had erected in a clearing of his park. He watched all night and slept all day. She had tried to do the same

that she might keep in touch with him, hut all was of no use. The only result was such disorganisation of the household as made for his greater discomfort. That she adored this only creature of her love made the situation the more

;ragic, for she sought no consolation

from society. Sho was not one of those by whom the lesser can be accepted as compensation for the loss of the greater, llereward was the ideal of her heart, lost to her among the stars. "Like mother, like son." llereward gazed aloft at the stars, and Marian gazed aloft at HercI ward.

One day Marian was as usual" alone in her favorite sitting-room, sighting the blua line of the sea, miles away, thinking what a hive of life this old house might have been if her son had been conLriit to live the life of a country .iijuire, to marry ami become the father o'' children; or if her little girl who died in infancy had been spared to develop into a happy woman. Marian clos-

Ed lie i- eyes ami dropped her embroidery, fancying to herself the sound of little feet on the Hours, of shouts and cries, of piercing sweet little voices. She was aroused by a maid who was saying: "'J. here is a young person in the hall, madam, who wishes to speak to you."

The young person proved to be a beautiful girl with a (lower-like face, who wa s smiling as if supreme happiness had always waited on her. "My aunt is dead " said the stranger. "Jane Jerrold, your schoolfellow, who went to the colonies with my father, who died there and left me to her. When God took lier from me suddenly I said, 'I will go to her Marian whom she loved. If lam not welcome I will come back to Canada—'"

"Dirt you are very welcome," said Marian, captivated by young blue eyes, a radiant smile and golden hair that shone like rays of the rising sun. "You have come to a dull place, but you shall stay if you like it "

"I am never dull anywhere," said the girl. "I hate being called a millionaire and hunted about to amusements. 1 ought to have written to you, but some people in London were making a fuss and 1 forgot it." Some days passed before Siria (as she called herself) was aware that there was a master of tlio manor, and when she learned the story of Marian's loneliness the girl was aghast. "Ho never spends a day with you, never walks about the gardens, never enjoys the sunshine, lives only in the dark night'" she cried. ''That is his life," said Marian. '•lt is horrible. He will die of it," said Siria. She thought about it a great deal. Her own intense enjoyment of the fields, the woods, the gardens which she preferred to all the excitements and amusements of London life, made it impossible for her to imagine the state of a man who owned so large an inheritance of fair nature, and who shut his eyca to the beauty of the earth, Jiving in a darkness scarcely made visible by the stars that denied him all but the faintest ray of light out of the depth of their mysteries. "It is his way of getting near to God," said the mother, defending him.

"There is a nearer way," said Siria promptly. She was full of curiosity concerning this extraordinary being.

"I want to see him," she said.

"Tlien you must way-lay him," said Marian, "He takes his meals alone in his own fashion. Ho never sits down to a table, eats wliat is placed before him in 'his own room, and when lie pleases. Any attempt to make him acquainted with you in an ordinary manner would be a failure.

Siria lived in the gardens. It was high summer time, and even when Marian was tired of roaming about with her it was good for the woman who was no longer lonely to know that a radiant spirit was abroad in the neighborhood of her home, and that any moment might bring the girl with her aureole of sunshine into the honso from which a good deal of the gloom had already been dispelled. This young lover of bountiful .Mother Earth seemed to Marian like a sprite of the woods, a creature akin to the llowers, wdio understood tho feelings and memories of ancient trees, the sensations of a rose or a sunflower, who had knowledge of the way of life of a blade of grass or a spray of moss, and sympathised with the aims and purposes of running water.

The habit of enjoyment led her to go to bed while tho west was still red and gold below the gathering veils of night, and to be up in time to see the growin« splendors of the east in preparation for the rising sun. Sometimes before ven-

Turing downstairs she listened for the J footsteps' of the returning seer, not daring to peer forth lest the monster should pounce on her. Though her curiosity was keen, her instinct of hatred of darkiness and coldness and loneliness was stronger than her dosire to gratify it. But there came a moment when mere impulse carried her over hitherto im-' passable difficulties and into the realms of knowledge and experience. It was midsummer morning, and Siri;v had risen earlier than usual, eager to be one of the first worshippers of tins glory of the year in its prime. It was, besides, her own twenty-first birthday. "The year is coming of age, and so am 11," she said to herself. "We shall both ■be crowned with flowers and sunshine." •She took her way towards the observatory, not for the first time, but hitherto ishe had ventured nea,r it only when assured that the seer had left it, after his vigil of the night. Some spirit of hardihood now entered into her, and she mounted the steps by which he ascended and descended, night and morning, to and from his post of observation at the ; summit. Midway up the stair she sat down ou a step, and looked down on the waking world around her. It was the hoal when the short sleep of Nature is not

quite over, all the glow of yesterday gone from the sky, and only a greygreen gleam in the east, requiring faith to accept it as the herald of approaching splendor.

ltereward was late coming down from his perch that morning, and looking" from abovo saw Siria's golden head, the only part of her distinguishable in the j well of shadow below. With eyes tired Iby gazing at infinite distance, the starigazer stared at the shining object which I was suddenly surrounded w-ith a glamor of lihgt as the first hrillian rays from the eastern heavens struck into the golden hair, the girl's face being at the moment) downcast. After a short pause of astonishment the seer began to descend, curious to (discover the meaning of the apparition; and Siria, glancing up, saw him standing above her, a tall young man, with dark, sunken eyes and pallid face, looking far too old for his years, with the brows of a visionary and the mouth of a dreamer.

So this was the monster! Siria smiled with that ray of the rising sun irradiating her, smiled and smiled on, so amusing was it to see this harmless-seeming person looking at her aa if she, not he, had been the creature to bo shunned and feared.

"Who and what am IV said the girl, laughing. "You want to know?" "The sun in your hair dazzled me. My eyes are tired. I thought I saw a new star."

"So I am; a fallen star/" said Siria.

I dropped from the sky just now. What is my name? Let us say it is Venus." "Venus is not a star, but a planet," lie said.

"She shines by the sun," said Siria, "and so do I."

"I perceive it," said Hereward. "And you do not," said the girl. "Why do you hate the sun, Mr. Hereward Winterfleld!" "I do not ihate it. All the stars are suns."

"And the only one of them /ihat warms and gives you light you fly from."

"My work has to be done by night," said the astronomer wearily. "Very well. .Pray go home now and draw down your blinds and sleep while the day is bright and beautiful. And steal out again in the dark like the owls and bats. Do you know that it is midsummer, Mr. Hereward Winterfleld?"

"You know my name. I don't know yours. As you are a star it can't be Venus." "My name is Siria—" "Sirius! You are ambitious," said the young man. "iAnd I see that you look like his daughter in that glory of your hair -" "Ah!" said thd g-irl mockingly, "I 'shall eat my breakfast with appetite rejoicing in having won a compliment from the monster." "Monster!"

"The ogre of the observatory. 1 liavo been hearing about you ever since I have been staying with your mother." "You have been staying with my mother?"

"Knowing that you are an inhospitable woman-hater she had not allowed you to bo aware o! my presence in her house."

Hereward passed his hand over his forehead and, shaded his eyes from the burst of sunshine that now lit up the world, catching the bright face and hair of tho girl who stood up before him with her slender figure silhouetted against the rosy and golden clouds. He gazed at her as if she had ben a supernatural vision instead of a, hearty and wholesome specimen of charming womanhood.

"Am I a woman-hater?" lie asked, with a note of poignant regret iu his voice. "Vesta; Juno, Ceres and Pallas," said the girl. "These ladies are your friends, lam sure. But such as I—"

"There, are no other such," said Hereward reflcetingly, while he gazed from under the penthouse of his arched hand. "Well," said Siria, "as I am doubtful of what that statement exactly means, I will go my way and take my morning walk. A sound sleep to you, Mr. Hereward Winterfleld, and pleasant dreams!" She turned her back on him, and tripped down the steps, leaving him gazing after her, unwilling to see her go, and yet making no attempt to follow her. Mechanically he returned to the house, and, as usual, to hig own room, ate a few mouthfuls of the food left prepared for him, and flung himself on 'uis bed.

'A now star! A new star!" he muttered. Thes idea that he had discov-

ered a new star, remote even, or a star

[imperceptible, but there, had been haunt-' j sng him. The girl's jesting words, "I am a .star, a fallen Btar," became entangled with his thoughts as they strained back towards the Infinite. She. had wished him pleasant dreams, and in hi* dreanf, the new star seen distinctly in the heavens, growing larger and nearer, changed into the shining face and head of a woman, and gazed at him first with smiles and then with laughter. The laughter wakened him, and he could not sleep again. He got up and opened his door, and listened for daily sounds, shut it, and looked out of the . window for sights of the day, eat down and wrote and read on the subjects of . his work, and finally slept again, a long 1 jsleep that carried him far into the. '.night. Then he went out as usual and i climbed to hia perch on the observatory ■ and was lost in his observations. ' ' Tho night was disappointing. The sky f filled with clouds, and towards morning ! rain b.gan to fall. As he descended dis- [ contentedly he looked in vain for tne > light of the fallen star. The trees were 1 gloomy in a mist of grey, the heavens gave forth no sunshine. "The only suu i that warms you and gives you light you ! fly from," he repeated to himself, ''it . neither warms nor gives me light tuis t morning. It flies from me!"

A few rainy days passed. Siria, after 'enjoying herself in the rain like a waterdog, sat by Marian and her embroidery, and read poetry of her own choice, of so high an order that Mrs Winterfield couid , I ardiy follow it. She did not comp'ain, however, so sweet was it to huar fc'n.-)

;. oung fresh voice uttering the wonderful thoughts which seemed simple and familiar to the reader. But at last the "rain was over and .done," and summer showed a rosy face again for the joy 01 the world. Siria went forth in her character of wooJspi'ite once more. Early and late she was on foot in the track of the sunbeams. Pity for the nigluwatchman on the observatory again stirred her heart. She lingered to see him leaving what she called his prison-house, and met him at the foot of the stairs.

This time he smiled at sight of her. "The sunshine has come back," he saij. 'I am glad you perceive it. Do come and take a walk. How can you go and sleep on such a golden morning? Put it off till the middle of the day. I will show you a million lovely things that you nevor dreamed of. A daisy in the grass is worth a hundred constellations in tho sky." "It is!" said Hereward helplessly. "But that daisy is in itself part of a constellation."

"Prove it," said Siria. "But at some other time. The woods and meadows are all alive with flowers. Come and enjoy them and worship God, the suugod. The stars will not collide with each other, nor the constellations drop out of their places while you are gathering a few roses. There is a stream over yonder where sheets of wild roses and hawthorn are hanging from a high hedge and dipping in the water. I want some, and you must get them for me." "Daughter of Sinus," said Hereward, 'I will get you whatever you want." "That sounds well, but do not premise too much. I might happen to want a great deal. Somebody to talk to. A icompanion in my walk. An invitation ■to sit in your chair up yonder. I want to see the young worlds that are growing in the sword of Orion." "There- is a better view of Orion in December. You must wait till wmtcn"

"I will wait till winter, if you will meanwhile help me. to enjoy the summer. Como with me to the woods and talk to ime about what you see." | "I am coming. I am talking. I am I willing to be your companion." < | It was a brilliant morning after the rain. Siria knew all the green ncign-. bourhood by heart, could find her way through the fields and pastures and by ! meadow paths along the running stream that played hide-and-seek with the rushes and the sedges. She found the nest of golden irises dear to her and plundered it to carry a sheaf of gold in her arms, persuading Hereward to carry another.

"Are any of your distant points of light as,beautiful as these?" she said, holding up a blossom for his examination. "You need no telescope to ae« them. You don't require to sit in the cold darkness of night to inspect them and wonder at them.

"True," said Hereward, looking from the flower to her and from her to the flower.

"ffid you ever take a morning walk in the sunshine before?" asked Siria.

"Long ago. So long that I forget. I had not you for a companion." It was a long ramble. Coming back through the park Siria said: "You have been up all night. You must be tired and hungry. Even I feel that I want my breakfast."

''l do not care much about eating," said Hereward.

"So I should suppose by your white face," said Siria. "Will you oblige me by trying to take a good breakfast this : morning, even if only for once in your life?"

"I havo promised to do everything you want me to do."

"T shall judge of your sincerity by your appetite," said Siria, lauglung, "Hasten, if you please, for if you are not hungry I am. I can almost smell the good breakfast your mother has prepared for us. How long is it since you had breakfast with your mother, Mr Hereward?" "I don't know." ";—iir.'ip

"You prefer the company of Vesta, Juno, Ceres, and Pallas. That is the order in which I have met these ladies in my astronomy book. What do they give you for a morning meal?" "Spare me!" said Winterfleld.

Mrs. Wintcrlield had espied them from the window of the hall. Siria came up ;the steps, laughing and holding up the golden irises, crying; ... . ~

"Mother, mother, I am bringing you a guest for breakfast!" Marian tried to look as if the thing were a common happening, and led the way to the breakfast-room. It was long since she had learned to treat her son i like a wayward child, or a person unaccountable- for his eccentric conduct. I Ho now sat at tha well-spread breakI fast table and ate heartily. The morning air, the long walk had given him a relish for the food that was placed before him. Lis Siria laughed and chatted ha smiled, and at last he actually laughed. Marian hardly recognised her son. Sho fo-lt afraid to notice tha change in him lest he should relapse into his state of cold abstraction, and get up and walk away. But he sat on smiling, until Siria said: "Now, Mr. Winterfield, you are in need of rest. Please take it. Your mother and I are going to take a long drive." Hereward hesitated. May I not drive too ?" he said. . "Would it not give you too much •sunshine?" said Siria mischievously. "I •have given you a large doso already—- ! enough, I think, for twenty-four hours. ! You will not be able to watch to-night [ if you do not sleep." i \ "If you insist on my watching to- | night " began Hereward disapoint- : edly. "Oh, I don't insist," said Siria, "And if you think you will not get sunstroke " "Let me venture," said Hereward, with a littla rcflectioa of hsr humor lighting up his eyes. "Mother!" said Siria. "Will you give this star-gazer a seat in the carriage? He is actually going to take a holiday." The drive developed into a long excursion with pleasant eight-seeing, and lunch and dinner by the way; and on the return, Hereward went to bed like other people and appeared at the breakfast table in the morning. He looked like a new maa; tolor lad come into his face and light into his eyes. For some days he followed Siria about, as if magnetised. Stars were not mentioned. Sunshine and flowers and young lambs, and the birds that had not j left off singing though the hush of deep [ summer was approaching, seemed the ' only things evident. Marian watched the pair as they epent the long hours together, and her son seemed nevci to weary of fae girl's eompany. • "Siria," she B&id at last, "you have done much for my eon. Yon make him extraordinarily happy. Bat it will go ibadly with him now, I fear, il you riso up and leavo us." . "But I will not rise up and leave you," said the girl, with her young arms round the woman's neck. "I kava promised that I will stay with him always."