"Der Erlkoning."

Thames Star, Volume XIV, Issue 4484, 19 May 1883, Page 1

"Der Erlkoning."

By Maueice JY Biount. (Concluded.)

We walked on silently, our way was a track through deserted claims. Oar hut was, for the whole district has altered Tery little, near where your house now stands. It was rather a dark night, the moon was in her second quarter, but. the sky was so btercast that her light was scarcely visible. >

We walked on slowly and cautiously for there were abandoned shafts on each side of us, that we might Tery easily walk into, and silently because he wai thinking of the girl he loved, and because I could not trust myself to speak. I loved her so, and hated him because he did so too and she returned it.

The few words, we did speak were not pleasant ones, for I determined to quarrel with him, and a man determined to pick a quarrel can always find some pretext ready, t .

At last as we neared our hut, the rage and jealousy burst forth, words ran fast and furious, I cursed him, then came a calm—the lull in a storm.

He, as if unconsciously, began to hum the la3t few bars of " Der Erlkonig," Oh unhappy chance ! the sound angered me, roused the worst passions in my nature, and recalled so vividly the sight of her face as she looked while singing that, looked with eyes full of lore and admiration for him.

I think some demon mast hare pos« sessed me; lam sure a man in his right mind could not hare done as I did. I must have been mad then, though I am not now. Ido not know what I said, bat I struck; him! struck him down! coward and madman that I was, and he fell. We had been standing, and the fact had been quite unnoticed by either of us, on the brink of an old and very deep shaft, down which it would be certain death to fall. He fell, he was stunned, and for/one moment the moon shone out to show me the white face and clenched hands. He fell. Some earth his fall had loosened, fell to the bottom with alight sprinking sound, then a stone or two, with a sharp, quick noise, then the dull heavy thud which sounded so dead that it made my heart 6top. It must have been a deep shaft, as deep: as the bottomless pit I think, for years seemed to pass between the first sound of the gravel, then the stones, then the body. All the horrors of my position, all the greatness of my crime came before me a hundred times, and each time more intensely than before, in those intervals, till my bruin' and heart seemed filled with burning blood.

As the echo died away I fled from the spot, fled with the brand of Cain on n>y brow, and as if the " Avenger of blood, were on my heels : '

As I fled I heard a sound, at first Tery faint, like the echo of an echo, then loader till it swelled into a shout.

Was it madness? Was I guiltless-? Had I dreamt the sight of that ghastly face, and that awful falling sound ? Was be alive ? The tune was " Der J*rlkonig," and the voice Frank Glynn's, as I had heard it last. For a moment I felt such delight, as a lost spirit suddenly restored to bliss must feel.. He lived then ! For one moment I felt this—the: next, I felt surely, and the agony of it was terrible, that that was the voice of no living man, and that I should hear it for ever, that it would haunt me day and night, and sound my knell in death. I rushed onV I never knew how I reached Melboure, but I did.

I was ill. That tune and voice ever sounded in my ears. How I longed to die to escape from it. I had a little money on my person, and some good Samaritan took care of me. Accidentally I saw an ednrtisement in a newspaper entreating me to. retmrn home, as my mother was dying, and all should be forgiven. I went, and by the time I reached England my mother was dead.

My father forgave me, wondered what was the matter with me, pitied me; poor old man. Thought it was grief at my mother a death. Ah, could he have known. Could he have heard that voice. What would

We been bis tlriiql.t. ? I often wandered at first, people never -did hear that soundIt was so loud. He died in a year or two, and I succeeded to the property, but what good eonld that or anything else do me with that voice daily growing louder and loader in my ears. It never ceased. How I would have prayed if a murderer bad dared to pray that the voice would cease hut for one moment. I tried to do good. Gave my money to the poor, built hospitals and schools,.but of no avail - - ; That; voice drove me from my home. I. sqld off. everything, and wondered everywhere where there was danger, wishing to die, longing to die. I would have killed myself but for the awful thought that if I did, and so shortened my penance here, that voice would be eternal. That tune, always the same as when I last heard it from the lips of a living man, impelled me to Victoria, and drove me here, for on wlmt is now your land is the shaft where X deprived a fellow creature of life, " and. it is right I should give myself up to jnstice here." I did not know what to say, so I silently bowed my head. " I give myself up to Justice," said he. "Will you search for the body? Will you, as a magistrate, arrest me for mnr der, so that I may pay the penalty of my crime, which is what that voice has been haunting me for, which it bad driven me from the other end of the world for?"

He was shaking with agitation, his lips were livid, and he trembled as though he would fall.

"You make a most serious charge yourself," said I. " To-morrow I will have the shaft you mentioned searched, and, of course, I mast do my duty, unpleasant though it will be if the facts are as you state. But lam deeply sorry for

you. .-; " I thank you," said he, " and will jou do me a very great faror? Do you know"— and here his Toice trembled — " anything of 7*e>—Nellie Clarke?" " Ees " said I.

" Just when I came here two years after yon left, apparently, she was married, and I heard at the time somethingabouta romantic lorer, Frank Giynn, who left the place with a friend, promising to come back, but who did not Jilted her, the people about said. However, people came and went in Tery Btrange ways in those times, so nobody thought anything about it but Nelly Clarke, perhaps. Poor thing, she has had her troubles. She ha a had Tery ill health. -1 hare visited her professionally. She always looks to me like one mourning for the dead. I think her marriage was her parents' doings. Her. husband is poor enough. He broke his leg a month or two ago. Tbere are several little children, and they are all in great poverty. Poor little woman'". My visitor looked fearfully agitated for a moment, and then said :

"Doctor, I gire you this cheque for her (it was one for two thousand pounds) give it to her after—well, you know what —and here is another cheque which I beg you will cash and distribute amongst the charitable institutions and among any poor that need it."

"I shall be very happy," said I, •• todo as you wish, but as your crime was not intentional, I trust you will be able to be almoner of your own bounty." "Ana now," said he, "will you take my 'statement down and get it witnessed P"-;:-' ;:1>-'::-- '■'■ ; ■' ■ •■' .' ■' ":- ,

" There is no necessity," said I. " I beg yju will," said he, " it will ease my mind so." What t could I do.. The manner of the man was so, strange, everything, was so strange. So I took down his statement. He signed " Henry Harper " in a trembling hand. Then I signed, and called m a man. who worked about the place to sign as witness.

When that was finished I was astonished to see the alteration in my visitor. He looked calm, even happy, if such a ghastly face could express happiness. •"• Thank God,'* said be, " I can breathe, the voice is silent. I have confessed, ard will pay the penally. The spirit is appeased. I can breathe. I can lire. I feel, I know now I shall never hear that roice again till it brings me the last summons I shall ever hear in this world. When next I hear it I must answer it beyond the grave.". The wonderful expression of his face chained me; I could not speak for a ■ainute or two. At last I said, " Will you stay with me to-night P " ;".I will,", he. answered, " and if the thanks' of a man like me are any good take them for your hindness." - " Will jou come and have some dinner," ■aid I. .-.'..

" Pray excuse.me if I decline. I want nothing, thank you," I showed him to a room, forced him to take some wine, he would take no food, and left him.

I weot and had my dinner, chatted with my wife about Henry Harper, and we both agreed that he was to be pitied, and that his ) story was peculiar. "Poor fellow,"; said my wife, "he is greatly to be pitied. I think the voice he speaks of most be the effects of a heated imagination acting on his conscience. " I cannot tell," said I, " the roice to him is rery real."

In the morning I went myself to Mr Harper's bedroom. I knocked loudly at his door, no answer, knocked again, called loudly, still no repl.,/. I opened the door and walked in. H« was sitting on a chair by the bedside in a listening attitude, with a smile on his face—quite dead. He had been dead for some hours. The bed was untouched. He had evidently sat down the evening before, and had never risen.

Had he in the dead stillness of the night heard that voice which this time brought bis summons ? Had the voice, this time brought him news of rest after such a troubled life P and had he answered cheerfully to that signal ot release with the smile that left its impress on his dead HpsP Who can tell? A search was made. The remains of a body were fonnd in an eld shaft on my ground, a watch found there, when cleaned, bad on it the initials F.G.

I found Nellie Clarke,, gave her the money, and distributed the rest. The old gentleman ceased, the company were silent for a moment, then said Annie—

" That Toice was not imagination, Mr Linton, that voice was a real one to him."

" Yee I" said Tom Smith and several others. The End.