The Storyteller.

Waikato Argus, Volume I, Issue 34, 26 September 1896, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

IN THE LION'S DEN. VI IT. "Misa J onus's Insiti itk, " October 23n1, 1801. " My dkak Frikxd, " I ,nm writing to you in tlie dusk at my window. If I form my letters bndly, pardon nie, for I enn linnlly see, and my fingers are numb with cold. I cannot write what is on mv heart when tlie girls arc buzzing round me, and peeping over my shoulder, so that T must cover with one hand what is written, whilst I write with the other. However, my bad writing will convince you that you have all fresh and foaming out of my ho.rt. In one of your former letter?, you may remember you said, 'Do not rule your pages, Theres.i, and write a copy-book hand, for then you seem to me to be executing a task in corresponding with me.' no! ten thousand times no! There is no restraint, no compulsion. T have only one greater pleasure than writing to you, and that is receiving your letters. When I hear from you it is like tlie breaking of a sun ray into a dark room, or a pufF of fresh air entering a close chamber, where one can hardly breathe. What am T to tell you about the school ? That the life is monotonous? That it is of course, but monotony after a while ceases to be irksome. At first is was intolerable to me, now 1 submit in a dream, as when one feels powerless to raise hand, or stir the tongue, yet desires to make a signal and utter a cry. We are engaged at our work from early morning till late, all i? mapped out, like Miss Templet's plan of proceedings. When the day is over, and I look back on it, I find that my brain has been very active, but my heart quite motionless. Only when you write to mn it I'ivca a great leap, and is alive and awake.

" 1 believe that I nm making progress with my studios. So tin; mistresses say. As for Ihe piano, that I shall never learn, it is of no use my attempting it. I began 100 into. Now I have got a liglit and am al>l<! to write better, you will see the change in my hand. I have hern going on in many ways in the dark, making distorted letters—not because T could do no better, but because I had not the light. Now, thanks to you my good friend, I have the light I see cluuly, and 1 feel in all I undertake, that what 1 put my hand lo firmer, bolder, truer, better. You have given me light—if for that only J must be eternally grateful to you. Forgive me if I "have grumbled a little at the restraint and monotony of school life. 1 have hitherto been ro free and my life so varied, that I have felt i' much. But I do value the privilege of being given knowledge. That I value vastly. That is inestimable. For that my heart thanks and blesses you. " Sometimes the terrible thought conies over me—What if I were; to be c ist back into my former position. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip. It might he that you thought belter than to take me to reign beside you over your green housesand their pretty contents, and to .'liar:; life and all its mysteries with you. Then—what would become of me ? 1 am untitled for the life L lived, and, refused the life, for which I have been trained, I should have, I suppose, to go bsck to the beasts, It would be haul now, and I could never again lie happy in the old mode of living. Much, wry much, therein would jar with my fedings. You have given me to eat of the tree of knowledge, and my eyes are opened, and my heart is saddened. This stain is a tear. It fell on my writing and the ink ran into it. These dreadful thoughts will, at times, enter my head, and 1 cannot put them from me. "Am J, can I never be worthy of you ? That is another question 1 put my imperfections, my shortcomings ; 1 know how deficient has been my education, in how many things I fall short of the standard of excellency one who is to be your wife would attain to. I doubt whether 1 can ever reach that. I am grateful to my dear father for having been very particular with both Herbert and myself, from early childhood, that we should read" and write well ; he, moreover, in the evenings made us read aloud to him good standard authors, which he bought cheap, and of which he had a small collection in the house o:i wheels. My dear mother cared for nothing of this, hut she, also, was excellent. >n another way, she insisted on my heing a e,ood needlewoman, and i Hitter myself that I car. sew more neatly and liner than any girl in the school. So them was a foundation laid by my parents, and the teachers here can do no more than build thereupon. But, my dear friend '. how much but'diug there must be before I am an accomplished womnn .' That I f,.,.|. I tell you everything that passi s through my mird because I have no one else here to whom I can confide it. 1 like some, of the »iils, but 1 cannot, tell them all my heart%iy troubles and fear-;, nor relate to them my recollections of the past. You-—only you are my confidant, my one, true fiicnd I" whom 1 can say everything.

" '1 here sounds the bell for supper, I must finish. Uood-bye, my dear friend, and (_'od bless you ever. " 1 remain, " Ever your true and loving "Til BURSA. " P.H.—Remember me most respectfully to Miss Templet - . I inclose a fine pocket handkerchief J have embroidered with her initials and some flowers;, for her. For you, I have knitted a pair of socks, and may all the thoughts of you I have knitted into them keep you warm this wintry weather." " Belview House, "Nov. 10th, ISGI. " My dear Tiikkksa, " J have neglectpd to write to you for some days ; 1 have; been in great agitation of mind. There is a Nemesis (that means judgment) in nature, and it his fallen on the cruel girl who treated mc so badlv. You know whom I meanPhyllis Browne. She threw me aside, in a heartless manner, because Captain Thornaby took her fancy*. ITo was staying with his brother-in-law Sir Marmaduke Wakely. He has been flirting with her, and she coquetting with him, and it has led to nothing. He has left ; and Miss Phyllis Prowne is as far from becoming .Mrs. Thornaby as if she had never known him. Heartless jilt ! she, has been paid in her own coin. If she suflers half as much as the made me suffer, it will serve her right. I am glad of it. I really dislike that girl now. 1 think a jill is the most odious character a woman can posses. " My dear girl, do not try your eyes by writing in the dark, If you find there is not light enough one evening for you to write, put oil' writing till next day. One day's post is no great matter. 1 quite sympathise with you, when you say that you have much to acquire before you can become my wife. That is true, and, perhaps, one year is too short a time for you to acquire it in, That was what your father judged sufficient, but he was barely qualified fo judge. Let us, then, say, at least two years. Good-bye, I am so agitated that 1 can hardly write. " I remain your.; faithfully, " A. Temi'LEU. " P.S. My aunt is pleased with the attention you have shown her, and delighted with the handkerchief. She will write and thank you herself. Thank' foi the socks, I, however, wear stockings." IX. .Mr. Templer met Phyllis Prowne at an evening parly, one of those pleasant musical evenings specially arranged for the promotion of flirtations, the piano performances serving the purpose of making little conversations inaudible save to those specially interested. Mr. Arthur Templcr found himself, how, he could not himself explain, seated beside Phyllis in a window bay. The blue velvcl curtains shadowed tin; recess, which was fitted with cushioned low sea.ts in the window. Some enthusiast was engaged on a symphony of Peethovcn, which was too precious to Ik; cut in four, and ho could therefore play it through. No one listened. The lady of the house determined never to ask this unreasonable musician again to play. Moreover his execution was too loud to serve the purpose of a background to conversation, it drowned it. In the window recess the thundering left-hand movement served to fill awkward pauses in the dialogue. Phyllis Browne looked uncommonly pretty to-night. She was a very fair girl, with light hair, almost whit , really straw colour, a complexion as delicate as in an old miniature, pale blue eye, and a graceful neck. She was dressed in white and turquoise blue, which suited her admirably. She was playing with her fan, looking over it occasionally at Arthur Templcr, with a questioning timidity in the pale eyes, that was touching. " Mow very liillu we have- met of late," she said. "We were wont to see each other everywhere—you and I know the same people. Hut for some time you have been a stay-at-home. "Who is to blame, for that'!'' asked he. " Vours.:lf of course,''' answered Miss Prowne, " You have no doubt received as many invitations as before, and have declined them. I have every win re expected fo see you, and everywhere have been disappointed." " Indeed ! [ did not flatter myself that I inspired so much interest as to make you feel other than indifferent whether I were present or not." "You are, too diffident, Mr. Tompler. A familiar face and voice; are al ways pleas int.'' " Put a stranger's most attractive. '■ What do you mean ?" Then the bass notes on I lie piano rolled m like' Atlantic billows breaking on the Cornish coast, and the lady of the house' quivered in fear for tie; strings of her grand piano. " I was unable to got. a word with you, when we. did meet,'' said .Mr. Templer, when the left hand allowed him a chance of speaking so as to be heai d. " I was unaware that you tried to get one.'' " Miss lirowne !*' " Mr. Templer !" They looked reproachfully at each

other, she over her fan, he across the sheet of a Punch he was turning about in his hands. " To be candid with you, .Miss Phyllis," said he, after a pause during which the scherzo movement began, " I could not bear to be anywhere wiTi you, and see another admitted to stand on the friendly footing with you that I once, though unworthy, was allov-cl to occupy." "This is childish !" said she. "Of course we are on a friendly footing, we are neighbours, belong to the same social circle, are both hot Tories, an i both dearly love poultry. We have the sane; friends, the same pursuits, and have never quarreled." " Not quarrelled, no, hut we have been estranged." " Have we? I was not aware of it. The estrangement was all on your side. What had I done to make you angry with me ? It takes two to make quarrel, and I will not be dragged into a breach of charity with you." " Have I not already told you? You left me out, in the cold, and devoted your attentions to Captain Thornaby. That 1 could not bear." Then Phyllis laughed. " Do not laugh, Miss Browne," said Arthur Templer, gravely. " What is fun to you is death to me. I did at oiki time think you had some regard for me, that—that — well, let it pass. It is over now." " What is over now f asked Phyllis, opening her eyes with, wellnfleeted surprise. " Miss Browne, I was hippy once, thinking you valued, you liked me." "So I did, so J do still, so I will, unless you make yourself tiresome or ridiculous." '•Miss lirowne ; as long as Caplain Thornaby was here, you scarcely gave me a look or a word. He was always dancing about you, and you encouraged him. J)o not, attempt to (buy it—you know you did." ' " Certainly, why not ?" " Why not? How heartless, how cruel V " Nothing either heartless or cruel. Of course I made the most of my opportunity to know the Captain. A very charming man he is. As he is likely to bo taken into the family—" " Into the family, .Miss Phyllis !" " Yes, Put mind, this is a profound secret. Do not divulge it to Miss Templer. Do not even whisper it among the reeds. Captain Thornaby is engaged to my cousin, I'aiiily." '■ls this really (rue?" inquired Ailhur, filling back. " What a rude, speech ! Yon really must mend your manners with your ladh s, or I shall not undertake to withhold from a quarrel." " Captain Thornaby engaged to Miss r'mily lirowne !" " Yes she is." It was a lie. Put she spoki. without wincing, looking at him full in the face out of her open, truthful blue eves. "0 Miss Phyllis! why did I not, know this before. Fool ill at I have been. I have wrecked the happiness of my life past recall." (T; hr ,;,„r,)Utr,l).