Told Over a Counter.

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 691, 18 November 1876, Page 1 (Supplement)

Told Over a Counter.

' Din you ever see any woman's hair at oiioo <«o long and silvery as this, Mrs. Marbury i" asked Mrs. Chappell, exhibiting a fine tress which she was in the net to replacing in h box when. 1 entered, ns T frequently do new, for a rest and a elinl, when my way • jkp.o lies in that direction. ▼ ' YO3 !' wai my unqualified answer ; 'once, and once only, and that not on the j head of an old woman— if years are to bo I counted by the parish register. Miss Childers was old enough and odd enough . in all other respects, though she had not reached her. 4Bth birthday when 1 saw her and she had then a mass of hair ai white as a snowdrift. 1 ' * ' Dear me ! that was remarkably young for gray hair,' quoth Mrs. Chappell, putting aside, the paner pox. ' She wai not an Albino, surely ?' ' Oh, no ; she was simply a remorseful woman.' ' Ihi n I suppoao her hair had turned gray suddenly! 1 and Mrs. ChappeU's sneaking eyes were like to notes of interrogation. I loosened my waterproof and settled myself in the chair as I answered those eyes. 1 No ; Vtm Childers who was of a poetic turn, told me herself, in the words of Byron : ' My h»ir i- gray, bat not with ye«ri-*-' Nor grsw it white In a (tingle night, As men'i have grown from sadden fean, • And now, Mr*. Chappell, having raised the ghost of Mother Eve. I suppose I fe*4, better .set curiosity at rest if you are to have any sle<*p to-night. 1 She laughed, and I resumed, her assistant edging a little nearer to listen alsd, it being past their busy hours. <- ' You must know that all tho eighteen ears [ have given to nursing intitfds aye not been spent in the smoke of "London. So Img as Qhver Marbury. was above ground I shifted from place to-place, lest he should, by any strange mischance, trouble me again ' Nine or ton years back I was boated in a cathedral city, which I BetsY'Sot identify beyond remarking the great height of its spire and its numerous bridges consequent on open watercourse* running hke river* through the main streets. • In the Cathedral Close, stood one house so isolated in its mys^rious neglect and grime that I foald'/»e^er p«ss it without a Bhuddwy *** n » fc mi( * s -miner, or without a »oi(aer what crime oit chancery wit oo'tid hare cast such a sbririow over that sul)»!antial roomy dwelling. Venet\ ti hiinds, which had toned down from a bright green to a dusky olive, shut out »like sunshinoand curiosity, except where the laths had proved too henrf for the rot to . "veb. and, dropping, let in accidental streaks of light upon the dust and mildewseerets behind them— such light, Mrs. Chappell, as could force its way through panes of glass which were never cleaned, unless the clouds (good scavengers that they aie) compassionately washed the dirt ofl 1 them. The window-frames were of that nondescript gray which paint assumes in its very old acre ; andicom tho seldpmr opened door the blistered paint had peelcA in pstcheu. The bell-wire was. broken, the knocker rusty. No friena, ri6 hawker;, no mendicant, ever raised itJjD send an ,echo through the silent housW even the strange tramp, who glanceo up at the windows, passed on and sought no alms, anpposing the place deserted- ' 'It looked desolate enough ; nearly 20 years' disuse and dust were upon it, but prior to its abandonmenl£» moth and mildew it &ad been brighl« any in the Close, fitted throughout mth .taste and elegance ; and the m»gn*tej||lrthe city and their families had visilfsVJrith Mrs. Childers and her'dark-eyed daughter, who was somehow regarded -aj a yonnjr lady of great intellectual promise ana undoubted beauty. •All this I gathered from hearsay. When I aaw MiiiJChilders first— it was in a bock teller's shop — ah* was a spare woman, with stooping sholders, a sharp aquiline nose, thin, compressed lips ever on the work, restless graj , eyes, deeply sunken under brows that overhung like cottage caves heavy with jvintry snows; and her banded hair was white as that same snow upon the cottage thatch I haw, as she took out her purse, that her attenuated hands had been well shaped, but it occurred to me the long filbert naiN might well have been trimmed more frequently. ' Then her dress wm matt incongruous. It was of good material -r qr had been ; | but its tashion was antiquated, its colours lout, and tho garments were huddled towith no regard \o Season or suitability. 'Such a bejng, you may be sure, was as well known as the cathedral-porch— which mliv never entered. was cited as an example of eccentric genius, and was held up as a warning to other poetical misses who aspired to early authorship ; for she Lad given kooks to the world (her small world), and still soltftMrher solatory hours with composition and Correspondence. 4 Yes, though she had no guests, she had .'•orrespondents — people she had known in Ju»r girlhood, or among the country famiJiim where her booHs bad found entrance hr^t ; and one of these assured me that her letters were full of kindness, good feeling, ilircwd common Mjue, and some critical acumen. Yet no postman's rap evef reNomided on her knocker ; her letters were pnised under tho door in silence, and lay i here until picked »p by Mrs. Bar ford, the old char-wom»>sj ; ' 'wno once a week waited upon her, sod did what little clean* mi; was required or permitted in the room where Miss ChikUrs slept aqd sat and read ftu'l wrote, kept her toot and cooked it, kc|A her coals to* 'the firs where allies and cinder* accu&tt)tl&«d on the hearth, to be removed hebdomadalljby the hands of the only human being she trusted or thought sbe could trust. 'The same Mfivßar ford had cat her finA <n- with a brdken medicine bottle whilst chirring in a house where I was nursing I liad piftsttrcd and bound it up for *h«T, and thograifful old orcature made so much of the slight $ervi«e it was the means of introducing bkb to Hits Ohilders' indescribable muddle of a room, and Jed the way to tt singular confidence. '1 wa-j cle«rit»| away my breakfaitthings one Saturdsy' morning when Mr» Birford- to&nt into my homely room, out "f bre^bi and while as my apron. ' Witu isft baud oft ber side she ga«pe i oat 'Oh, Mrs Mearbura, come wo'X!

doon't ztop vor anything ! I've had a girt shock ? I vound Mis 9 Clnlders lyinfl there amost dead, ws not a bit of vire, and zhe not able ta lift a vinger,' 'Questioning the charwoman whilst I hurried on bonnet and shawl and locked up my room, I ascertained that, unab'e 10 cam admission otherwise, she had crept through the, back kitchen window, which, unknown to her eccentric employer, she had left unfastened the week before, a sort of prevision having prompted the unwonted caution. Miss Guilders had not been well then, but refused to see a doctor, 4 1 found the lady lying in a back room, half-dressed, across the foot of what had once been a handsome Brabian bedstead, where she had evidently thrown herself, some sudden pang or vertigo having seized her whilst dressing. A comb lay close at hand npon the bed, and her head lay cushioned, as it were, in a luxuriant mass of loner, loose, white hair, glossy as spun lilass, a strange background to her pinched face and hollow eyes. ♦ Mrs. Birford said she must have lain there at least a couple of days, there were ■6 few ashes under the grate and so mucli food remained uneaten. F>r mv own part I was too mm h occupied with my peculiar patient to see more at my first hurried glance around than a fir«jle9B grate, an accumulation of cinders and refu.-e on the henrth, t'»od, books, papers, clothes, crockery, furniture, sauce-pans, lumber of all sorts in indiscriminate confusion ; a fine mkhogany wardrobe and large handsome looking-glass adding to the general incongruity. 'l always, Mrs. Chappell, carry about with m«> a few simple appliances for cases of emergency, such as smelling-salts, plaster, bandaging-tape, lint, scissors, and a pocket-flask of brandy, though heaven knows I would be one of the last to recommend stimulants unnecessarily. The poor sufferer whatever her ailment, was then clearly sinking from exhaustion — Raisin* her head, with a teaspoon I poufed a little brandy und water down her throat, while Mrs Barford lit a fire, and soon I had the satisfaction to see her face assume a more natural tone, and the ashen pallor disappear, though we had undressed and put her into bed comfortAbly some time before she was strong enough to speak to us or to Doctor Overton, for whom I hud tent without watting for her sanction. * Anger at hit appearance seemed to rouse her more £h>tt oar restoratives. • 1 11 hare—no^Tootor-ril—l'll—die-first,' *he contrived to gasp out. •But the Dr, who confirmed my own view of her case, said quietly, • viy good friend, don't exhtust yourself; I do not mean to prescribe any medicine worse than beeftea—at present,' he added in an undertone, to me. 'Wo must restore vitality before we seek evidence of disease ;' and, observing that his presence irritated his patient, he withdrew, first giving me some very plain directions for dietary, etc ' Mrs. Barford appeared to know where everything was "kept, even to Miss Childer's purse, and I soon had a cup of beef-tea ready. •We then "endeavored tD evolve order (from chaos, and purify the impure with as little commotion as possible ; Miss Cbilders looking on meanwhile in passive I feBW«ueM, unable to remonstrate had she been so mcliaejd. •Good nursing and kitchen physic restored Miss Ohild«r'« temporary strength ; but then there was. disease, induced by her mode of life, to combat ; and Dr. Overton was not sanguine. 1 You see, 9ho could not be induced to take 'medicine. She said, ' Why should I take pills and potions to prolong life ? What is life to me but one long agony of disappointment and remorse ?J^<jf> not seek to live.' 'I was sfcruek with the bitterness and anguish of this protest against recovery, and thought that I saw therein a clue to her eccen trioities. Nevertheless I argued with her ; ' Our 1 ives are not our own, Miss Childbri. We have all our appointed work to do, and if we do it ill the* consequences aw'upon our own heads. Thank God, if you have wronged any, that time is given ypa not only ftjr remorse bat peniteuco and reparation.' * Reparation I' »he murmured, her restless, sunken eyes settling on my face and kindling like stars. ' What can we do now to atone P Separation is impossible.' ' Still, I contended, 'it is as much suicide to wilfully refuse proper remedies for disease as though yon flung your body into a- pool. And you hare no right to fling *w»y the life which God has given, so long as you may make it useful to others. Your pen ' ' Of all the miserable wails that ever broke from human lips, that which interrupted m« was the most excruciating. It seemed wrung from the very depths of her soul. IMy pen ! I have forsworn it ! It was that which marred mv own life and the lives of others; filled my soul with bitterneis, blanched these abunda.it tresses, once black as midnight— or my own heart;' and then it was she quoted the ' Prisoner of Chilloa.' 'My pen! It has beea a curse to mo instead of a blessing !' ' She had raised herself to give utterance to her emotion, now she sank back on her pillow exhausted and in tears. ' I think those tears were a relief. She wept herself to sleep, and awoke three hours after, much refreshed. Strange to •ay, she asked for the bitterly rejected medicine, and never refused it again. <By this time the disease had got too far ahead for drugs to overtake. I was anxious that some relative or friend should be summoned, but Jibe vould not hear of it. Barford and I were all she would permft to wait on her. One daj when the old charwoman was out, and she sat up in bed, typarently stronger than ordinary, she whispered to me, 'Mrs. Mar-bury, come close to the bedside, and^"p"romisie faithfully never to reveal what X am afa(^ut to tell you so long as there is breath in my body. But I feel I cannot die onion I disburden my mind.' 1 ' I gave the required promise, and a renovating draught! at the same time. ' 1 was a beauty once,' she began, with eyes so dark a gray that they might have | passed for black, and a head of hair that J was never surpassed. You see what it is no»rJ' ' I nodded, and Miss Ghildors went on : 'I wai-jfaH of poetry and sentiment, revelling & Byron ami Moore, «uad languishing Vitjt -L- ■£• JUp-whtn I met at thoihouie-^jpfiatthe fltfttt face and form

that ever clothed a human soul, and from that spring tide morning Aubrey Wilton was my fate. 'Ah I Mrs. Marbury, 1 .think I see |iim now as he ros^ from the sofa to b# introduced to ' Miss CMlders, the youh? poetess,' and I almosi feel again the blusdea rise to my cheeks as I blundered forth a disclaimer of the coraphmonts paid to me. I was not quite eighteen, and bore my poetic honors gomewhut bashfully. But I think I was most overpowered by the unexpected presentation to thi beau-ideal of my imaginative dreams, There was not an effeminate line in his face or figure, yet Aubrey Wilton was superlatively beautiful, with a skin whiter than my own, black eyes which pierced me through, and clustering curls as jetty and lustrous as my own.' • There was a long pause before she resumed. •My mother was alive then, and we not only visited but entertained in our turn ; and wherever we went, Mr. Wilton was sure to be there also. He had been abroad ; had come back to take possession of the family estate on the death of his eldest brother. lam afraid this property was his great charm in mother's eyes. For myself, I absolutely worshipped the man and valued the gold as dross. Whether to draw me out, or to make myself agreeable, Aubrey Wilton always led conversation with me into the enchanted realms of poesy, and — luckless witling that I was — I followed, little deoming it was but the avenue to love. I awoke one day to the knowledge in all its strength and bitterness.' ' Recollection seemed to overpower her ; the white head went down on the pillow, Mrs. Barford came back ; and was followed by the docter, who forbade excitement, and a week or so elapsed before I heard tlic remainder of Miss Childer's sad confession, which had many breaks and pauses* 'Mrs. Marbury,' sho began, 'in my dreams last night I saw ray mother, and she beckoned me. I must 9ay quickly what I have to reveal— but, oh ! think not more harshly of me than you can help. 1 • I said I woke from my dream — the shock was a rude one. Aubrey Wilton asked me to write some verses in an album he was about to present to his bethrothed. I was too much stunned either to faint or scream. I think he took my silence for poetic cogitation. Heaven help mft ! I wfcs feeling as if the uniTer««e bad collapsed. Pride lent me its mask, and I rallied sufficiently to banter him and so ascertained who was the favored fair one. As we were such ' good friends' — so h« said — he showed me her miniature. It was printed on ivory, and was the counterfeit presentment of my very antithesis— a stranger to me, — a pale-faced, wishy-wa9hy sort of girl, one of those beings who are amiable because they are too weak to be otherwise. Yet I saw bv the look ho cast upon the picture how ardently he loved that insipidity ; and I felt as though 1 could have dashed the miniature to the ground and crushed it beneath my heal. ' From that hour my whole nature underwent a change ; passion was a very demon in my breast, and caught rae by iti subtilety. You may well recoil. Mrs. Marbury : my own mother would have shrank from me had she known ' I wrote the verses in the album ; but I wrote more than these. I made myself acquainted with my rival's parentage and antecedents, and having practiced a strange handwriting, prompted by the fiends that wait On jealousy, I concocted a series of annoymous letters, in which truth was perverted as to poison Aubrey's mind against the daiuty maid he loved, and set an | impassible barrier between them. ' They were cleverly contrived aspersions, calculated to work on a proud, impetuous temperament; but they accomplished only one half my aim. He came raving to me — his confidante — with the last of these missives in his hand, and then, with seeming friendliness. I put the key-stone in the arch. I said that rumors of that kind had reached my ears before I knew ho had an interest in Miss Chamberlain, but I bad held my peace lest I should make mischief; and then I grew genuinely sympathetic, and once I saw the flashing eyes droop as if too strong a light had fallen. But if he saw ray love he made no sign. The next day he left England, and I have never seen him sinee — I, who had sinned to win him. ' He had brokon the bond 3 of betrothal, had gone abroad in the very madness of desperation, and left the poor innocent I had maligned to heal her wounded heart as best she might — and me to my despair. I ' From time to time I heard of him, but heard only of his deep, unquenchable love for the girl he was too proud to marry. I had separated them indeed, but I brought him no nearer me, and my pupishment began. I dared not and I could not confess, and reunite the severed lovers. So I wrapped the fo? beneath my mantle and let it gnaw my life away. I was not without offers, Mrs. Marbury, but I turned a deaf ear, and my mother died regretting that she had left mo alone in the world. " Alone, indeed ! I was in no frame of mind for society then ; I closed the doors of my heart against visitors ; closed the doors of my house against humanity ; and this room became at once ■ a prison and a penitentiary to me. When Aubrey Wilton had gone some uVe years, Marian Chamberlain accepted a less crodulous and more generous lover.. She married and bow a family ; whilst I—lI — I sat here in solitude, • gray-haired, isolated, miserable wretch, brooding over my own sorrows, lamenting my lost love, and growing harder to the world, more auspicious year by year. I fell into a pit which I had dug for another. ' And in all those twenty years did you never relent—^never send 1 Mr. Wilton a line to clear his lost love P' I asked, when she ended. 4 1 was not prepared for the energy with which the sick woman snapped me up. f Whyghouldl? Sho was married. Was I to blaokeh myself in tho- eyes) of him I adored — and still adore P I know not why I should have bared my heart to you; but since*you have been about me, I seem, I know not why, to feel how great a wrong I have done as I never felt it bsfore'; and the keen eyes, looked at me qnestioningly. ,^ > Miss Cliilders,' I said solemnly, ' you are standing on the frontier of another world. It is not my presence, but aD a^ful impnlpablo one that sways you now and calls you to ropent aud atone if you hope youry;U to be forgii^Q,

• I rose, gave her a sedative, and I left the room en some pretense that she might be alone with her conscience. • The next day she was quiet, but the subject was not returned t«». In tbe middle of the night she awakened me with a touch. • Is Mrs. Barford coming in the morning ?' she asked eagerly, though very feebly. 1 answered in the affirmative. | • Let her qo — to Lawyer Longmore's — and bid him — come quickly. 1 must I make a fresh will.' ! ' The will was, made, signed, attested, I and borne away by the lawyer j 'A week later eyes and lips were at rest ; the long gray hair was coiled, at in life, round the coffined head, which could j neither plot nor poetize more. The OhilI ders' 'door stood open» the surface dust i was removed from the drawing room ; the late mistress of the mansion was laid as dust to dust herself, and Lawyer Longmore read Miss Childers' will to the few friends whom feeling, curiosity, or expectation had brought to the funeral. 1 With the exception of a legacy to Mrs. Barford, who had well earned it by long 1 and faithful service, and a slight memorial to myself, Miss Childers devised the ' whole of her property, real and personal, j ' to one whom she had never seen but had greatly wronged — to Mrs ■ ■ ■, who when Marian Chamberlain (as is Bet forth), , bad been separated from Aubrey Wilton through the testatrix, in the vain hope to win him and his love for herself.' ' Relatives threatened to dispute the will on the plea of insanity, but they had not a tittle of evidence to support the plea ; never was a clearer-headed woman than Miss Childers • And that, Mrs. Chappell,' said I, as I refastened my waterproof, ' was the true story of a more abundant and remarkable coil of gray hair than that which you put away in yonder box.' ' May be not,' said she, • if that gray hair had its chronicler likewise.' ' Perhaps you are right. One never knows !' So saying, away trudged Maey Mabbttey.