PHILIP PENFOLD.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1890, 16 August 1884, Page 1 (Supplement)

PHILIP PENFOLD.

By FRANK MORLEY.

OHAPTEE 111. (Continued.) Time and opportunity have a great deal more to do with falling in love that most people imagine. La Grande passion is often more a matter of juxta-position than anything else. Two young, or middle-aged, or anyaged, people of the opposite sex are thrown into each other's society, and the chances are they will either hate or- love. There is seldom any via media. They cannot remain indifferent. _ Almost immediately there are set up conditions of attraction or repulsion. This may account for the fact that Marie Browning and Philip Penfold naturally tended to each other's society. Philip seemed to be a different man to the original Philip, who devoted his time to cutting thistles and doing other odd jobs about his estate. He became all at once a devoted chevalier de dames ; or, at all events, he became the true knight of one peerless Dulcinea. Marie seemed to accept it all as a matter of course. It never struck •her that it was anything unusual to receive a great deal of attention from Mr. Penfold. She had always been accustomed to attention. There was not much danger of her construing ordinary politeness into anything beyond the conventional lines. Marie would be the last to think that Mr. Philip Penfold had fallen in love with her because he was assiduous in his attentions 'to the only young lady who, for the time being, shone within his horizon.

But it was altogether different with Philip. His was a peculiarly intense nature. He had loved a woman once, and it had lasted him for twenty years. Now he was brought in contact with another woman, who affected him in precisely the same' way. Her nature vibrated in unison with his. The long dormant chords awoke once more to life. The music that was in his soul, buried underneath the dead mask of his everyday life, welled up once more from beneath the rubbish of his material existence, and sounded, through the empty corridors of his crushed past like the notes of an JEolean harp.. He had not forgotten his first love; but she was dead to him. During, all these years he had never heard- of her. For twenty; years he had cherished .the vision of Emily Morton as he saw her .last; ...>and- now, when time, h?ad seared, if hot healed, the •wound,; he met .hef counterpart in Marie. Browning, and'he was once more, helpless rbefore his'fate.;.Therewas a (Strange -likeheas between the two' women

who had so powerfully effected Philip Penfold at two such, different epochs of his life. It could not be imagination; but when he was in the presence of Marie Browning he felt as if he were conscious only of the personality of Emily Morton. He was not a believer in the doctrine of metempsychosis; but if he had been he could hardly have refrained from accepting the existence of Marie Browning as an evidence of the transmigration of souls; and he must have acknowledged that Emily Morton and Marie Browning were one and indivisible. It was not that he had a distinct recollection of every feature and trait, and could recall at will the Emily Morton of twenty years ago, but he was conscious of a similarity of conditions; the move of a hand, the tone of voice, the flutter of a skirt transported him back over the dim vista of the past. • He was no longer a man of forty-two, whose fibre had been hardened by contact with the world; he was.a youth oftwoandtwenty, and the woman who was near him had always been near him. It was useless to appeal to reason or so-called facts. The only real facts are the facts of consciousness, and he was conscious that Marie Browning was Emily Morton. She was so to his senses, or his imagination, or whatever faculty it might be that served the purpose of turning back all these weary years and placing once more before him in flesh and blood the reality of the vision which so long had haunted him. And thus it happened that day by day the staid man of forty fluttered round the flame of female beauty as a moth flutters round the candle ; and Philip would have been in serious danger of getting very severely scorched if he had remained much longer in the vicinity of the beautiful Marie, who was all unconscious of the smouldering passion of which she was the object. Philip was saved from making a declaration by the fortuitous circumstance that his nephew had got into a scrape down in Melbourne; and as Philip was in the habit of periodically taking this impulsive young gentleman out of difficulties, it came quite natural to him to leave Berengaria at a moment's notice, and to post »ff to' the Metropolis on his errand of deliverer. CHAPTER IV. The business that took Mr. Philip Penfold down to Melbourne in such a hurry is explained in the following letter, from an old chum of his :

" My Dear Phil, —When I agreed to keep a sort of paternal eye on that reckless young fool of a nephew of yours, I undertook more than I bargained for. I can easily see to it that he is not got at by ' Greeks,' or gobbled up by Jew money-lenders; but when he incontinently falls in love with old women, I pass. You must come and look after him yourself. The other night I went to Scots' Church—a moat unusual thing for me to do, I must admit—and I stumbled into the same pew as my noble lord your nephew. When we wore coming out, I noticed that he turned deadly pale when he caught sight of one of the lady worshippers; and I also took the trouble to notice that he 'followed her at a respectful distance, until she disappeared within the sacred precincts of her own' establishment for young ladies.' She is a widow. She keeps a ladies' Bchool. She is forty if she is a day—though, I must say, she doesn't look more than twenty; and—well, if you don't want your nephew to marry' an old woman and an adventuress, come down and look after him. —Yours disgustedly,

"Val. Clinton."

This characteristic missive caused Mr. Penfold some uneasiness. Not that he had any great fears of his nephew, Herbert Fairleigh, making an ass of himself; but he knew that when there was a woman in question, young and ardent fellows of twenty-two —or, for the matter of that, young fellows of forty-two—are easily led into mischief. Facilis decensus averni is as applicable to women as it is to wine or gambling; and Philip Penfold knew many cases where young fellows of property, or expectations, had been trapped into marriages by designing women, whose sole stock-in-trade was their good looks and easy virtue. When the train rolled into the Spencer-street Station, he called a hansom, and drove to the club. After tea he strolled into the smoking-room, the sole occupant of which was a young gentleman, who lay back, half-buried in a huge armchair, and who was smoking an enormous cigar. He looked up lazily when the door was opened, at the same time thrusting a photograph, which he had been intently gazing at, into hi 3 breast. The next moment he bounded to his feet, his face glowing with pleasure, while he held out his hand, exclaiming:

"Uncle Phil! by all that's wonderful 1" " Glad to see you looking so well, Bertie,' said his uncle, Avhile they shook hands. "What was that I saw you thrusting so mysteriously under your waistcoat? "

Bertie blushed. "Nothing," says he; "nothing—that is—oh! nothing particular, you know." "Oh! nothing particular," responded his uncle. "Do you know, Bertie, you don't make a good liar; now I should say from your face that there was something very particular about that carte or letter, or whatever it was that you made to vanish so hastily when I opened the door."

" You seem to know all about it, uncle," returns the youthful Herbert, who by this time had recovered from his first surprise, " supposing we have a drink, old man," and rising from his chair he strolled towards the fireplace to touch tho electric bell, at the same time taking the precaution to transfer the photo from its resting place in his bosom to his breast-pocket. " We'll have a bottle of ' fizz,' Herbert," said Philip, as the waiter entered the room. " All right, uncle, I don't generally indulge in such extravagance ; but I have no objection to killing a fatted calf occasionally when a prodigal unole returns from the wilds of the Australian bush to the centre of Australian civilisation."

The champagne being brought in by the waiter, Herbert was about to pay for it; but his uncle was too quick for him, and handed the money to the waiter. " We sha'n't quarrel about it, uncle," says Bertie, philosophically, as he put the money back into his pocket. •" The fact is you-can't afford champagne, Bertie."

" Quite right, unole, quite right; I never drink it except under exceptional conditions." "And how is the law, Bertie, my boy?" inquired Philip as he accepted a cigar from his nephew. " Oh, the law is ajl right," returned the young man composedly. "Are you getting into a good practice ?" "Oh, yes la. very good practice; I am practising the' flute at present. lam likewise practicing several of the virtues, suoh as faith and hope; and as for "charity, why nobody knows better than yotf, uncle, that I am living on charity," continued Herbert, as he sent a spiral of smoke up towards the ceiling. "And that, I suppose,-is your principal reason for falling in love ?" "For falling in love?" "Yes; You need not look so surprised; and you need not echo my words. Can't you ; say something original ?" •

«»Original?'? '■-•.. -* - :; "Thefeyoa go again. You are enough to aggiavate'a'sairit I'V' "~'- : -: -~-' : ■■-%'■■' •>» - ■-'-. ■.■';■■■-'->■"■,

This waa too. mooh for the usually placid

temper of Philip Penfold. Ho sprang from his_ seat and paced the'.freom with hasty strides, while -Herbert flung one leg over the arm-ohair and smoked peacefully while he contemplated his uncle's movements with mingled admiration and amusement.

"Look here, old man," he said at length, "I would give something to have your temper." "My temper?" " Your unequalled capaoily for putting on steam at a moment's notice." «• -Steam?" " And side." " Side ?•"

" There you go again,"" said Herbert, placidly, " echoing my words. Can't you say something original, uncle ? " " Yes, sir, I can say something original. It ia not enough that you live down here practicing the flute instead of studying law; wasting your substance in riotous living " " Your substance, uncle," interjected Herbert with a placid smile. " Wasting your substanoe in riotous living," continued Philip without noticing the interruption. " I only kill the fatted calf occasionally, unole."

"Don't interrupt me, sir," continued Philip; "but to crown all you must needs fall in love with an adventuress, a woman of fifty, an old hag who " Bertie rose to his feet; and there was a flush in his cheek and a look in his eye that warned his uncle that he had said quite enough. When he stood up to his full height, his handsome face glowing with all the force of the passionate nature whioh he kept concealed under the habitual mask of indifference which he assumed, he looked like a young god. In spite of the blaze in his eye he spoke quite calmly : " Look here, uncle, you seem to be laboring under some hallucination. It is true I am in love; but whoever has abused your innocence by telling yon that my fiancee is an old woman, or an adventuress, is an ass." " I am not going to enlighten you as to how I got the information; but I know that last Sunday you were spooning on to a woman of forty like a love-sick Romeo on some ancient Juliet; that you don't even know her sufficiently well to address her; that you followed her home like a pensive troubadour of the middle ages; and that I suppose you made night hideous by serenading your lady-love with a Jew's harp to the pleasing accompaniment of a regiment of vagrant Thomascats upon the neighboring tiles—bah I I'm disgusted with you 1" " Bravo uncle 1" laughed Herbert, as he clapped Philip on the back, " bravo 1 old man, you are getting quite eloquent; and your highly graphio description of a love-sick swain shows that you must have been a victim yourself at one period of your life." "But you are not in earnest about this business, Herbert, surely ? " "Never more in earnest in my life, uncle." " But you don't even know the name of the lady." " Only her christian name." " How did you find that out ? " "Heard her companions address her as Marie." " Marie!" " Yes, Marie; anything wonderful in that ? Why shouldn't she be called Marie ? " "Oh I nothing, certainly, quite right," stammered Philip. " Where did you make her acquaintance." " I have not made her acquaintance; and that is the cause of all the trouble." " Where did you meet her then ? "

" She rose upon my enchanted vision like Venus from the sea as I was walking along the beach near Point Lonsdale. I saw her far out upon the rocks gathering specimens, and looking like a sea nymph in a modern costume. The tide had come in, and every moment threatened to make her return impossible. I heard her companions calling her Marie, and imploring her to return. I rushed to the rescue, and—" " You saved her from a watery gravo ? " " No, I rather think she saved me; for I' stumbled like a booby into a big hole and she fished me out, just as a huge roller from the other side of the .Pacific Ocean, todk us both off our feet, and carried us in towards the beach. Then, gathering up her skirts and showing a pair ©f the neatest ankles that ever adorned a woman, she flew like a second Atalanta before another roller which, as I was too much disgusted to run, caught me and doubled me up like a piece of kelp, and then loaded me " wet and cold, and lifeless at her feet," like Don Juan at the feet of Haidee. I felt so inexpressibly small when she thanked me for having rescued her, that I could only blurt out some stupid- common-place and retire."

" But how did you become possessed of her photo?" " Who told you I had her photo ? " " Oh! I saw you hide it as I came in," said Philip, boldly risking a gue3S. " Well I may as well make a olean breast of it," returned Herbert, " I saw herphoto; in a fashionable photographers; so I summoned up all my natural audacity, which never fails me, except when I am in love, and told the young lady that I wanted a dozen additional cabinet-sized carte 3 of my sister, carelessly pointing, at the same time, to the counterfeit presentment of my sea nymph." " What name, please, enquired the young lady?" " Marie, I said, indifferently." "Oh yes, Miss Marie Br Br what name did you say please ? "

" I could see the half formed name of Brown upon her lips. I had just been reading Browning's poems; and so I said, with a daring impudence which I think does me infinite honor, • Marie Browning.' Whether that is her name or not heaven only knows; but I got the photographs, and here is one." Philip seized the photo; and, almost speechless with surprise and emotion, he gasped rather than articulated:

" Marie Browning it is 1 by the Immortal Gods 1"

CHAPTBE V.

We must trouble the reader to accompany us now, from the gay and festive scenes of fashionable club life to a locality, somewhat unsavory, but full of a oharacter of its own. In a blind alley off one of the principal streets of the city of Melbourne, there stands a melancholy looking tumble-down tenement which has a history. It is a small brick building of four rosms. The bricks seem as if they had been made in the time of the Pharoahs; as if they had been sunk in the Bed Sea, for some thousands of years; and as if they were still weeping for the misfortunes of the children of Israel. There are only two windows visible; and these are nailed up with the remains of empty gin cases, with the exception of one pane from which flutters a tawdery rag, which had ones been a woman's petticoat'. The jambs of the door are in the last stage of decay; and the door itself, having only one hinge at the top, and that being of rotten leather, seems to hang in a reluctant; sort of way to its rotten frame work, as if fearful of putting too muoh strain upon it. This house has a history, as every house probably has, if it were only known; bat its glory has long since departed. Years before, when it was not quite ao far gone in the sere and yellow-leaf, it was a sort of Alsatia for impecunious literary men. All the bright partioular stars of the literary firmament} who had no where else to go, as-sembled-here for shelter and; society. No man who had any resources was considered fit for

the'society of the literary Bedouins, who dubbed their place of refuge the " Cave of Adullam ; " and who made up for their want of cash, by a reckless joviality which took no thought for the morrow. To this jplaoe of refuge, at all hours of the night or morning, . the waifs and strays of the literary and artistic world, who had the entree by virtue of thqir impecuniosity, would gravitate. It was a point of honor among the needy but genial fraternity, to make their exits and their entrances in as mysterious a manner as [possible, so as to excite the suspicions of,the, watchful bobbies. And the watchman upon'the beat was not at all satisfied when he saw mysterious figures creeping round corners, with . sombreros drawn down over their eyes, and cloaks gathered up to their chins, in the most approved transpontine-ruffian fashion of the penny gaff. Policeman X. would see a sombre figure, like Don Carlos in Hernani, when he entered uninvited the chamber of Dona Josefa, " Le manteau sur le nez et|| le ohapeau sur les yeux," and it would exercise him very much to see that the figure shunned observation, and walked in a very stealthy manner, until it got to the corner of a blind alley, when it would take to its heels, and disappear. But, when this performance happened repeatedly, and when there were evidently not one, but half-a» dozen conspirators who were anxious that their movements should escape observation, visions of dynamite plets floated before the fearful eyes of the guardians of the peace. If they were not dynamiters, they were at least coiners; so the foorce one night surrounded and rushed the "Cave of Adullam," with the result of finding that the conspirators or coiners were simply eccentric litterateurs, who sought refuge in their Cave of Adullam from the persecution of creditors and Jew money-lenders, as David, the Bon of Jesse, sought refuge in the original Cave of Adullam from Saul, the son of Kish. The policeman knew every one of them by sight; and the advent of the " foorce" was hailed with acclamation by the " boys," who insisted on the bobbies joining in a festive liquor, to which they, nothing loath, consented. The police left the Cave of Adullam with broad grins upon their faces as the exquisiteness of the sell dawned upon them; and they troubled themselves no more about the mysterious movements of the frequenters of the blind alley.. But after the literary cirole which made the Cave of Adullam their Alsatia was broken up, the premises were taken possession of by . other sort of wild fowl, to wit, magsmen and burglars, who took advantage of the immunity from police surveillance whioh the legendary character of the house obtained for it, to make it a place of rendezvous for some of the most bloodthirsty ruffians of the city. At the time of whioh this history is treating, there is a slight glimmer of a light shining through the chinks; and if we look in, we can see two figures indistinctly visible in the sombre darkness, whioh a tallow candle, stuck in the neck of a gin bottle, barely relieves. These figures are engaged in earnest conversation ; but we must leave them for a short time, until we bring up the other characters of our narrative to a level with them in point of time. (To he continued.')