RENDON'S SORROW. A SEA-SIDE SKETCH.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2251, 11 December 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

RENDON'S SORROW. A SEA-SIDE SKETCH.

S was full of visitors. The season was at its height and people were appreciating the best of summer weather, the best of scenery, the best of everything ! You conld observe that by walking along the beach or on the esplanade ; for, amid the w hole throng, you would find nothing but smiling faces and handsome dresses. The aun shone in bright radiance upon it all ; there was nothing to mar the pleasures of life there, and a person must have been in a very bad way indeed to withstand the infectious gaiety of the time and place. Under the exhilarating influence of such genial surroundings dull care had no sort of encouragement. Every grade of society was represented at S , but no distinctions of class were apparent. Regard for social position seemed to have been set aside, and all were bent on that enjoyment which I am sure they had fouud to .their hearts' content. I walked amongst the'motley crowd in rather a critical mood, and was struck with the vivacious iight-heartedness of old aud young alike, and at the freedom with which they mingled together, passed jokes, and entered into each other's amusements. No one seemed to have auy grievances; there were no wrongs to remedy, no losses to deplore, no troubles to sadden. Serious topics of conversation could not be tolerated a moment ; all were intent upon the pleasure in which they revelled with a stimulating gaiety ; all unconscious of sorrows darkening the past, or casting their significant shadows on the future. On finishing ray stroll 1 took a seat on the pipr to enjoy the cooling 1 breeze and contemplate the scene ; for it was an inviting one, and likely to afford happy reminiscences in tho future. I was rettecti ing- that I had no seen one face that day . with sadness depicted on it, and the [ thought gratified me as I carelesslylounged on the further corner of my seat. Glancing across to the opposito side of the pier I noticed an individual whom I concluded had, like myself, become a little wearied of the pleasures of the day. I looked steadily at him as he restlessly ohanged his position, evidently disturbed at what he appeared to consider an intrusion. He was a young man, very pale and thin, with a dark moustache and very stern, though somewhat emaciated, expreision of face. He looked haggard and wretched, as though misfortune had laid hold of him heavily and wasted his once handsome features. Turning towards mo with a hemi-unconscious stare he slightly shifted his position and then reclined again upon his seat. He was very fashionably dressed ; by his side lay a cigar case to which he now helped himaelf, smoking with great fervour, like a man who has pain to subdue, a sonow to forget, or a difficulty to overcome. I left him there soon afterwards ; he was looking towards the sea in a vacant way, seeming to have no sort of interest in the place or people. The next day I strolled out again, for the weather contiuued charming, and everywhere I found a repetition of the innocent revels of the precediug day. Getting tired I went on to the pier and watched the passing steamers furrowing their way through the calm and limpid breast of the water. My unknown companion of yesterday was again there, occupying the same position. His hat lay on the ground at his feet, and his, white face was upturned to the sky as his head reclined on the back of the seat. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, and by his side lay his cigar case and a cigar half smoked. As I passed him I involuntarily shuddered at his ghostly appearance, and thought he must be iusensiblc, but a slight movement relieved me from the apprehension. It astonished me to find that neither the visitors or residents apparently noticed him. They passed and repassed him, chatting, indulging in witticisms, and seemingly cracking their best jokes in his presence, so that many a peal of hearty laughter must have fallen upon his ears. I wondered whether the stranger came there every day, and concluded that the visitors at S had become so familiarised with his appearance that they had ceased to regard him as a curiosity. I inquired of some friends whether they could give me any information respecting him. They said he had been there for several months, but never associated with anyone, always coming to the same seat on the pier, and day afl-er day maintaining a dejected and unfriendly demeanour. He had once stated he came from a suburb of London, and that his name was Rendon, but my friends confessed themselves profoundly ignorant of the circumstances giving rise to his eccentric behaviour. Everybody knew him well by sight, sitting there so persistently as'he did, and gazing for hours into vacancy. It was rumoured that he sometimes stayed far into the night, utterly indifferent as to wind and weather, for at two o'clock one stormy morning home fibhermen, on coming down the pier, were surprised to find him sitting in his accustomed place, heedless of the fury of the elements. The moon, as it came out between the storm clouds, shone upon his pale face and startled them. They persuaded him to leave the spot, for he was drenched to the striu, but he could hardly walk, and ultimately they carried him on their shoulders. Many people had endeavoured to discover something of his history or to get at some clue to the mystery involving him, but he had invariably declined to make friends, and studiously avoided those who made advances for that purpose. Ho was a gentleman, anyone could see that directly. Once my friends informed me he had been seen to smile, and only once, and that was when a child met with a trivial accident on the pier. She had strolled away from her friend, and whilst playing had fallen down and severely sprained her ankle. .There was plenty of people near, but the stranger had got to her assistance first, and soothing her pain by tender words, had carried her to her friends. A few days afterwards, when she could w.ilk about again, she came straight down tho pier, and, running up to him, put her arms round his neck and kissed him. H« made a motion as if to prevent her at fiivt, but she was too impetuous to be denied, and he could not foibear a smile at her childlike expression ol gratitude. Theu she sat down by his side and begau to chatter, thinking to wiu from him the same kindly responses she received from others, bat in this she failed and, leaving him, said she would "bring mamma to thank him for his kindness," but before she returned he had disappeared for that day. The visitors had discussed many possible theories in connection with the stranger, and had devised a number of methods to attract him from his morose disposition. Some had ventured to speak to him, but every attempt to draw him out had failed. There lie remained unmoved; oblivious to surrounding pleasures, hihl utterly unconcerned in ever? ■ thing Liking plac\ He seemed to he thinking of the pa-t, his thoughts were evidently centred n-wii something fir enough away from this plaue. .The thinl time I siw linn, he looked rather better, I thought. Ad I passod him, a liUle rain began falling, and fnm the githerinj* clouds it bacuno obvious a storm \v\is ttjiproachiug, I went up to linn, and i

offered him a share of my umbrella, which, however, he declined, as I quite expected, and he retained his seat, apparently heedless of the thickly falling drops, whilst I hurried homewards to escape a drenching. I was making a prolonged stay at S . Failing health, attributable to very close application to business, had rendered it imperative I should have rest and recreation, and I had come to the seaside with the idea of getting thoroughly set up before I returned. I frequently encountered the stranger; he was about tie same age as myself, and we gradually became intimate, though he still evinced his objection to make friends. His appearance improved much, aud his disposition became more cheerful, as though he were obtaining the mastery of his trouble, whatever it was, aud his habits became less eccentric. One day I ventured to suggest he should tell me something of his past life. He replied with much freedom that it was so uneventful it could not possibly interest anyone. He added that he had an intention of leaving S soon, and returning to his widowed mother, but there were reasons why he wished to prolong his absence to the utmost extent. I further pressed him to an explanation, remarking that I felt desirous of being of some service to him in distress. He still hesitated a little, but dually overcame his scruples. •'The circumstances," he said, "that caused me to suddenly leave home some months ago do not possess much significence to other people, though deeply affecting myself. Perhaps I acted too hastily, as the result of my rery sensitive temperament, but you shall hear something of the facts. For some years I had been acquainted with a lady, the daughter of a neighbouring squire named Allison, whose positiou was decidedly higher than my own. I became deeply attached to her, and my affection was reciprocated. Had I been encouraged to wait for a few years and work on earnestly to better myself, all might have turned out well, but, under the circumstances, her friends not only objected to our engagement, but sought to prevent a mere friendly intimacy. They were evidently scheming to arrange a, match between her and a wealthy land-owner in the neighbourhood, whom she utterly detested at one time, bat they had so far used their influence, and he, on his part, had exhibited his deep regard in a variety of telling ways, that she not only overcame her re- ! pugnance, and learnt to tolerate him, but positively seemed to encourage his attentions. He constantly haunted her society before I left home, and I fully realised that matters were surely drifting towards a result I dreaded beyond all expression, j She would scarcely exchange greetings when we happened to meet— just a word and a smile, and she was gone. Yet she had told me, with all the earnestness and sincerity of true affection, as I thought, that she wou'd never change — that I would not despair, for though friend* and circumstances might separate us for a time, they could not do so for ever. I thought she must have forgotten all this ; indeed, perhaps the words were uttered more in sympathy than in love. The outlook seemed dark, still I endeavoured to put aside the feeling of despondency that took possession of me, but it was futile. My love was not of the character to be crushed with an effort. There appeard to be no alternative but to leave home, and this resolve was finally taken on hearing the rumour that a definite engage- ' ment had been announced. The news maddened me at first, and in the paroxysm of anguish that ensued, I determined upon some form of revenge. But calmer feeling 3 succeeded and prevailed upon me to bear the blow in silence. Perhaps in time I should forget. Then I visited several places, and participated in everything likely to obliterate my thoughts. I became reckless, though not dissipated, and courted dangers with the courage of despair, but found the effort useless in its intention. After a while I realised that quiet and isolation provided the best antidotes to my suffering, and a few months ago I came here to find them. I left home some six months ago, and since then have heard nothing, and I never take up a newspaper." I suggested to Rendon that, after all, matters might not be nearly so bad as he appeared to infer, but he shook his head dubiously, saying that he had reviewed all the circumstances many times, and always became impressed that there wa3 no hope; in fact, he had a presentiment of his worst fears, and did not wish to return home until he had so far overcome his feelings that he could meet all his old friends with perfect uuconccrn. There were now few visitors at S . The charmingly fine weather of the few preceding weeks had given way to leaden skies and deluging rains. It was several days after our last conversation that, on meeting Rendon, I noticed he looked more careworn, as if he had been brooding over the events which he had confided to me at our last interview. He expressed his satisfaction that the place was uot so full as formerly. It was evident from Ins conversation that he regarded the whole batch of visitors and excursionists as little better than a heterogeneous mass of frivolous humanity. We sat on the pier, and Rendon was on the point of lighting a cigar, when his eye fell upon a lady and gentleman passing. His face changed in a moment, and I noticed he seemed agitated. His gaze followed them, and he grasped my arm tightly, but said nothing, being seemingly occupied in an effort to regain his composure. They had hardly noticed us, and retraced their steps without according us any attention. I had seen them previously that day, for they had been &c ited opposite to me, and I cold uot help being attracted by the lady's engaging manner aud fascinating expression. I put them down as brother and sister, for they were much alike. Rendon's eye followed them until they were out of fight, and then he turned to me with a significant look, giviug me to understand that the lady was none other than the hubject of the incidents he had related to me a few days before. He rose from his seat with his gaze directed to tho spot where they had disappeared, and he requested mo to accompany him down to the beach. They had jrone that w.ty I knew, and we fouud them sitting- on a projecting- rock watching the rit-ing tide. I glanced towards the Udy and noticed that, as we weut by she distinctly started, and then addressing her brother t'ley both looked after u» with a question in-? expression. They had apparently recntr- j nisei Rendon, and I mentioned tho circumstances, but ho appeared unconcerned. We continued walking- steadily until a bend in our course took us out of sijjht of the new victors. R^udon looked i relieved. He informed me that he could not understand or exp\ tin tiVir pre-enee hoiv. It raii't have been an accident,, f->r he felt assure'] nono knew hi-* whorvHbouts and if they did, what possible mflueaou oould that have exiuvKe.l upon their notions ? VTet it seemed to him v, > >. Iran jru o<>inoid>>nce tint thth Ij.lv Uiu j (jtiise of all hi- sufiViiinr — should h.ivc erne f-i tlii-i iviy place wirh hei brother jiM.nt'i Mint* when Im hid thought it pioh;il)!o >ho would hnvo boon spending her hom'vm'i >m .iMroid. Th" \\vx\ two d i\m were spent in pro. meindiiiir the |>i^r tnd htM<h, \nv \V;> *iw no more of the in' v vwiio-a, .md. Miilm-d, it was no Mat of weather fin outiiuui

exercises, for the autumnal i ami hud set in and the inhabitants ar, S leemed if; prudent to keep withiu dooi>. Rendoa became veiy rei?t'es-> and «aid he ouahfc, perhaps, to havo accepted tho opportunity to make inquiries as to his friends at home. He j<earcely/;on.sidered it pomuble that another chance would be presented, and I feared that he would relapse into hit» former condition of wretchedness. On the third day I accompanied Rendon down to the beach, and we sat carelessly on the projecting lock near the pier. The weather had now cleared somewhat, there wa3 a lull in the tempestuous wind, and the sun had broken out and now shone with summer brilliancy. Two figures were leisurely approaching, and I recognised them instantly, but said nothing to my friend. They had drawn comparatively near before he caught their footstep, and as he looked up started visibly, but instantly regained his composure and turned towards me as if engaged in ordinary conversation. The lady, for it wad Miss Allison, came forward directly she noticed Rendon, and extending her hand inquired how he wa>, and where he had been so long. Ho an-swei-ed her very calmly, and with a good deal of bitterness i«i his tone. After a torinai introduction I entered into conveisation with her brother, and we stood slightly aside, though ne.ir enough to hear the words of our friends. Retklon had as3umcl a very cool, indifferent manner— tar fiom being the real cvklcuce of his thoughts. Miss Alli&ou asked him if he had been unwell, and why he had prolonged his absence fiom home. She put the question feelingly, and there was a good deal of tenderness in her voice. | Rendon looked sternly as he replied that he had not been well, but the change seemed to have been beneficial. He had sometimes regretted bis hasty departure from home, and felt that he owed some ot his friends an apology. "I hope you have been happy here,"' she said, "with such charming scenery. There seem so mauy attractions that I could hardly understand anyone ever suffering from cnuui in such a place. ' ''There is certainly much to please the eye here, and it one needs amusement or friends they are numerous enough, but it is not everyone that feels disposed to enter daily mockeries,' he replied, with a good deal of sarcasm. I saw that Mi^s Allison felt aggrieved and pained at his manner of speaking, so different, no doubt, to the way he had addressed her in the old days', aud I wondered it she realised that he was but playing a part. I wondered -whether she knew how little it would take to make him fall down at her feet and plead for that love by which alone the happiness of the pa<?fc might be regained ! She asked him it he meant returning home soon, hut he replied that he was very undecided, and had some idea of oingg abroad in the wintoi. Sho looked at him steadily, almost imploringly, fis I thought, and then Niid if he had not quite forgotten his old friends he would come buok to them instead. There was a calm and tender eloquence in her voice that .seemed to me irresistible, but Rendon exhibited no change in his demeanour as he said that there was nothing to allure him home. She asked him if he had no recollection of the old days ; if ha ha I quite forgotten what she had said to him oace ? She spoke very quietly, and the words were scarcely audible to my ears. I realised at once that Reudon must have greatly erred in ever having doubted her conntancy. He had not forgotten, he answered, though he had vainly endeavoured to forget. It would have been far better, he added, had the words never been spoken ; because they could not have been sincere. She said she should have had a little more trust— ,i little more patience. The days gone by were very sweet in their memories to her, and she would always treasure them up in h<r heart. There was a depth of feeling in her voice that Rendon could no longer withstand ; for, aa she fiuished speaking, his countenance relaxed, a new light, born of untold love, came into his eyes, for he realised how faithful she had been. He did not speak, but stood regarding her for a moment with a look of intense affection. Happiness had indeed come to him after all the suffering. He took her hand, and locked her arm in his ; aud they went along the beach together far away, until we lost their figures in the great distance. Miss AllisDii's brother remained with me, eo:i\eising on a vaiiety of subjects; and when they returned they both looked \ery happy. I had become so accustomed to Remlon's hopeless, despairing expression, that now, in his light-hearted enthusiasm, I hardly recognised him. We returned to the pier together. Very few visitors were about ; in fact, the place appeared nearly deserted. Another storm threatened, and the wind Mew in fitful gusts. Everyone we met looked miserable ; people were complaining of the weather, grumbling at the place <uid at themselves. How different, I thought, to what I saw on the day ot my ai rival ; when I first found Rendon enduring his sorrow amid all the gaiety of Fhosc around. To-day, the circumstances were reversed. No ulouds could darken the hnppiness in our hearts as we slowly wended our way homewards. We all left S soon afterward?. I have often heard from Rendon since that time. He is married now, and goes to S . every season with his wife ; and you may see them sitting on the pier together, in a well-remembered spot, so full of sad yet pleasant memories. W. F. D.

Edrvtiov in Isi.iami.- Tho annual repoit of the C nnmiwouers of EJuc.it ion in Ireland for the ;\e»r h«B5 0 has jtiht been isMied as a PailiaM^ntary paper. Appended 10 tho lepoit are copies ot the .schemes framed under the Educational Endowments (livland) Act, 188"), for altering and amendiug the constitution and poweis of the lii&h Education Board, and tor reorgani-iu«- the endowments inVfhted in tho board. The report itself state-, that the attendance at the hig-her school- had fallen off about 12 per cent. This was to bo accounted for partially by tho i'.iet that in tho pr> sent unsettled sfcjitp of educational endowments in Ticland patent* in many cises prefened to send then children elsewhere for education. This rom.uk applied chiefly iv tho case of borders and it was nlmo-t entirely in the case of these pupils thifc thd decrease had taken p\u<»\ The number on the rolls of the Rural school* on February }, 1886, was ]8I (,V> hinnaeis atict I_'fi ,i.»y puj-iU,), a« com-p.n-od with 'I'll (SS boarders and 133 day pupil-) of tho previous year. Clarified acconViwr to religious belief the puoil^ numhf-iotl 13G members of the Church of li eland, as compared with 1(50 for thf previous year ; 13 members of the Rom;m Cifhnlio Church, compared with 13 of previous y f . > iV ; 32 members of othoChunm bodi ,s, as compared with 3D ot previous yen-. Tho rolleoaou of rent; th^ y.'ar ha 1 hp.>u u dii Hoult matter in ooiibequ- nee ot tin- .MMson having be«.u a flying on-, and the Buard had had t-> ut-ike '•omo abatemrnts. The general reMilr had be n tint <mr, ot a rental -»t" £-.701 I(3* 101, €7,03 i Us ad hadbu-.i no«.inii»e.i tor by the t»imur», and the «vr«u, of.etit, i,,, w due were £4,G70 14s ;. ' , VHV H - fc V< '" * ](M> " rt arre.iw il.^2 .)< 11.1. Old tt MBdM to tho umm.ul «f C J3'.» lv iu\ jj m d hum c-m. ovllo'J,