A QUEER STORY.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue XXXII, 9 March 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

A QUEER STORY.

A STARTLING EPISODE,

Late one evening a group of young men had the smoking room of the Blenheim Club to themselves. They sat iu a circle round the blazing tiro, chatting, laughing, chaffing one another, and bandying jests, At length, during a momentary pause, one of the party who was lounging in an easy chair with his legs dangling over one of the arras, and his hat tilted over his eyes, idly took up a newspaper which was at hand, and read out from the agony column the following advertisement .— Jack—meet me at the Marble Arch tomorrow, Tuesday, at 9 o'clock p.m. It is the last favour I shall over ask. Come if you love me. —Magcie. There was a sneer on tho face of the reader, and the announcement caused laughter among his audience. One of the 3'oung men turned to another, and said jokingly : — " Jack, vou base deceiver ! It's your little milliner friend. You've behaved shockingly, and it's your duty to go-" " Bosh !" returned Jack Cainster, sipping tranquilly at his tumbler. "She has consoled herself long ago. Besides, Maggie isn't her name." "It's a plant of course," remarked someone knowingly. "I've often wondered," added another, more seriously, " whether announcements of that kind are really genuine or not. I fancy they have a veilod significance. I've been told that they have often reference to contemplated burglaries or the disposition of plunder." "There is a special staff of clerks at Scotland Yard, who keep a close watch on mysterious advertisements, and are trained to translate ciphers," remarked Jack Cainster. " Deuced uninteresting and unprofitable occupation, I should think," rejoined the holder of the newspaper. "I know a man," said young Haslett, of the Guards, " who was made a precious fool of by one of those appeals. It was Tom Craik, You know Tom, Jack ? " " Gold diggings," remarked Jack, laconically. "Yes. I'm told he is doing no good there. This was years ago, before I joined," said Haslett, who had only seen some five years' military service. " Tom was always in difficulties, and au order was out against him for committal for contempt; so he was in hiding at the rooms of a friend of mine. He was awful spoons at that time. I forget who the object of his affection was, but she would have nothing to say to him. Well, he was taken in by an advertisement which he thought came from her. Without saying a word to anybody, ho attended the appointment, and was nabbed.'' " And quite deserved it," said Jack Cainster, " for being such an idiot. That is a very old dodge." " I never said it wasn't, did If" retorted the Guardsman, rather nettled. " Every one knows that Tom was a fool, and that's why he camo to griof."

"I should like to know whether this advertisement is genuine or not," said one of the youngest of the party, possessing himself of the newspaper, "It would be rather fun to investigate it. I'll go if anybody else will." "What's the good?" growled Jack Canister, contemptuously. Nevertheless, a few of the young men, half jestingly, half in earnest, agreed to accompany the proposer, and shortly afterwards the circle broke up and the friends separated. The youngster who had suggested the expedition was a newly elected member of the club, who, even in his novitiate, had contrived to establish a reputation for fastness, of which he was immensely proud. He was universally liked on account of his amiable disposition and his boyish frankness, and though he fondly imagined that he had attained the dignity of a notorious man of pleasure, he was really regarded aa an honest, foolish young fellow, who would soon sober down into a respectable member of society. . . When the next evening arrived, young Thurston, who was still determined to carry out his investigation, found that noue of his friends were disposed to fulfil their promise of accompanying him. Their curiosity on the subject of the advertisement had faded, and they ail laughingly made excuses Thurston himself, to tell the truth, was strongly inclined to yield to the example, but, with characteristic honesty, he did not like to draw bauk. from his own gro-

posal. Besides, it was only a matter of half au hour, and he had nothing particular to do. He then sot off to the trystiujj place alone in a hansom, ami arrived there exactly at the appointed hour. It had been a thoroughly wet day, and the rain had ceased so recently that the pavements were still shining ; therefore there were very few people about. Thurston lit a cigarette, mentally deciding not to waste more than five minutes, and then began to look leisurely about him. "Are you Jack?'' she inquired, abruptly. "Yes," replied Thurston, recklessly. They were standing beneath a street lamp, the light from which fell full upon his face, whilst hers was in shadow. He could see, however, that she was a young woman, quietly and decently dressed. She scrutinised him for a few minutes in silence, during which Thurston, unable to control his habit of blushing, turned uncomfortably red. "Maggie?" he murmured interrogatively, instructively guessing that he was addressing some other person. " Maggie cannot come," said the young woman, shortly. "I am her sister Helen ; follow me." Thurston, completely taken aback by this peremptory request, and hardly realising what had happened, followed his companion without a word. He was naturally disconcerted by this unexpected turn of events. He had never designed to personate "Jack"; his response to the girl's question had come almost involuntarily to his lips. But having once done so, he resolved to wait and see what would happen, impelled by an adventurous spirit and the desire of having a good story to relate at the club. The girl silently led the way along the Edgeware road. She walked quickly with her head bent; but the brilliautlylighted shops revealed that she was deadly pale. After walking for several minutes without a word, Thurston began to feel embarrassed, and he attempted to utter some phrase of boyish gallantry. At the first word, however, the girl stopped him. " Don't speak to me," she said, in a voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

Young Thurston was so disconcerted, that he hpd serious thoughts of disappearing down a side street. One thing only was quite clear to him, and that was that the adventure he had embarked upon was very different from anything he had vaguely anticipated. The girl's appearance and manner precluded all suspicion of lightness of character ; her demeanor, indeed, impressed him with a feeling of solemnity. He could not for the life of him bring himself to explain that he was not the person he had pretended. Youthful awkwardness and a sense of shame kept him silent.

At length his guide turned aside into a mean and narrow street, and stopped before one of the poorest houses. At the door Thurston made a desperate effort to unburden himself, but the girl silenced him by a peremptory gesture, and preceded him through a narrow entrance, and up a creaking flight of stairs Thurston, unfamiliar with the habitations of the poor, forgot his embarrassment in uncomfortable wonder and distrust. At the top of the second flight—the highest story, in fact—the girl laid her hand upon the handle of a doorway, and then paused. She lifted the candle, which she carried, and gazed scrntinisingly at Thurston. " Summon up your courage," she said sternly, yet with a mocking note inner voice. "Do not be afraid." " I am not afraid," he said quite mildly, The girl conducted him into a small, miserably-furnished room, with a sloping roof. One end of it was partitioned off with a curtain. Thurston, staring about him curiously, had barely time to notice these details before his companion, advancing to the curtain, drew it aside. " Look here !' she said. Thurston started, and then, with an involuntary exclamation, took a step backwards ; for there, upon a narrow bed, lay what ho first imagined to be a waxeu figure. It was the dead body of a young girl. A child almost, with delicate features and masses of golden hair, which streamed upon the pillow and over her shoulders. The poor creature's remains had evidently been arranged with a view to picturesque effect. The thin, waxen hands were folded upon her breast, which bore a cross of flowers. The tableau—a trifle morbid and theatrical, perhaps,—was nevertheless strikingly beautiful and touching. Poor young Thurstou, was appalled and horrified. He was but a lad, and had never yet seen a dead person. The sublime serenity of death sleep was never more impressively mauifest than in the motionless face of this dead girl. He gazed with a sort of terrified fascination, and the spectacle, combined with the painful shock of surprise, made him turn white and faint. His companion—the girl Helen—meanwhile stood gazing at him with an expression of relentless severity. The veins of her hand, which clutched at the cur. tain, stood out, blue and livid, and her eyes glared speechless indignation. "That is why Maggie could not come," she said at length, slowly. " She is dead, as you see." Thurston said nothing, being overcome by shame and horror at the jest which had led to this tragic denouement. "It was by her wish that I brought you here. She would not tell me your name and address, but made me advertise as she directed." Thurstou opened his lips to speak, but could not find words to confess his thoughtless frivolity at such a moment. "She told me to tell yon," continued the girl, " that she loved you and forgave you. Your letters are here, next her hoart; she wished them to be buried with her.', Tho girl lovingly laid her hand upon her dead sister's breast as she spoke ; thou in an altered tone, and with a startliug change of attitude and manner, she drew a letter from hor pocket. "Except this," she added sternly; " this I was to give back to you. It is your last letter. She did not belicvo you meant what you said in it." Thurston's natural impulse was to refuse the letter, but the girl pressed it almost fiercely upon him, and he deemed it wiser at the moment to take it than explain. He therefore thrust it hurriedly into his pocket. " That is all," said the girl, evidentally centrolling herself by a great effort. " Unless you would like to—to kiss ." " No, no," interrupted Thurston, iu a whisper. " I don't think the worse of you for that," said tho girl, dropping the curtain, with an air of relief ; "of all lips yours are most unworthy to touch her angel face. But she bade me ask you." She turned aside as she spoke, and Thurstou began to edgo towards the door. ~"! promised I would not reproach you," said the girl, not attempting to hinder him. "But it was a cruel, heart less crime. We were alone, she and I— my baby sister. Times were bad, and I had to leave her for awhile—a little while. I thought she was safe, but you came by —you, a fine, rich gentleman. You ruthlessly plucked my poor flower, and then flung it aside. G"d forgive you 1" Thurston, who was at heart an honest young fellow, whs tt'-icily moved to genuine emotion, Juuoueut as ho was of

this deplorable affair, he was nevertheless simple and pure-minded enough to feci generous shame at the wrung that had been done. This, and unaffected sympathy for the grief and desolation of the elder sister, caused his blue eyes to grow dim with tears, which the girl noted. " She hoped you would go to her funeral," she added in a softer tone, mentioning the time and place, '' and put some flowers on her grave." Thurston bowed his head and left the room. He reached the street in a painful agitated and bewildering state of mind, and walked blindly back towards clubland. But he did not return to his club to tell the story. Instead of that, he turned aside into Hyde Park, and walked aimlessly and absently westward across the open space, baring his head to the fresh night breezes. It is needless to speculate what depths of the young man's soul had been stirred by this tragic episode. It takes very little sometimes—a falling leaf, a chance word—to suggest serious and wholesome reflections. Thurston's cogitations, whatever their uature, kept him abroad till far into the night, and when he returned to his chambers he suddenly remembered the letter which the poor girl had handed to him. He had been wondering, in a confused kind of way, how he should set about clearing his character in the eyes of this girl. The recollection of the letter suggested that it might lead to the discovery of the real culprit, with whom he could communicate. He drew the letter from the envelope, and a single glance at the handwriting was unmistakably that of Mangrave Vernon, the man of all others whose'career and reputation he had most envied. This discovery jarred unpleasantly upon young Thurston's feelings. Most people would have been less surprised than ho at such a revelation. Mr Mangrave Vernon was a man of fashion, a man of pleasure—a social butterfly, in fact; agreeable,witty,polished and eagerly sought after by women and .youngsters. But there was a seamy side of his character which shrewd persons suspected, aud knowing ones had long ago found out. He had treated Thurston with consideration, for the young fellow was rich and well connected; and therefore the lad, admiring 1 his dazzling qualities, had secretly worshipped him aud made him his idol.

Even in his present rather severe mood, Thurston was disposed to make every excuse for his friend's conduct. There had been a misunderstanding, no doubt; he could, probably, give a different complexion to the affair. At all events Thurston resolved to give him the opportunity, if only in the hope of being able to retain his regard for him.

Accordingly the young man sealed up the letter in an envelope, and next day he took Mangrave Vernon aside at the club and handed it to him. " What's this ?" exclaimed Mr Vernon, putting up his eyo-glass. " A letter ! " " You had bettor look at it," said Thurston, gravely. "By jove! My last letter to little Maggie, written months ago," exclaimed the other, reddening slightly. " How did you get hi)ld of it ? " "Tell me, Vernon; is the poor girl's story true ?" said Thurston, eagerly. " I never contradict a lady—especially if she be pretty ; and little Maggie was devilish pretty," said Mr Vernon, lightly, but looking rather uncomfortable, nevertheless. "I don't know what her story is. She is not going to be troublesome, I hope —especially just now. If, as I gather, you are interested in tho young lady." "She is dead," interrupted young Thurston sharply. " Dead, is she ? Well, that's luck 1 mean, poor girl. Sad, of course, very sad," said Mr Vernon, endeavouring to look concerned, but manifestly relieved. "That being so, I don't mind confessing that any little unpleasantness with a lady, just as I am seriously courting a hundred thousar.d-pouuder " " Her funeral is to-morrow," interposed the young man, setting his teeth. "Isit ? Come Thurston, what the deuce are you driving at?" said Mr Vernon, a little irritably. " I suppose there is a distressed relative in the background. There generally is, when you are older, you will realise the necessity of putting your foot down firmly at any attempt at extortion." ''Is that all you have to say," ejaculated young Thurston, beginning to breathe quickly. "Yes, except to advise you, my clear boy, as a friend, not to allow yourself to be mixed up in affairs of this sort," said Mr Vernon, in his most genial tones. " They sometimes lead to police courts and all kinds of unpleasant cousequences." " Vernon, I believe you are a villian ?" cried the young man, losing his selfcontrol, and looking decidedly very dangerous. " For heaven's sake, don't make a fool of yourself!" exclaimed Mr Vernon, hastily rising from his lounging attitude. "What the—" For some unspoken reason, Mr Vernon did not finish his sentence. Tho two were alone in one of the small card rooms, and there was no one to interfere in case of a disturbance. The reflection probably occurred to the elder man, and young Thurston's attitude was certainly aggressive. Mr Vernon rather prided himself upon his discretion, and he manifested it on this occasion by slinking out of the room without seeking to prolong the interview. Young Thurston, quite unnecessarily, as it turned out, sent a note to Mr Vernon, stating where he was to be found the next day, and adding that on the day after In.' proposed to leave England, possibly f.ii- a long period. Meanwhile, on the morrow, he was the spectator of a sad little funeral in a dreary London cemetery. There was only one mourner—a poor, young girl, who appeared too much overwhelmed with grief to notice him. Young Thurston lingered, in rather a shame-faced, embarrassed way, among the tombstones at a littlo distauue, until the mourner, at the conclusion of the short service, looked up at him. Then he came forward and cast a wreath of flowers into the grave. " I believe my angel was right, and that you really loved her," murmered tho poor mourner as she passed him. " Thank God for that, at least ! Perhaps now, in time, I shall learn to forgive you, as she wished."—Truth.