THE BLOOD-RED ROSE.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 3040, 9 January 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE BLOOD-RED ROSE.

I ii \D just landed from a cruise in the South Sua Islands. For two yeara we had boon on the Australian Station ; hut as most of our tim«j had been «pent at Fiji, I had but small opportunity of cultivating the society of ladies.

I may. me 'tion that I was a romantic follow, fond of poetry and novels, aud given to adoring women. I had great heories about love at first sight, and felt certain that I should recognise my twin soul at the first meeting of our eyes. So far, however, I had not met that "one and only."

My people lived in the country, and I determined before going there to take a week in town and see what was going on in the theatres. It was at one of these places of

amusement that I met thatold chum

of mine, Bertie Eushout. We made several plans of filling up various hoars of the following day. " Look here, Mellon," said Rushout, «as we parted, " I am going tomorrow evoning for a dance. Do you feel inclined to come too? I can easily get you an invitation." Of course I was delighted at the chance, and declared that nothing was ever more enjoyable than a country house dance. i " Well, it 'is a country house," said Bertie, a little dubiously, as though the i>laco was not altogether entitled to that distinction. "A lot of the neighbours go to the ball? there. Ho is a doctor, is old Gregson, and he has two pretty daughters. I went to one of his parties last year, and it was awfully jolly, something out of the ordinary run." I asked him what was the particular feature of the entertainment which put it outside the regular run, but Rushout was rather reticent in his explanations. " Oh, wbII, you'll see for yourself. Tellin« too much beforehand discounts the effect. Perhaps it is more free and easy. The people all know each other, you <;ee. No, I shan't tell you anything. You'll find them charming girls, the Misses Gregson [ mean. I may as well say at once that JVnny is the ono I particularly effect." Then ho went off into a rapturous description of Miss Jenny's attractions.

The next morning I got a tele-gra-n from Rushout. " All right. They are delighted. Be at the station at four sharp."

We reached Ashwell a little he forp fiv» — Ashwpll Hall, I learned, was the name of Doctor Gregson's place. ui nmniiiUH was waiting, ■ind several ladies and gentlemen who had comi> down by the same train got into it with us. Thev were evidently guests for the ball. The occasion seemed to them one for b-ilf timorous merriment. They laughed amongst themselves in a mystifying way, especially when we drew up in front of an imposing set of gates, which were bolted, and had a notico in large letters, 'Ring the b-sll." Prom the gates stretched a high iron fence bristling with spikes. "It gives me quite a nervous feeling," said one of the ladies vaguely to the gentleman sitting next her.

" Oh, you'll find it charming," he answered with equal vagueness. " Ah, there's Jenny Gregson !" exclaimed the lady, bending forward and kissing her hand, as a turn in the avenue showed us three ladies gathering primroses from among the moeay bolus of the beech trees. Two of the:ladies were young and pretty ; one, indeed; was exquisitely beautiful; the third looked like some middle-aged family friend or out-grown governess, hard of feature, bland and watchful of expression, and having a certain air of authority. The omnibus stopped, and most of the party got out, which gave me an opportunity to make these observations.

"Do let us wa'k with you," said the lady who had complained of feeling nervous.

" Woll, tea is just ready, and we are going back at once "

The speaker was the least pretty of the girls—at any rate that was my impression, though she was certainly v«ry pretty, a dark, piquant young person, with big, gray eyea and a captivating smile.

There was a general hand shaking and greeting, and finally Rushout introduced me to Miss Jenny Gregsou and Mrs Knight.

Miss Gregson thanked me very winningly for coming to their ball. " We wanted some dancing men," she said.

Then, as we moved away in single file, I fell back and found myself between Mrs Knight—whom I took to be connected in some capacity with the establishment —and the young lady who was staying in the house and who yet appeared to be a stranger, for she hud stood apart while the others were talking, looking very melancholy and uninterested.

My heart gave a prophetic throb when I looked at her. Was this the twin soul at lust 'I I had never seen a woman more lovely, though after all that was not staying very much. She looked very young and delicate. The rich fur of her mantle did uot conceal the perfection of her proportions. She gava an impression of the highest refinement, from the noble head with its gathered masses of fair hair to the long glove that wrinuled on her wrist. Her violet eyes had a sort of mystic light which seemed to suggest all thut is

most exquisite and immaterial—the summer wind rustling through trees, the flickering sunbeam-*, the notes of cathedral music. She had a ender, dreamy smile. Her whole Kir was abstracted, as though she were occupied with thoughts beyond the ordinary comprehension. The basket of primroses which she carried had been tilled too full, and some of the flowers fell to the ground. I picked them up, and then Mrs Knight introduced us. " Captain Mellon, let me present you to Miss Sibyl Torrauce." I said a few commonplaces—the weather—the charm of early spring in the country. She replied almost in monosyllables, until, in relation to a remark of Mrs Knight's on my last cruise I asked if she had travelled much. She gave me a startled, even a wild look, and exelaimed eagerly: " That is what I want to do. Oh!

to g> away—to lose one's self in strange, new countries—to get rid of one's own miserable, perplexing fancies! Bat they won't let me. They keep me penned up here," she added piteously. " My dear—when we do all we can to make you happy.'" remonstrated Mrs Knight. •' Oh, yes, 1 know," she answered impatiently. " You are as good and kind as you can he, but you are a part of my bad dream." " Mis» Torrance has had a severe I

j illness," explained Mrs Knight. Then, turning to the girl, she added, "Cut my dear, you are so much stronger that I have no doubt you will bo able to travel with your people this autumn as you wish." 'That is not all I wish," said Miss Torrance. "I want to be alone or else among strangers. I want to dream another dream—a happy one—to live another life among flowers and birds and beautiful things. I should be quite— quite well if I could only get away from these dreadful, kind eyes, which always watch everything that I do."

Mrs Knight laughed as theugh she were humouring some convalescent child, and I made some foolish, complimentary 'remark about the impossibility of Miss Torrance escaping attention wherever she might be. to which remark she paid no heed, though her gaze was fixed upon me in a serious way, as though she were wondering; how I could be of use to her. After a few minutes she said:

" You must talk to me a great deal, and tell me of all the curious places you have baen to, and if you describe them very vividly perhaps I shall bp able to imagine that I have seen them too."

I immediately begged her to give me several daneps that evening, representing myself as a stranger wbona it would be a charity to notice. She assented with a gracious little bend of the head.

When we reached the house, Mrs Knight called my attention to some heraldic carving over the entrance door. It was a fine old building, part Georgian and part of an early date. There were wings extending a long wny back, and it had altogether a cheerful air of occupancy. The grounds seemed extensive, and were well kept. In every respect it was a much larger and more imposing place than I could have imagined a retired doctor would oare to live in. But I came to the conclusion that Dr. Greg3on had considerable mean?. The hall door was open and the doctor himself stood on the steps welcoming his guests. Kushout introduced me, and I was received with much geniality. " Come in, come in ;'tea is ready, and my daughter Alice is waiting to pour it out," he said. He smiled paternally ou Miss Torrance, called her "Sibyl, my dear," and aeked h6r if she would not prefer to go to her own rooms and rest in preparation for the fatigues of the evening. She shook her head, took off her hat, and laid her basket of primroses with the air of one quite at home. The hall was picturesque and comfortable with its old oak, its faded Turkey carpet, its huge fireplace, in which a log fire was burning, its litter of paper and lounges. Quite a number of people were collected there, and I presumed that the doctor had a little party staying in the house. So uohow they did not strike me as the kinds of guests one usually meets in a country house, although many were young, and all were well dressed, and had the air of good society. There was something wanting—ease, spontaneity, and the absence of the usual country himse topics—striking me ail the more as I looked on and listened,

The other Miss Gregson was making tea. She was a little older and not quite so pretty as her sister. Eushout seemed absorbed with Miss Jenny, and soon they departed to the ball-room, which opened out of the hall, to put finishing touches to a mantlepiece decoration of primroses. On the other side of the hall was a draw-ing-room, with a conservatory. People wandered freely into this room, where a grand piano stood opeu, littered with musici Dr. Gregsou appeared very fond of his flowers, particularly the rosea, of which there was a magnificent show, Marschal Niel, La France, and some of a rich crimson colour that were very large and fiue. I liked the doctor. He had a face full of forse and intellect, and his sweet mauner seemed to impress all those with whom, he conversed.

Miss Torrance had gone into the drawingroom. I made ray way to

tier rt/id we fell into talk. Mrs .Knight hovered near but did not join in the conversation, I began to understand thut Sibyl—as I already, called her to myself, it was such a beautiful name, I thought.— might grow impatient of this lady's constant companionship, estimable person though she might be. The fascination of Sibyl deepened with every word she uttered. It is true that she did not talk much, but ehe drew me on to tell of my own oxperiences, listening eagerly with parted lips and a look of childlike interest, I began to question her about her own pursuits. All that she said, every movement of hers is burned into my memory. I asked her if she had been staying

long at Doccor Gregson's. "Yes." she fanswered; "a long time—years. No, I do not mean that, but it seems a long time. I had been very ill befoi'e I came. The horror of that illness still clings to rue. I remember it vaguely at times. This is what I mean by my bad dream. It is then that I would like to read books of travel

anything that would take me out of myself." I suggested that she should try novels or poetry.

"Novels ? No, novels fire too— how shalt I say it ?—too suggestive of horrible things." "Not at all," I said.

" No ? 13ut then how can one tell! Doctor Grcgson sometimes gives me one that he says will me. I know what that means. It is like going into a garden and having all the scentless and least beautiful flowers gathered for one by somebody else. I like fo pick my own flowers—only, when I do, I generally manage to fall on something deadly. There was a story about a Vampire—a girl that sucked people's blood. Oh, don't let us speak of it now ! It turns me cold with horror!"

I now dimly suspecfcpd that there was a tragedy in 'he life of Sibyl Torranco—a ghastly deed, perhaps, which she had accidently witnessed —some terrible family secret for the knowlege of which she was paying the penalty. Strangely enough, the truth did not dawn upon my mind. My yearning sympathy, my romantic admiration were only tenfold strengthened. It was borne in upon me that I had met my fate. How swpet it would be to turn the mind of this adorable creature from all these darksome memories and imaginings and irradiate it with the sun of a perfect love ! Her fancy seemed in an odd, unconscious way to follow in the track of mine. She had risen as

if she would have thrown the unwelcome thought from her. I can see her vividly now, so strong is the impression she produced upon me —the frightened look in her face changing to a softened expression— the bright light in her eyes changing to a dreamy lustre as she said in her sweet voice :

" There's some poetry that always does me good. It soothes and warms me—l am often so cold—so cold ! Soma things that are written about it is inexpressibly beautiful—"

She stopped short. ; Mrs Knight was approaching us. " Would you like to hear me sing V she asked abruptly. " My dear, we dine early, you know," expostulated, Mrs Knight." "Ishould like to sing one song," Miss Torrance insisted.

"Then you Ayill give us all great pleasure," Mrs Knight rejoined quickly, as though she were afraid of annoying her. Miss Torrance moved to the piano. Mrs Knight detained me. '■ You will have a treat," she said. " Miss Torrance has a beautiful voice, but it is very seldom that she uses it. She only sings when she is emotionally moved, and the doctor does not like to encourage that as you may see." I followed her glance to the piano. Doctor Gregson was beside Miss Torrance, and was watching her with keen penetrating eyos as he helped her to choose some music. " Miss Torrance's illness was caused by some trouble or shock?'l ventured.

Mrs Knight did not answer me immeditately. She looked at me thoughtfully. It struck me afterward that she was wondering how much I knew.

" Yes, a great trouble," she said at length. "The worst of it is that she herself is almost conscious of ic at times."

" One does not easily forget a great trouble," 1 said, a little puzzled.

" Oh, I see! They have not told you," she exclaimed. '' Well, poor girl, the trouble came through no fault of hers."

I longed to ask more, but just then . Miss 1 orrance began to sing. She had a sweet and wonderful soprano, which one might have fancied to be the voice of an angel, only no angel could have sung so sadly. Her song was unfamiliar to me. Afterward she told me that she had herself set the words to the music. They had a melancholy refrain which I remember, perhaps because it Chimed with my mood : " Love blows as the wind blows ; L»ve blows into the heart."

When she had finished she did not wait to be thanked, but loft tho room with the doctor, and just then the clang of a gong reminded us that it was dressing time. We were a large party at dinner. To my joy I was given Miss Torrance. She looked as if she had

stepped out of a picture by Romney, in her curiously cut dresa of

rich white brocade with lace ruffles at her neck and elbows, and her hair rolled back and raised above her noble brow. Everything about her was rare and valuable, and gave an impression of cultivated taste. I saw that her fan was a work of art j the jewels she wore looked like hpirlooms.

We talked of music mostly, but there were not much scope for conversation at the meal which was a scrambling sort of an'air. Very soon after guests began to arrive, but I paid no attention to them. Every moment I was plunging deeper and deeper into the abyss of love I had neither eyes nor ears for anyone but Sibyl. I almost said her name aloud, nor would it have appeared strange to me had I done so. She seemed outside the region of mere conventional intercourse. I found myself telling her of my dearest wishes, my most aecret thoughts. I drew back the talk to poetry to where we had left it when she went to sing. I spoke of love, first in a timid, hesitating way ; then, as she listened unrebuking, and smiled her mystic, alluring smile, I grew bolder and told her how, in my lonely dark hours on deck, an ideal woman had kept watch with me, and how I pictured to myself the heaven on earth which would be mine could I find and win the love of this beautiful lady of my dreams. "And you have never found her ? This ideal woman exists only in your dreams?" she said, softly-

" Ah, no ! 1 have discovered now that she lives and breathes," T whispered, fervidly as I put my arm around her.

It was in the pause of a waltz. She had risen as she spoke, and made a movement as if she wished to dance again, and the last words were spoken in her ear,as her form in contact with mino pulsated to the music, and 3, tendril of her hair touched my cheek. " I have found her to-night." I said; my passion set loose. "She has eyes like yours. Her touch thrills me as the touch of no other woman ever has thrilled me before. She is my ideal incarnate—in you!" " I? lam your ideal !" she said in a startled,surprised tone.

She seemed to draw a little closer to me as we glided on. in that enchanted whirl. For several minutes wo did not speak. It was enough for me to feel our two beings moving in this divine harmony. The waltz music surged and swayed in intoxicating rhythm. At last it ended with a rush and a crash. We stopped, panting, at the door of the now empty drawing-room. The conservatory beyond stretched dim and fairly like with its festoons of leaves, palms, blossoms, and pendant Chinese lanterns. I took her there, and we seated ourselves on a lounge at the further end. Above her a rose bush showed brilliant crimson blossoms. She opened her fan, and waved it gently to and fro.

"Sibyl," I said," " there is a love that takes possession of a man like fate, and masters him in an hour, in a moment, so that he cannot say ' Can this thing be ?' but ' It is ; it must be !' That is the kind of love 1 feel for you." The motion of her fan ceased, and she bent a little toward me, but without blush or tremor, gazing earnestly into my face. "lam glad that you love nae," she said, simply. "I, too, have made an ideal for myself, and he was young and generous and strong—like you." She made little dreamy pauses, all the time gazing at me. '' I. ton, hare thought about love, and I have longed that the prince might come—the noble, brave prince—and awaken me to light and drive the shadows away."

" Oh, let me do chat ! Let me show you how glorious life can be !" I cried.

She drew back shrinkingly. " But not here—not in this place. It's a prison." She lowered her voice mysteriously. " Don't you see how they watch and guard me ? They would not let you take me away, my own true knight. They would bind you down with corda, and they would not let you have a knife to cut them. They would keep you in a horrible bare room and force you back if you tried to free yourself. That is what they did to me. They tell me that it was a dream ; but I know that it was not."

" My dearest, I understand that. You were very ill, you were delirious, perhaps, and they nursed you," 1 said soothingly.

She shook her head and made a little impatient movement of her bodv, causing the fan which lay in her lap to drop to the ground. I picked it up, and as I did so noticed the curious handle of steel, long and pointed like the sheath of a dagger. I made this remark as I gave it back to her, with the idea of turning her mind from the thought of her illness. She laughed in a strange way. " I will tell you a secret. No one knows it but myself. Long ago I bought this fan in a. curiosity shop. I wanted to wear it with a fancy dress, and then I got very fond of it—when I knew its secret—and had it always by me. But when I was ill it went out of my mind and I never remembered it till the other day when I sent for this dress to wear to-night, and the fan, which must have been among the things, was sent with it."

" And the secret ?" I asked. " You'll never guess it. I don't think I ought to tell, for you might betray me, you know ; but you aro my knight, and I love you and I will tell you anything that you wish. •See! You lift up the littlo rose of red enamel with tho point of your nail—you'd never think it was not cut into the steel—and then you press this tiny button so—and see !" As she fingered the thing a spring acted, and from the bottom of the long inlaid handle there leaped out a thin sharp stiletto—a most murderous weapon, probably a survival of mediaeval days, when fair ladies were givon by their lords and lovers the means to protect themselves against insult. I begged her to let me examine the weapon. It was Horrible to see this lovely, innocent creature running her delicate 1 white fingers along the edge of the blade backward and forward, as though ehe enjoyed the sensation, "It's very sharp," ehe said, with the same low. strange laugh, " and nobody knows the secret—nobody but you and I. Do you see the etain on it; You must not tell any one, but it's blood—it's blood." she whispered. " Sibyl, let us not talk of those dreadful things. Let us talk of our love—our beautiful love," I said.

"Yfis, our beautiful love," she repeated, tenderly. " That is our secret too. And I'm going to give you something to wear, so that you may dream of me to-night, and I'll cut it with ray pet dagger—the flower I love best—the blood-red ro3e!" Again she laughed. A chill dread came over me—an awful qualm of horror,

She stretched up her arm to a blossom growing high, and holding the stem with one hand cut downward.

And now the horror was realised. Even in these after years it makes me shudder to recall it. The blade slipped. In an instant there was, a broad gash in the fair rounded arm, and the red blood spurted forth over her white dress, deluging the rose that had fallen on her lap. As long as I live I shall never forget the look of maniacal frenzy, which at the sight of that crimson flood changed the face of an angel into that of a fiend. She uttered a shrill, awful shriek.

" Blood—more blood !" she cried hoarsely.

The knife flashed before me. With a frantic leap she was upon me, clinging to me with her wet hands. I felt the sharp thrust of the stiletto. I struggled with her. There was a rush of people before us. I saw the dootor's grim, determined face, I saw him wrestle with and overpower the blood-stained gibbering creature, to whom but a few minutes before I had been pouring out my ardent love—l turned sick and clammy with horror and pain. And then I remember no more.

When I came to myself they told me she had given me a nasty flesh wound, which, however, produced no serious consequences. They told me, also, that Ash well Hall was a private establishment for insane persons of the higher social grade, whom Doctor Gregson tried to nurse back to reason, providing them with occupations and amusements natural to their ordinary life, and keeping up, as far as possible, the impression that they were guests in a pleasant country house where curative treatment for what was described as a nervous malady was a matter of necessity, but of secondary importance.

I learned that Miss Torrance was afflicted with homicidal mania. Though there was no evidence which could be maintained against her in a court of \avr, from her raving and other clews her family entertained no doubt that she had stabbed two children who had been found mysteriously murdered in the woods near her home. They had consigned her to Doctor Gregson's. care. She had had no paroxysm for more than a year, and it had been hoped that she was on her way to recovery.