The Storyteller A TANGLE OF CIRCUMSTANCES

New Zealand Tablet, 8 November 1906, Page 3

The Storyteller

A TANGLE OF CIRCUMSTANCES

I. ", : . ''' My brother Paul and I were the last of the Colernes of Laynham. 'Our father T the sixth Earl of Laynham, died when Paul was eighteen ; our mother ami five of our brothers and sisters had been summoned long before by Death, the insatiable. Pauls enjoyment of the family title and estates had been hitherto tempered by the receipt of an exceedingly small yeaily revenue, consequent upon inherited family burdens ; and, -at twenly-two he was unmarried, and taking life rather seriously. As -to marriage, it'seemed at that time that he- had set aside the idea for ■good, and it was this fact that gave me my greatest anxiety in life. , *-.— -' My own state was not likely to change. ~A • constitutional lameness, added to my comparative- poverty, had 'spared me, so far, from any offer of * marriage,,- Cand at thirty-six ' I had every prospect of remaining Sara Col-" erne to the end of my days. "Our joint trouble came to us in this wise. A. young girl of- good family, bright, pretty, charming, and in every "way a. desirable match" for Paul, came on a long visit to some friends in our neighborhood. Eve Delaval was. an orphan with no near relatives, and had a considerable fortune of her own.' Paul^ a somewhat difficult youth to please, was at. once captivated. Eve was in like' manner attracted by "hinrj "arid the re-sult-was an engagement between them r to my great joy and -the* satisfaction of everyone who knew them. But * there was one necessary factor to 'their happy union winch had been skangely overlooked. Evp£ like the friends with whom she was staying, was a fervent Catholic. I had become a convert a -Jew years -Before",,, and it was this that led to the in-fn^cy^^whaoh had grown up" between us and the Fenhams* : antf v wfi&4i hadjg resulted in Paul's . engagement.. But," jinfortunately^ - Paul was, in name at least — a Protesrant. In reality, though always a good and upright fellow^ KeXaSad* iggg Imy sorrow, very little, if any, religious beliefs /. r ߧ|§ beautiful Gothic chapel kept up by the Fenhams -'*a|Ps!l iracted him far moie— while Eve worshipped there apK least-7-than our little Protestant" church at Laynham*^' whdoh,- for example's sake, he was accustomed "to attend from time to. time. Thus it came about that Eve, knowing me to be a Catholic, and seeing Paul'-in 'my company _at Sunday .Mass week. after Aveek, took -for granted that we were all one in faith. But the awakening came when arrangements had to "be made" for the marriage ; .and Eve, learning the truth at last, in a spite of the distress it cost her, resolutely refused to 1 marry an unbeliever. The Fenhams, less " unbending in principle, would have persuaded her to take Paul, trust - ing "in his ultimate enlightenmen\;_ but this .she would never consent to. So, to the . solrow of us all, the engagement was broken 9ft. To Paul the disappointment was intense. But the • climax of his -sufferings -was reached a -few months later, whpn Eve's forthcoming marriage to a young Catholic baronet was announced in the public journals. All prospect of happiness in life seemed from that day to have been destroyed within him. The high-spirited, lovable, handsome brother, of whom I had always been - proud, became moody,, silent, and. cold. . Nothing interested him ; his : beloved sport was utterly neglected — neither rod nor gun had power to charm ; a dense gloom enveloped Jum. ' I cannot bear this strain, any longer !' he exclaimed one day. . ' You' will oppose it, I know, but the only thing for me is to go tpthe front with -K err.' His closest friend/Stephen Kerr,,was on' the eve of starting for South -Africa at ,the .head of a yeomanry corps, in the raising -of which Paul had shown an interest. It was 1 at the time when the whole country had taken the, war-fever, and "the 'flower of the nation was rushing off' to combat ,„ the Boer. 1 I shall certainly never "favor such a project ! ' I cried in dismay. ' ' It would' be l rash in the- extreme for you; the "last of the Colernes, '4o risk death 'and the extinction of our name, as . you must do in such a case.' ,_...- ' All are not likely to be shot down,' he said obstinately. * Thousands will come back' unharmed.' - ' Thousands will never come bacfc at all ! Think of the families we know who are already mourning -for some one dear to them ! Many more, "of whom we know nothing, must be overwhelmed at this moment with a like sorrow. No, I cannot let you go. You have a sacred duty to preserve your life ; to do as you propose would be utter madness.' •

v r..' I've vlost,, eyery Lhiug^. -I care for except you ♦ he said with unwonted ..tenderness.: «I shall, have to die some day ;" and in any ease I may die before "you Who knows ? ' . ••■ , ' That is possible. Thousands of young fellows die who never see a battlefield ; that 1 grant. Should" death come to iyou . unsought, • as it did to all our dear ones,. I - should bow to the divine will, I hope. But, you have no right .to court death. You. have no right to tempt Providence by rushing into imminent danger. And surely some consideration is due to me even if you value your life so cheaply.' ' You are the one that holds me back." The trouble I might cause you is the only argument of any weight against my going.' * I could well understand how ardently he longed to get away from himself ; yet the means he, proposed terrified me. Every day the newspapers contained long lists of dead and dying. Paul was bent upon courting a like fate ; for no soldier can count upon immunity from the danger which ever hangs over him when on the field of battle ; and Paul, sick at heart, and disgusted with life's bitterness, would be impatient of precautions. My heart was torn - with the dread of losing him forever. Not only did I grudge the sacrifice of the hope of our family - but still more the risk of a life so dear to me. The' disparity in our ages had changed the character of my love for him ;- it was as a mother; rather than an elder sister, that I had cherished him since his mother was taken from him in early boyhood. And yet I could not help seeing that the absolute change of life which his departure would involve— the unfamiliar hardships, the unwonted occupations strange surroundings, unknown faces— promised a relief otherwise impossible.. The very nearness of constant danger would tend to lift ' him up above mere selfish interests. He was young and he was impressionable • ana,, though his recent ciuel disappointment must needs" leave its traces upon his after-life, it might well be that so thorough a break with the past as ihis project involved would enable "Titno, the universal healer to work an effectual cure. Reflecting thus, I resolved to oppose no longer. ' I have had an anxious time, Paul,' I said a few days later. 'My mind has been torn by fears ami doubts on your behalf, but I have conquered them at last. I have come to the conclusion that there is such a thing as too much solicitude in a matter of this kind. After all, we can, none of us, reckon with certainty upon even one more hour of life". I will not try to keep you at home against your will Go if you wish, with Stephen Ken ; ami may God have you in His holy keeping ! ' <' Many thanks, ' Sally dear ! '. he said, as he brightened up. • I know what a wrench it means for y ou. • But peace, comes through war, and 1 look to this war to bring peace to me.' In less than a week from that day he was upon the ocean. »• - - - 1- ~ ' lh Laynham was but a small country ivillage, and posts i were erratic. No newspaper ever made its • appearance until late in the morning, when it was eagerly pounced upon for the latest war news. I never scanned the list of casualties without a linking at heart, for dread of what tidings it might have for me. Yet I never •• failed to read it. About a month after Paul's arrival at the seat of " war, I opened the paper, as usual. My eye caught at once the bold headlines : • Important Engagement. ' Boers Swept Back. Heavy British Losses.' Swiftly I glanced down the long list of names in the dreaded column. . The very one I shrank- from encountering seemed to leap out from the pace to meet my gaze. There it stood, blazpned, as it seemed to me, in bolder type-- than all the' rest— ' Laynham.' The letters burned themselves into my brain. What' tidings had they to tell- of him who was dearer to ! me than all the world besides.? I pulled myself together, and tried to fix my eyes steadily upon the announcement. There, under the heading "Killed inAction, L saw the name ' Lieut..^ the. Earl of Laynham.' " I can recall nothing of what followed. The room whirled round with me f then a dark curtain fell -and: .c. c " * i>& all , sense of life. 'Long afterward I learned that - the servants had discovered me lying unconscious, the fatal newspaper still firmly grasped in my hand. ! The shock brought on a long and .> dangerous illness.' ' As to subsequent events,, my memory can not help ' "ft^fm ai ? . able , to recall dimly a period of hideous nightmare, m which the forms of Paiil and Eve Dela- >> yal are. ever prominent. . Over all there seems to'hang ' " the sense of -some v a pue, overpowering calamity from which. I strive in Vain to free ' myself. Then come

more darkness and oblivion, 'to be foUowexU' by renewed nightmare-;, while all the time I writhe in a furnace of intolerable heat, lrom which there is no escape. . - . - 'Ihen I am conscious of a cooler period}' and bf.accasional gleams of brightness, '.-glimpses of v,vobjects which^seem familiar, and ,the -sound „ of- « well-known - voices. At length comes a more complete awakening, and< I know that 1 am in my own room, -and that some one (I can not distinguish who) is seated by my bed. The scent of violets is often wafted toward me, though whence it comes I- know not, nor do I try to discover. * , . At last, on one memorable day, I open my eyes in Full consciousness. I realise - that I am weak and helpless ;. that the silent woman in the fresh, bright dress, who lifts me up so dexterously, yet .withal so tenderly, is a nurse ; and that Mrs. Fenham, a -bunch of violets in the bosom of her dress, is standing ' by the . bed. '. '~ ° I try to speak, but the nurse puts her finger on her lips and says in a quiet voice : INo talking yet ! You must rest and grow strong.' Days of convalescence followed, during which strength returned rapidly. Pleasant days they were too/ and singularly free from care. Probably it came from" the very nature of my illness that the past troubled- m« n< ? • ,. aI V a i l - • he o PP re ssive burden of undefined woe, which had weighed- me down when * the fever was > >at its height, had been lifted with the return of •consciousness. I knew that • Paul was absent, but somehow, the thought caused me no anxiety. All details of the events of the past few months had slipped from my memory, and 1 was too weak as yet totrv to recall them, or even to wish to do so One day, as I awoke from my afternoon sleep, I caught sight of another figure standing in the licht of the window, close by Mrs ,. Fenham, .who was sitting there. I had just., time to recognise Eve Delavel when the -figure swiftly glided from the room As Mrs. Fenham made no allusion to Eve, I began to persuade myself- that the circumstance was but a lingering trace of my fever, and mere illusion. Nevertheless, it woke up m my memory faint visions of- a past in which Eve had been connected with some trouble. _ - Next morning, when I woke, it was -with full consciousness of my overwhelming loss. Paul had' been taken from me, and my life stretched out before-me drear and lonely. Tears flowed abundantly, -as the bitterness of my grief made itself felt. Something like hatred for the girl who had been the cause of my bereavement rose up in my heart. But I prayed desperately against it, and grace conquered I was ■ still weeping .quietly when a light footfall sounded outside, and /I opened my eyes to see Eve standing by my. bedside. My -.heart went- out in a cry <§ pam. , . a + u° B XS'. how couM y° u send him to meet his death— my Paul, my only brother ? ' ' Tears started to her eyes too, but a smile brcAe s out on her face. - * • " . ' Dear Lady Sara,' she cried, 'Paul is not dead f we is alive and well, and is' coming back to you anci to me. ■ . 111. ■ The astounding news which Eve had so suddenly revealed, far from having any ill effect, proved a most efficacious tonic. True, the nurse, who had. come upon us immediately after the disclosure, had been horrified to find us both in tears and pouring forth mutual apologies, and had banished Eve from the. room with r little ceremony; but, in the. rend, she- found it more prudent to yield to my earnest entreaties for. a thorough explanation. So Eve was recalled, and Mrs Fenham came too, and all that they had to tell gave joy to my heart. It appeared that a telegram had arrived from Paul ?n? n *^ c very day * had been taken iH ! it was intended to correct the error in the newspapers, regarding his death. As soon as possible after this a let- - j .followed, explaining Jiow the mistake had occurred. Owing to my unconscious state at the- time, it had been impossible to communicate any particulars to me ; although our lawyer, who had" been appealed to advised Mrs. Fenham, .who had hurried from- London at the first intimation of my illness, to open both telegram and . letter. ' - ' " ' Let me sec what Paul says !' I cried impatiently, .as 'soon as all this had been explained to me 'I - want to know all particulars. It will do me good Nurse '—for that authority began to look doubtful of the consequences* .5.* _• My petition was .granted, and the documents were produced. . Eagerly I opened the Jittle browa envelope. ' Not killed. Slightly wounded. ■ ■ ' Paul.'

- Such was the reassuring message which had flashed 1 across seas and continents for my relief. The letter was still more precious to me. It ranthus :—: — -. . -. ' Dearest Sally,— My wire will have set your mind at . rest, I Tiope.' '"Some "stupid newspaper man, misled by - a false rumor; .which, had originated in a certain resemblance in. face- , and figure between me and ' another of our fellows, put « my name in liis list and wired* off his message at once. He discovered his blunder very shortly- after, arid, corrected it in the second edition of ,-his . paper. Had I ,got hold of him, he would have had. a lively ,-iime,; for I was in .despair "on your „. account when Tjieard what had happened. -, - ' v I did not want to frighten, you, but 1- wasrather badly hit;, .and am still - in hospital,, though getting on famously. It is strange that lam thrown almost entirely among Catholics here. The fellow in the next bed is one. He knows heaps of our friends, and -is 'a- very joily . .companion. The nurse is also a C&tho- * lie. The Catholic chaplain, who comes to * visit -my neighbor, is a great chum of mine, and we have had many a chat together. ■ lie was interested in hearing that I had a 'Roman' sister. " ' . ; I suppose I- am booked here for another month or so, but after that I - expect to -be sent home. So keep up your spirits, old lady, till we meet. I can „ almost hear you me, upon my immunity-, from' stray shot's -in the meantime;- " Your ever .loving-- - - Paul, • ' What splendid news,— what heavenly -news ! ' was all I could say, and I repeated it many times. So Paul was alive and well, and coming back to „me. '-Thank ■. God, — thank God a thousand times!' sang- my grate-.: ful heart. - - „„_ --; . ■ ' How grand it would be if he got the grace to, become a Catholic himself !' I said later to Mrs. Fen- - ham, « I have prayeif for it daily.' - • . r She smiled mysteriously. An hour or two later, she "paid me another visit. [ 1 You bore your good news so well,' she said, ' that nurse has given me Jeave to enlighten you', stillfurther. Your brother wrote- to me, thanking me -for • coming to take care of you, and at the same , time gave me news that .astonished though it delighted me. Can you guess it ?' - „ „- ' Can it be that he has received the grace of v : faith ?' I cried in amazement. ' Tell me— do not keep me in suspense.' ' - . "He is a Catholic- already,' - she gleefully answered. Besides the explanations .she was able to afford, she '* had been keeping, until I ' seemed well enough to be permitted to open it-, another letter to me from - Paul. Its contents .are too sacred to divulge. One thing alone gave me cause ' for regret. - Had Eve been less hasty, Paul's happiness would have been perfect. But, after all— as I summed- up when talking over • matters with my dear friend, — one can not expect life to be a path of roses. * *?. Mrs. Fenhani received my" confidence with, less gravity than it deserved. : " ■ ' '. ' 'My dear Sara,' she" answered, laughingly, ','K has it never puzzled you that Eve should venture to accom- "- pany me here, considering alf that had happened ?' ~- -. Light began to, break in/upon me. - ' -' ' Eve's words recurred to", my ..mind:: 'He is alive- - and well, and is coming back to you and to mcj' {"'': 'Is she reconciled with Paul ?' Can it be pos- ; sible ?' . ' ■ ji~? 'It is an accomplished fact ' was her prompt re- ; p ly - " „ . v v - .:. „ 'But what about her marriage with Sir James', Stanmcr ? It was publicly announced as already arranged.' ' - .. ' And just as truly as that your brother was dead/ Then she proceeded to tell me ' that there had never been any - engagement between Eve and the gen- " tleman -in question. The girl's guardian— a distant • cousin, with "whom she had lived from childhood— had jset his/_ heart upon the - 'match,-- as soon as the en- , gagement 1 with ' Paul had come to an ;end ;> having al-~* ways disliked the prospect of .a Protestant husbandfor fc/ve. He was suffering from a dangerous illness, which had since carried him off ; and Eve, by the advice of his doctor"; had: never expressed openly 1 to.him her refusal to meet hisp wishes with regard ' to' : ~ Sir James. The old j man therefore jumped at conclusions, and had made. . a public announcement ! ~ of •- the expected marriage. But both Eve and Sir James at once . took steps to contradict . the. rumor. Paul's , angry, .disappointment^atathe news had made -him ta--boo newspapers _ for a time ; thus the contradiction '" had n«yer? reached, us through (that channel, and bur : friends, naturally^ kept silent on so delicate a subject. •

-' Your brother heard the real state of things from his new friend in the hospital,' she said in conclusion.- 'He lost no time in telling Eve . of his approaching reception into ,the Church, as you might expect ; and they are now in correspondence once more.' So my sacrifice had "met with ah abundant reward. Not- only had my -brother been .spared to me in spite of ever-present danger, but other blessings— seemingly unattairiable-r^had been . granted T>y means of that very renunciation. ■'• : --No wander that the days flew by with - the speed of lightning, while, in company with, Mrs." 'Fenham and -.bye— both dear to me now as sisters,— l awaited tidings of my ' warrior's return.' Strength came back rapidly, after all the good news •-I had received of late: -So true is it that peace of. mind and joy- of heart make for renewed -health, -from' the very delight of living which is their natural outcome. And - peace, and joy were -mine" to the full. Daily, almost hourly, "through- -my happy heart rang again and again, .like the, -haunting' burden of some well-loved song, the joyjul refrain: 'My boy is coming back to me,— back from the gates' "of -"the -grave !'—' Ave Maria. 1