THE STORYTELLER

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 5, 4 February 1925, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER

NORA

CHAPTER XlV—(Continued.)

At home she did not find her family in the drawing-room, as was usual at this hour. Supposing her step-mother to be in the garden with the baby, she went to her father’s study in order to wish him good-morning. The sight which met her caused her to remain standing at the door, her eyes wide open, with a scared and frightened look, and her hands holding her heart, as if she had suddenly felt a pain there. Her father was sitting at his writing-table, his head loaning heavily upon his hand, and his whole attitude expressing deep despair. A paper lay open before him, evidently a telegram, for its green cover was upon the floor.

In a second she was at his side, embracing him tenderly, and asking him in the softest language what was the cause of his sorrow. She loved her father dearly, and now a little sting of remorse had mixed itself with her love, for she felt that another one disputed the right of precedence with him in her heart.

This made her more tender than usual, and the director received her coaxing with manifest signs of satisfaction. But she asked him in vain to tell her the cause of his sorrow.

How naturally it comes to us in such moments to say that we are ready to suffer everything, to bear with everything, in order to remove the sorrows of those we love. And yet the words, flowing from our heart as they do, sometimes take a form and shape before which we ourselves are terrified.

The director raised his face, and, looking into his daughter’s entreating eyes, saw her anxious expression. Perhaps it was his better self which made him at that moment push her almost roughly away from him.

“Go,” he said, “you belong to another; you no longer belong to me, and can do nothing for me.”

Nora’s eyes were filled with tears at this reproach. She felt that her father was right, that her heart indeed belonged to another, but that made her all the more desirous of proving to her father that her devotion and affection for him were unchanged. She lavished tender words upon him, and unconsciously glancing at the telegram, she saw that its contents alluded to a pecuniary question. This gave her courage to beg and implore him to tell her all, and to promise him that she would bear anythin* l, for his sake.

The telegram was from Landolfo, and announced that matters were even worse than he had thought the day before, so that Earsten might with reason consider half his fortune lost. '

Nora now appeared to him as the saving straw.

He looked steadfastly at his child, and said in slow and depressed tones; “If any one can help me, it is you.”

Translated from the German by Princess Liechtenstein (Published by arrangement with Burns, Oates, Washbourne, Ltd.)

“I!” repeated Nora in surprise, but at the same moment she remembered that her mother’s fortune belonged to her, and that with it she might save her father.

“Papa!” she said tenderly, “are you alluding to my poor mother’s fortune? Oh, how could you hesitate for an instant? Take every farthing of it which can be of use to you, for you know what belongs to mo is also yours to do with it as you like.

“Alas! That can no longer help me, it is already lost!” said the director hoarsely. She looked at him in terror. Had he really touched that which belonged of right to her ? Probably he was now suffering from remorse, and indeed she could not but feel that ho had been wrong; but youth is generous, and Nora was especially so. She pressed her arms still more tenderly around his neck and said

“Don’t let that distress you, papa darling! you were free to do with it as you chose. But do tell me how I can help you?”

The director raised his head as if to shake off some heavy weight, and said reflectively to himself

“After all, you could not have married him, Bird so it’s better as it is.”

“What do you mean, father?” cried Nora anxiously, and with a slight shudder. “Are you talking about Curt? That he would not have married me because I was poor ? Oh, believe me! he never gave a thought to that.”

“I wanted to build a golden bridge between you and the man you had set your foolish heart upon I was ready to break completely off with you, so that you might have the happiness you had dreamt of; indeed, I did it against my better judgement, but I did it! And now the bridge is broken down. You are now, not only the horsebreaker’s daughter, but that of the swindler and of the liar.”

“bather!” exclaimed Nora with anguish, “you have been suffering, and are still under the impression of your suffering. Curt is good, and will be fair in his judgement of you. Believe me, if he has loved me enough to.surmount all other difficulties, he, will not stop at money—only money!” “Only money!” repeated the director satii ically; “he can’t do without it all the same. You have brought enough unpleasantness upon him as it is, and now you will cost him his property,- as well as his position. A fine sort of love which exacts so many sacrifices At this last taunt Nora stood up. She was as pale death, and pressed her hand to her heart, as if to prevent its breaking. The director also rose.' Now, that she was evidently beginning to oppose him, he must work himself up into resistance.

“I should like to know what you are waiting for,” he cried violently; “perhaps that

he should take back his word, and throw off v the yoke you have laid upon his shoulders P vlsn’t it sufficient that he should have proved to you that he thought no distance too great to put between you and him ? Is it nob sufficient that his family should, avoid you as the plague? or will you take your father’s ruin as a pretext for going a-begging- to Degenthal for his love, and to his family for their pity?” This outburst did not seem to shake Nora. She raised her eyes quietly up to her father, and said: “Curt was here a month ago; he came all the way from the East only in order to assure me of his fidelity and of his love. And oh! I Jo believe in him with all my soul ! ’ ’ “Really! So he sneaks secretly to you, because he does not choose to recognise you .openly! and you call that love, and you find that sufficient! Is that all the pride which your education has given you? The humblest woman of our troop would not endure such treatment from her lover. But you only listen to the suggestions of your blind passion, and all the rest is indifferent to yon.” “0 father, father!” said the poor taunted ' girl, “why are you so hard, upon me? Tell me rather how I can help you, and you will not find me indifferent. 1 will never do anything to retain Curt, if it ho for his happiness that-ho should forget me, but do tell me what I can do for you.” The'director made a few turns in the room. “I wonder how much your lino words arc, to be relied upon,” be said harshly. And then stopping suddenly and facing her, he j added: “Prove yourself to be worthy ot calling yourself Karsten’s child !” Nora stared at him blankly, without understanding bis meaning. “Save him from ruin,” continued the director. “You can do so by appearing in public; and with your talents you will have the whole world at your .feet. If you consent to this, I shall in a few mouths regain all that I have lost.” Nora continued to stare at him in a helpless sort of way, as if he were speaking a foreign tongue which she could not understand. “You are the most accomplished artist I know of in our line,” he began again, perceiving that she did not speak. “You will be a new and fresh element; such a one as the world has not seen for years. You have inherited it from me,” he continued, waxing quite enthusiastic at the thought. “Nature meant you to shine thus, when she gifted you with this great and daring beauty of yours. You will outdo them all, as was prophesied of you in your childhood.” Suddenly a light broke upon her. “Never, never!” she cried in an almost unearthly tone, hiding her face in her hands. “Never! that can never be!” “I thought as much,” said he, turning coldly from her. “Your way of loving is a i x strangely selfish one; you can sacrifice nothA f ing either to your father or to your lover.” -«■ “Father, I will do anything for you but that! I will work for you, and stay by you, and not forsake you in your poverty. . . . No other thought will make me faithless to

ny self-imposed task, but don’t ask me to 1 Xl, „X » J) .IU Lila u i “And that is the only thing which can help me,” said Karsten, pushing her roughly away from him. “All the rest are useless and empty words; but I thought as much. I felt sure that you would keep your pride and leave your father to his fate.” “But, indeed, father, I can do something better,” she said imploringly. “I have learnt a good deal, and God has given me talents which I can turn to account 1 will look out for a situation, ami all I earn shall be for you.” “The few thalers you would earn thus would not be of much use to me,” he said with a harsh and bitter laugh. “For God’s sake, spare me such high-flown speeches!” “Remember how my mother was always against it.” ' “Your mother would have stood by me in every difficulty, and would have sacrificed everything to me,” he answered, eluding the remark. “She also broke off with a great deal in order to be mine, and to share that position which you despise. How can a word from her, spoken in such totally different circumstances, have more weight with you than your father’s shame?” Nora had thrown herself on to the flour and knelt at her father’s arm-chair, as if thus imploring a merciful God hot to lay the cross too heavily upon her shoulders. It was a death-like agony she was going through, and yet something hispered to her that she owed it to Curt and to herself not to give way. “Oh, rather die, rather die!” she muttered. “And if I implored you to do it?” said her father suddenly laying his hand upon her head. “Understand me well! I am lost unless you do this for me.” “Rather die! rather die!” she repeated unconsciously, as if those were the only words which her agonised heart could utter. “Yes, rather die than bend one’s pride, . . You may bo right,” ho said in a changed lone, and without one word more he left the room.

CHAPTER. XV. It was some time before Nora noticed that her father had left her. Her hands pressed before her face, she remained in her kneeling —broken down, inanimateshe knew not for how long. She tried to recall her father’s words, but. they seemed so confused, so difficult to understand, that she gave the attempt up in despair. One thought alone took shape and form in her mind, and that was that she must remain firm before every prayer and every temptation, and that no power on earth should induce her thus to debase herself. There arose in her a deep indignation against her father who had supposed her capable of consenting to such a thing. How could this thought have crossed his mind? Who could have whispered such treasonable advice into his ear Her secret instinct told her that Landolfo had been at work in the affair. But enough of that! She would not waste her thoughts upon the whys and wherefores; but would only try to imagine how this dreadful misfortune could he avoided. There came over her an immense

longing for advice and sympathy, and she knew . she could find both in the man she - loved. This was certainly an event which would excuse her breaking through, the .prohibition of communicating with him. The very idea of writing to him soothed her. She moved to go to her room, for she' heard steps on the staircase, and a voice calling her. She disappeared softly through a side door, in order to avoid meeting any one at such a moment. As soon as she had reached her room a loud knock ,was heard at the door, and, before she had time to inquire who the intruder was, Landolfo stood before her with an agitated and perturbed countenance. “Miss Nora, you here?” he asked hastily. “And your father, where is he?” Nora drew herself proudly up, and looked in cold astonishment at the unwelcome visitor. But he stood his ground firmly, and something in his voice forced her into listening to him. “Where is your father?” he cried again. “I know that he has been with you, for ho had important matters to discuss with you. Did you satisfy him? In what mood did he leave you?” Nora stared at him as if in a dream, and only shook her head silently. “Ah, ah! So that’s the position of affairs, is it?” said Landolfo ironically. “You have sent your father away without giving, him even this drop of comfort. Uncommonly touching! You don’t seem to be aware that men, who stand on the brink of ruin, are capable of'anything. Once more, Miss Nora, where is the director?” Nora turned deadly pale, and laid her hand on her forehead, as if trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “1 don’t know, I don’t know,” she. stammered. “What do you mean? What are you alluding to?” Then, suddenly, as if the power of thought had returned to her, she added hastily, “We must look for him directly. He wont out into the -garden after our conversation.” “Into the garden? What direction did lie take? He surely did not go alone?” inquired Landolfo in a rough tone. “Mrs. Karsten and I naturally thought you were together. We could not suppose that you would have Heft your father to himself, in the hour of misfortune. Anyhow the consequences rest upon your head!” “My God! My God!” Yes ; she understood now what he meant; and before her eyes arose the images of those poor wretches she., had read about, who had preferred death to ruin. And had not her father’s last words been “Rather die!” / She flew like a hunted deer across the many windings of the park, calling loudly, “Father, father.” Almost unwittingly that certain spot near the stream forced itself upon her mind with fearful tenacity. The slippery soil, the rotten bridge, the broken branches, and the deep bed of the stream—she tried not to think of them, and yet could' think of nothing else. “Do you really think that your father was on his way to the town?” asked Landolfo breathlessly, as she suddenly took the . short cut which led there across the wood. “He knew that I was there.”

“It’s possible all the same. . . There’s I a bridge, you know, which leads across to the road,” said Nora, trying to subdue her own fears. But suddenly it seemed to her as if her feet had turned to lead, so difficult was it to raise them, and her eyes opened with : a staring wildness, as she tried clearly to ./distinguish what she saw before her. f ' -“Stay here, stay here, Miss Nora !” said Landolfo, seizing her violently by the arm, “That is no place for you.” But Nora tore herself away from his grasp, and rushing forward fell upon her knees in a state of blind despair. Her worst expectations seemed to have been realised; her instinct had led her surely. A dark form lay stretched out in the water, whilst the head alone rested upon a stone ; the smallest movement, and the water which flew rapidly along, would have carried the body away. Had he intended to cross the bridge, and, his foot slipping,’fallen in? Had a sudden giddiness caused his fall? Or had it been of his own - will that he.now lay there, and Providence’s mercy had saved him at the last moment?

Nora, hardly conscious of what she was doing, helplessly tried to draw the inanimate form to herself. But Landolfo had already joined her, and said in a commanding tone: “Be calm! I entreat of you to be calm!”. But his own face was livid, and showed how far from being calm he himself was. Cold sweat stood upon his forehead, and his teeth chattered in his head. With a firm grasp, however, and considerable adroitness, he raised the body, and placed the head carefully upon Nora’s lap. “'He is not dead,” he said, after having placed his hand upon the poor man’s heart, “he has only .fainted.” So saying, he heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Unloose the comforter about his neck and rub his pulses as hard as you- can,” he continued to Nora, “whilst I go to the town for a doctor. Remember that the bridge broke under him,” he said significantly, as he destroyed with his foot the last remnants of the decayed planks of the bridge. (To be continued.)