THE STORYTELLER

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 10, 18 March 1925, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER

NORA i ' \ Translated from the German by Princess Liechtenstein (Published by arrangement with Burns, Oates, Washbourne, Ltd.) CHAPTER (Continued.)

With a thorough knowledge of the human heart, the chaplain did not discuss the details of this passionate speech; he only selected one part of it in order not to frighten away the wounded and suffering soul. "Man's love is at best but a poor anchor," he said. "But how do you know that he despises you?" At this question the blush became deeper on Nora's cheeks, and, unable to answer him at once, she arose, and, going to the window, laid her burning forehead against the fresh pane of glass. "Have you heard from him?" asked the chaplain. "I came a few weeks ago in the express train from Paris. A gentleman sat in the carriage with me ... a gentleman who no longer knew me," she added hoarsely. The chaplain started. "You travelled with him?" Nora nodded silently, and her whole body was convulsed with a nervous trembling at the very remembrance. The chaplain now understood what had caused Curt's relapse, but was it prudent to tell her what an impression the meeting had made upon him? Was it wise to revive the spark of hope now extinguished in her heart ? But, after all, kindness and truth go before wisdom, and the priest, simple and straightforward as he was, felt that he could not withhold a balsam from one so deeply injured, or conceal a fact which might do her good. "Count Degenthal fell seriously ill after that journey," he said. "I am on my way to see him at Gohlitz, which place he has not yet been able to leave." Nora suddenly raised her head. "Seriously ill?" she asked breathlessly. "It is a relapse of his former illness. The doctor attributes it to a complete shattering of the nervous system, the cause of which no one can explain." "Relapse!" repeated Nora. "What do you mean? What illness are you talking about?" "Did you know nothing about it?" Nora shook her head. "I knew nothing but that he was abroad at the Embassy," she said in a stifled voice. "Then listen, and see whether he loved you faintly. Three years ago, that news reaching him unprepared, felled him. to the ground, and kept him during long months on a sick bed."- And then the chaplain, in his clear and quiet way, recounted all he.knew about Curt. Deadly pale and awfully still, Nora listened. "0 my God .she said slowly "ill and suffering all these years!" ; . '",. .., I Dl and, suffering, for j her sake. \ln her immense sorrow ( she I had only thought of herself, and had never, represented to herself

what lie might have suffered. And now she saw that his. delicate nature had not even supported the blow as well as she had done, and this was the man whom she had almost hated in her heart on account of his cold indifference! She felt herself a culprit standing there in all the strength of her youth and health. "0 my God!" she began once more. "This is dreadful; I never supposed it for a moment!" "We are generally so much taken up by our own sorrows that we cannot easily represent to ourselves the sufferings of others, especially, as in this case, when we feel aggrieved." "Oh, sir, hear me! Indeed it was not my fault," she cried; "you don't know, what brought it about. . . I can hardly speak about it. I wrote it all to Curt, explained the whole to him, and he condemned me without hearing me; he returned the letter without even having read it, or without sending me a word of comfort." "In that case he did not read the letter, and he probably heard through some indirect way of your appearance in public, and felt deeply hurt, as he had placed all his confidence in you. His long illness followed immediately upon this news. And now will you tell me, Nora, how all this took place?" asked the priest earnestly. "Yes, I will tell it you; but under the seal of confession, for others are implicated in it." She fell on her knees, as if she were really going to confess a fault, and then she poured out the complete recital of those dreadful days during which her father's life—nay, more than that, his very soul — had been at stake. She described the fearful terror which had forced the vow from her. The chaplain listened in silence. Even in thought he had never accused her of lightness or of caprice, but he had been unable to explain to himself the course she had taken. The greatness of her struggle and the magnitude of her sacrifice surpassed all his' expectations. He was filled with a deep compassion for the poor girl who had acted so heroically, and had gained nothing but contempt in return. ; -' *-'•-• "Was I wrong? Oh, do not condemn me!" she said in conclusion. "I have suffered so much. . . I destroyed my happiness with my own hands." '' "God forbid that I should condemn you!" said the' chaplain deeply moved. "I 5 don't know myself what I might have advised at that moment! Your decision was made out of pure filial love and devotion. God willbless you. for it! .Yes, your life has [ been even a more difficult and hard one x than your poor mother -ever supposed—you've had to give up. everything in order to save your father." "' * ' '•-'-.

-But have I saved him she whispered f hesitatingly. "Have I sayed him?that is the terrible query which has of late arisen j Yin my heart. Oh! I can hardly tell you all / the dreadful doubts which have assailed me \ !>.>.of late, and against which I have vainly tried ;. to shut my eyes. . . And so I wanted to I ' ; ; take life in a superficial sort of way, because ;| - every kind of serious thought was martyrJ dom. That Landolfo is our evil genius, and j " my father is completely in his hands. Oh, \ ¥,"> my poor dear father! He is no longer what he used to be," she added, with a deep shame burning on her cheeks. "This life draws every one down. Who knows? Perhaps, if I had not made this sacrifice, necessity would have compelled him to give the whole thing ■'). ■ UP-" "You have done what you considered right, and that is sufficient before God and your • own conscience. Do not torment yourself about it. One cannot foresee everything; and when one has done one's duty, one must leave " the rest to God. But could you not retire now, that your father's affairs are once more flourishing?" "No, no; my father says that it is I alone who keep matters going, and that the . loss is not yet filled up ; and I am sure that Landolfo takes good care that it should not he filled up so soon. He moves heaven and earth against me." "Against you:-' Your father's darling? . . . Do you mean to say that you are not well treated?" cried the chaplain in surprise. "Oh! I did not mean it in that sense,'' she said with a sad smile. "I am hut too ( well treated, flattered, and adored by all, because I am necessary to all. But he—the man I have just named—he has his own wicked plans, he wishes to bring my father down lower and lower, and to make him completely his slave by flattering him. . . But they shall not conquer me," she added with a flashing eye. "'I sec one plan follow- • ing another, one low intrigue taking the place of another. No, no; I must not desert my father now." "Cannot you explain yourself more clearly?" asked the chaplain. "No, no;" whispered Nora, "It is only like a ghost still which I see slowly rising before me." ... "Nora," said the chaplain gravely, after having sat for some moments lost in reflection; "accomplish your task, hard and difficult as it is;, it forced you to trample over your happiness, it leads you across great : ' dangers; but keep your heart pure and . strong, and then outward attacks will be powerless against it. Perhaps you are meant to be your father's guardian angel. . . Grace will not fail you. See, is it not Providence which sent me now, at a moment when you had lost courage, and were on the brink of losing your good resolutions? J Is it not a comfort that everything "'should .Im now be made clear to you, and that you Y should no longer feel the bitterness which l'i threatened to poison the pure and noble sacrifice you had made? Go on now, firmly . Y _ and gravely, upon the road of sacrifice, and v do not give up your eternal birthright . for \ ~ paltry vanity and petty bitterness."- ,,..-. ...■,.',, x

"But how long,' how long will it last?" she whispered to herself. "So long as the Almighty chooses. In one moment He can solve all the difficulties which now seem insurmountable." The chaplain rose, and Nora also. Laying , her burning hand in his, she said "Yes, it was indeed providential that you should have come. I was standing on' the brink of a fearful precipice. Help me, help me, that I may not give way!" At the same moment a knock was heard at the door, and as Nora called out, "Come in!" the director entered. All, ah; you have a visitor?" he said with feigned surprise. "What! you sir? What brings you so suddenly here again? It's a great pleasure, I'm sure — great pleasure to sec you." He offered the chaplain his hand, but there was something measured in his tone, something forced in his attitude which showed how unwelcome the visit' was. The chaplain found him changed since the last time lie had seen him. His figure had become more corpulent, and Ms features seemed swollen, his eye, too, was lifeless and uncertain, even his walk was different, and he had completely lost the attitude of .former years. On noticing all this, the chaplain was deeply pained, and as he looked at the daughter standing beside her father, her sweet lace, still bearing the impression of the' grave conversation she had just had, the contrast between those two was something glaring and intensely painful. At any rate, she could no longer lean upon her father, a lid feel supported by him. Meanwhile, Nora explained to the director how it was that the chaplain, going through town, had called upon her, and the latter said that the hour of his departure was approaching. "I'm afraid that this meeting has agitated you, my child," said the director, looking, suspiciously at her grave expression. "Everything has happened as our older and wiser heads had prophesied," he added; turning to the chaplain. "However, young people must learn through their own experience, you see —but my daughter is very happy all the same. She will have told you that her life is not so bad as it appears; and wasn't I right in saying that she would do "great things some day? Was it possible to see anything better than last night ? The public were completely carried away !" "The Emperor of Russia was right," said the chaplain, smiling to Nora. "Yes, yes; she has quite put her father into the shade!" answered the director with a loud laugh. "Nora, when you come downstairs, you will see What a number of nosegays are awaiting you, I could scarcely count them. Yes! she is my support, my pride, this daughter of mine, but rather a spoilt princess!" and laying his arm about her waist, he,drew her towards him. The director spoke hesitatingly, and he was strangely flushed, so that a doubt came over the chaplain's mind doubt which would have been confirmed had he known that Karsten had just been breakfasting "with Landolfo. After making him . drink a great deal of sherry, Landolfo had told him of the chaplain's visit, and advised him to interrupt it,,

saying that the "Pfaff" would certainly fill his daughter's head with a precious deal of nonsense. Landolfo and the director always breakfasted together now, of course at the director's expense, and generally with the same result. It was but too true, and Nora was right when she said that Landolfo's influence was growing daily greater, and had a most pernicious effect upon him. He not only had the complete direction of affairs in his hands, but he also endeavored to amuse the director and encourage in him a lurking taste for spirits which had developed itself since his last illness. Those are dangerous years for a man when bodily strength is giving way, and great exertions make him long for tonics and excitement, the years, in - short, when, being on the frontier of old age, life's pleasures seem to concentrate themselves in a cup of merriness. "The prince also called in order to ask after you," continued the director in the same tone; "and begged to have the honor of arranging a little partie cliavipetfe for you." "Thank you, father; you know that I never accept such invitations," said Nora coldly. "I hope you told him so at once." "Well, well it wouldn't be such a fearful thing for you to go out a little with your mother and me. You were just beginning to be a little reasonable. I hope, sir, you have not made my little daughter into a nun again. The same fashion doesn't suit every one. It's part of our business not to frighten people away." , "I cannot help thinking that Miss Nora is right in this case; a young lady in her position cannot be too prudent." "Pooh, pooh! don't turn her head, my reverend friend," said the director with a slight stutter. "She is proud enough as it is, and if she don't take care, she'll be making a mess of the whole thing for me." "Father dear, if . you really think so," said Nora quietly, "I am ready to retire at any moment. As it is, you know that I am not fond of the business, and shall be very glad to look out for some other situation." "'Pon my honor! just see how high and bighty our spoilt young lady is!" laughed her father, stroking her face. "She' knows we can't do without her, that's what it is! But my daughter will not leave her old father in the lurch," he added maudlingly. Nora, hoping to put an end to so indescribably painful a scene, held out her hand to the chaplain. "I'm afraid we are keeping you, sir," she said sadly; "and at Gohlitz you are expected with anxiety. But I thank you for your visit which has done me all the good in the world. Do not be afraid of me, I shall now be able to fight the battle, and, with God's help, to win it too." "God bless you, my poor child! and rest assured that. He will not forsake you. I have perhaps inflicted greater pain upon you by all I've told you, but, on • the other hand, I firmly hope that it has saved you from something worse than sorrow." - : "Yes, indeed," said Nora, standing erect and" proudly before him. "You have: furnished me with new weapons, to-day, and,

•■»-»-. believe me, you have not done so in vain." f\ The chaplain turned away deeply moved; t she seemed to him still more lonely and pk forsaken than she had been on that night |f j when he had seen her mother die. | ■.,.(■" The director also endeavored to take a j - becoming farewell of the visitor. !' "Don't make a nun of her! don't make a j nun of her !" he repeated stupidly. But sudj denly he could no longer keep upon his feet, ?■ and threw himself upon the first chair he could catch hold of. The chaplain was hardly out of the room, when Nora followed him rapidly. "One word more," she said retaining him,

and as she did so her lips trembled and her cheeks burned. "Let me have only one piece of newslet me know how he's getting on. Don't tell him anything about "me, it would only make him more unhappy; and, as it is, nothing con be changed!" The chaplain pressed her hand and nodded silently; after which he was gone, thinking, as he went along, of the devoted heroism which lies at the bottom of a woman's heart, who, loving with all her might, prefers to be ill-judged, than.to pain the loved one. As for Nora, she felt it easy to be heroic once more, now that she knew how he had mourned for her. (To be continued.)