ATALANTA.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXII, Issue 50, 28 February 1901, Page 6

ATALANTA.

By EDOUAED POD

SHORT STOEY (Comulete..

.(Translated by Elizabeth Lester ■" Mullins, from the French.)

PART If. (Concluded.) Weeks passed, autumn arrived. Mr Perceval seemed preoccupied, and saw cement between bolter Leigh and Lucy that intimacy the bath of which had rather surprised me. Now you never met one without the other, and they both changed as il they had mutually imprinted upon each other their most dissimilar toils. , In long dresses, with coquet-r-'tish hats poised on her beautiful li«ht hair. Lucy had become almos. like other young girls, her movements quiet and gently and her speech modest and harmonious, while Walter, in his turn, loss preoccupied with his health, assumed a sort of an authority, which made him more like other men. You might have said that he gained in vigour what his friend had lost, and that he had become imbued with the energy sue had laid aside for bis sake. Often they were seated side by side, with only one book for the two, and it was no longer the books that Lucy used to like, historical and scientino works, or the most adventurous novels, those that ■ emitted a caustic savour, such as her father allowed her to read and which she devoured, her imagination carrying her to the extreme consequences of their'doctrines, like "Jude the Obscure, Hie Elm Mall." Now it was poets sentimental novelists, a volume of Loti or of Tennyson. She read in a low voice, and he listened hanging upon her words. Then the book would fall from their hands, and they would discuss it in an undertone, as if they feared being overtaken in their confidences. . ,„„ "What can they be talking about. Mr Perceval asked me one day, indicating in a good-humoured way the lovely group they formed. I answered. "I do not know. Indeed, I could not make out their words, but I could have bet upon knowing their sense. Doubtless they astonished themselves, those two beings so different, by always thinking the same thing at the same time, by recognising each other everywhere in novels, in poems, in nature, hearing their inmost voices in the songs of birds, in the moan of the autumn winds, and not even being able to let their thoughts drift with the clouds without meeting at some point in infinite space. And so astonished, enchanted, they abandoned themselves, not yet understanding that the law which governs beings is as powerful and more mysterious than that which controls the universe. Tenderly, without resistance, Lucy was making herself a slave that she might be the better served. They loved to go off for long walks. Walter, who at first feared walking, as he feared all physical exertion, became indefatigable when it was a question of seeking seclusion for two, and they would sometimes go. veryfar, so far that Mr Perceval, who was riding Aster, would return astounded to have met them at such a distance.

One day, with a slightly anxious air, he imparted to me his astonishment. I smiled maliciously, and thai threw him into a rage. _ __ " Lucy could never love that cripple, lie exclaimed violently. "But if by chance," I chanced to remark ■ He interrupted me, regaining his Usual coolness. "Everyone is free to choose for themselves. However, you •will see " Mr Perceval was an optimist in his character of American, and never doubted the happy arrangement of all his difficulties.

There are situations which could be prolonged indefinitely if life, like the readers of fiction, did not hold to the denouement. Walter Leigh was in love, he knew it; but his poor heart trembled with the joy that he felt, so that he guarded his secret or thought that he guarded it. As for Lucy, far more naive, than the young girls of [her age, and ready to bristle up at any attempt at sentiment, she was unwittingly abandoning herself to an unconscious dream that was carrying her away. The awakening could not bo long. How would she accept her de-> feat ? I thought of Bmnhilde aroused! from her long sleep by Siegfried's kiss. But oh, the poor Siegfried, whom our Valkyrie should acknowledge her victor. Perfiaps the vague fears erf this timid conqueror were only too well founded. Maybe, if suddenly persuaded of her incredible illusion, she. would rise in her pride, break the still fragile chain and regain her liberty with laughter and indifference. Are not all women capable of playing cruel games ? It is true they are likewise; capable of all errors, of all sacrifices. It was soon to be proved whether Miss Atalanta, "that fine little fellow" of years gone by, belonged to ber sex by that pity that makes victims or that egotism which acts as hangmen. A curious observer of that little drama, I saw the slightest incident would provoke the denouement. But, as often happens in true life, that incident did not occur. Nothing came to pass but time. The meadow saffron made its appearance, spreading its soft carpet over the bare 'grass of early autumn, the trees weve tinted in every shade and variety, the sky full of floating clouds the.t bovered over the Saleve, while ■ the first snows fell on the distant mountain peaks. About the same time the year before Mr Perceval, who Tletested the cold, strapped his trunks for Italy. Why then did he avoid speaking of tbe depart.\re ? On her side Lucy seemed to ignore the fact that the University of Zurich was about to reopen. She, who two months before tad talk.cd with sucb enthusiasm

about her future student life, seemed to be lapsing in her leisure into a perpetual vacation. As for Walter, whose plans were at first to spend the winter in Nice, he accommodated himself so well to the early frosts that he forgot his mufflers and shawls,^he even neglected to ca.tch cold. Evidently by tacit agreement they all dreaded the outcome of a separation. Lucy for the uncertainty it presented, Walter because of the miseries which he could perhaps discount, Mr Perceval on account of the wound that menaced his perpetual pride, since, like the king in the old legend, he had never become reconciled to having a daughter instead of a son, and had long yielded to a delusion, the awakening from which would be painful. Tt was he. nevertheless, who finally raised the question, for it was not in his character to long sacrifice his decisions or his habits in maintaining a state of things of which lie felt the fragility.

One gloomy afternoon we were taking' coffee on the verandah. A shower broke forth that had been threaten- ' ing since morning. Mr Perceval arose from his rocking-chair, ap- • nroached the window, his, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and returm inir, with a slight shiver, he said in ; a natural tone. " Well the fine weather is breaking tip, the frosts will follow . quickly, so we will soon have to separate." Those words fell like the stroke of ,i knell sounded during a feast. Walter and Lucy, who were conversing iv an undertone, raised their heads at the time with the same gesture, like a pair of startled ring-doves ready to take flight at the sound of a shot, and I saw them exchange a look of anguish. There was a moment of heavy silence and then Walter murmured, " True, we will have to leave." "Not yet," said Lucy. While lighting a cigar Mr Perceval basely insinuated, "And your university —then you are not thinking of It any more ? Nevertheless it is about to reopen." Lucy avoided her father's eye. " True," she said with some conspfraint. " there is the university." The silence began again more painful than ever. As it became embarrassing on account of inexpressible circumstances I broke it by giving my advice. "You need not let to-day's bad weather hurry you. The month of October is often very fine here, and as for the university—gracious me! you are not obliged to be on hand the very day it reopens. Why, even the professors are sometimes late. And then after all you are free, and as you are very comfortable here, why not remain where you are?" In a voice that betrayed a slight impatience, Mr Perceval replied: "We have already been here too long." "And so you have had enougn of it. When then'will you take root in some place?" He answered: "It was you who once used an expression to me that I have never forgotten, "Nowhere as goo*.* as elsewhere." "As for my part," said Lucy. "I am tired of this ceaseless change." Mr Perceval threw away his cigar ' that drew badly, took another, which he chose with great care, and then 1 asked me, "Will you take a hand at p chess, my dear friend?" "Willingly." He placed the chess board. The game had scarcely begun when I , noticed both Walter and Lucy rise. ' stop for a moment at the window to observe thee lotids, consult each other with their eyes and then go out. Put their manoeuvre had not escaped Mr. , Perceval, who, while taking up his knight, said the moment they opened the door.

"Take care, Walter, yon will catch cold. It seems to me you are becoming very imprudent, my boy." "But I assure you it is hardly even cool," Walter answered, "and this rain does not amount to anything." Mr Perceval did not insist, but moved bis knight and seemed to think of nothing more except his game, which he won. Early the next morning he rang at my door as agitated as an American could be. . "Guess what has happened, be said, after shaking bauds as usual, "guess, try to guess." I never doubted. Nevertheless I thought it discreet to feign complete ignorance. "Why, what is the matter" "Oh yon will never guess, never," but repeated, "because it is really too incredible. Fancy, just fancy— It pained him to tell it, yet it could not keep'it to himself. "Fancy—Lucy actually wants to marry Walter Leigh—an invalid—a cripple. You. have had a suspicion ot it__l? No, never! She who was almost a man." I o-ently interlined almost. "She who wanted to become an agriculturist. She who is strong who is sound, but she wants to. All that she has retained of her old self is her obstinacy. When once she has said 1 will there is an end to it. What can I do?" Mr Perceval walked up and down in my study, so troubled, so wretched, that"! could not refrain from sug-o-estino-, "But Miss Lucy is not of age. You can gain time and sometimes, you know, time, conquers love." He shrugged his shoulders. "She wait," said he, "you do not know her, and as for him—l talked it over with him last evening. I spoke and bis health, his lameness, his sallowness, betraying a feverish condition, he drew himself up; my dear friend', he was six foot, 'I love her, she loves me.' Do you hear that? He also wants to; and, like her, he is an American."

"And so are you. Therefore, if on your side you do not wish it, I hardly see how it will end." Mr. Perceval seemed to reflect for on instant. "The will is a positive faculty," he replied. "When a person wills he always does what he wills, but he can only will on his own account. Here are two with the same cause, hence they are the stronger, for I can do nothing to prevent them from willing." All the genius of his race, its spirit, it§ indeoendence, burst out in this argument,' the justice of which forced itself upon him until it disarmed him Calmer he seated himself in an armchair. 'With steady gaze and bowed head he sat motionless, reasoning it out for himself, no longer bothering about me. When he raised his head ail traces of the storm had disappeared and he was the perfect master of himself. "I beg your pardon for having disturbed you," he said. "Pray don't " "It is useless to struggle when you are conscious of being the weakest, isn't it? It is lost energy."

I approved by a gesture that practical wisdom which nations and individuals having ignored have so often repented. Quietly he pursued his syllogism.

"I inn the weaker for two reasonsfirst it affects them not me; then I am reduced to ihe defensive, while they make the attack. Therefore, I must yield." He heaved a deep sigh, "and I will yield." I thought how in his place I would have resisted, fought, defended the ground inch by inch, but I should only have had to deal with European wills, and on our old Continent we do not view problems in the same light as they do over there. "Perhaps they will be very happy, I said, to console him. » "1 hope so, indeed," bo replied, if rising to take leave. f "I accompanied him as far as the door, and watched him disappear with rapid strides. Mists rose from the banks of the Saleve, like the evening before, tlie rain began to fall and I thought of the three golden apples, of Aphrodite and of Meilanion. Walter Leigh bad no need to resort to such a ruse. So true is it that myths are more complicated than life, and that the eternal tales whicli they relate are re-enacted from century to century, but even more simply.