A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXV, Issue 38, 13 February 1904, Page 5 (Supplement)

A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE.

f[t is very beautiful.' , eft must be worth a great deal of

-I'wonder what Grandmamma gave jjve for it." • : has not bought it—don t you reefflber that Granny promised when you Sristened that she would give to you v.-hen you were grown up? is one of her own re-w jkese were some of tne exclamations -ade'ever one of Pearl Ogilvy 's birth- , . presents. She was seventeen, a delicate looking, with dark 5 - tbtt were generally suft and jreutle fusion, but Hisch held in them a ire She and her father and jji«d her brother were nil looking , ittle ease wliic-li stood open on tne fctfut table. Ln it lay a superb black rfar l forming the head ol a pin. -aid Gerard, "you were , i, lTe them .-.11 when you cot larried." •Oon't talk nonsense." .-aid his . ie r who had recognised that the | U wa- "ne she had seen many times j£, -If she said ar.jthinff of that n rou were not intended to hear it. Vα have terribly sharp ears. Gerard. flat Grandmamma sayn to mc is not fended for you to listrn to.' , Mrs Onlvy was evidently annoyed, ana Gerard looked up at hei in surprise. To m the matter was only c joke—he lookriupoa his sister as a child Still, to 1)2 . eaM dwhen he thought nt. ' -well I --ball be kit? all day if I do lothin" but look at my beautiful pin." | aid Pearl at last, with a deep sigh of faction. It was a joy to her to think Ist =he possessed it, for she was fond D f beautiful things and of possessions eenerailv. She drew the pm gently irom Hs case," and fastened it into the lace at her throat. ••Doft lose it , ."' said Oerard, ranckmgjr. "giils don't know how to put in a j ' -I won't losa it!" said Pearl compla(jhlt. And she began t i open other parl cji 'and to read some long letters, eatinn'lier breakfast as she did so. But befos she had got half through her birthji' correspondence a servant came io a-that "Mr. Merrion was in the musicJGflfl*' •Ob!" she exclaimed, "and I meant to frhali-i-dozen things before my lesson. ,, -Coidr.'t you ask him to have some b-eakfist?" said Gerard. "1 never saw S eh r hungry-looking fellow as be is. I Jot,: lelieve lie has half enough to eat." took any notice of Gerard, who jfenton stolidly with his own breakfast. feai huriedly gathered all her treasures sadetters together, and soon went away. follsred by her mother. Mrs. Ogilvy had a writing laMo in the corner dfhe music-room, and took her letters ai her account there, to spend the h»r of Pearl's violin lessnn. Mr. Merjn tcu a new acquisition. He had (mc to play at a concert in the neigh- ! String town, and then had taken rooms i the village of Riddlestone irstead of ;oiag to play at other eonoerts. He ha .1 fiW up Ms little sitting-room with a grand piano hired in the t. wn. and with tlat and his violin his whole life was pased. It sooa been mc known that ha ' ivss composini: the question was, ■•What?"—a smata or an opera? His name was unkiov.-n as a composer, and no one expecttd it ever would h" known, chiefly becauK he was very (|uiet. almost without the acuity of conversation, and j made no foends. However, no one | ioubted th;t he played the violin ex- j ■remely wl.- for he had been heard ; and j Pearl, whetad been learning it from inI different tachers since she was a child, j hid been determined to have lessons j from Mir She had got her way, making : ha fatb" write to him. He refused ut first, <Hi>he ground thnt his whole attention w?taken up with a ta.-k which In had K-liimself to accomplish within a given mc. Pearl induced her father io write?ain, making the offer seem very tarpiig- So it was settled, and to vras really a musician, these Igjtf were a great joy. Out of them ho]risen another engagement for Mr. Ma<m —Le went over from the VicarRiddlestone Park and payed for I a ltle while to the sick, crippled Lori Wpton, to whom vi.-iti were as vh' visit?. RTiat 1 cannot understand," Sirs (fry Teas never tired of saying, '"is V the boy proposed to live till he had bis composing, without giving f lessons. For as it is he is evittly desperately poor. His coat is ff eadbare, and his landlady (ells mc Mpends nothing on himself." |Hr Merrion (lid indeed look very PJ[, but Mrs Ogilvy -poke of him alF a T3 as a boy in 'order that Pearl NM not be led into regarding him f=U equal even in that respect (she beF? lull of the contempt a girl at 17 pas for boys:), anil she liked to reGtf Pearl of his poverty mUo. Tor s«rl had been brought up in a world- \: school, and so far had shown every position to do credit to it. in a very F«ty, gentle, lady-like fashion. }>■ en-ion played over certain passl>s3 m such a "wonderful -way that that Mrs Ogilvy turned round "en her table. ~ " ti,v aYe never heard vo:t play that so * e jj ; she said. kI J m improving/ he answered simp»'*«n a faint flush on his thin, deliHe was slight, frail-looking. G 'J sleader musir;L : n's hands: men of EM% - 7 " s c looke d 0! i him with glamoured contempt. But Mrs •iVr TveJT '■ vr ' !l th:a danger lurk_V ,j r any woman in those eves of his :'H P 1 T let "'"• '"nped. with lonWiTi 'He loke '11,',"I 1, ' , " humbly as auto v S r~ ere tbe pupiK not - the tfer.i ' , arl essayed to reproduce his ana laughed quietly at herself. He".r^ improving as "fast a≤ you jfiJV'l n °t vrk =o hard.'' re- *% of after this thPre was na3f an is, _~ l iT ? earnest work indeed, durfeet f J'" o?i!v >'' "Niviou* to the ■asmifT 1 , abollt h, ' r - adrW up her Effif" ~0,, ™om ana forth, j- 1 ordei 's for the day and tbJT* ? art - v of the " eni i Ss 3 3lr \r h * violin , ' vas laid down. Le er " wa? in its rase, ks ' J Merrion, you are lame I"

By MABEL COLLINS, Author of "The Star Sapphire/ etc, (Copyright Story.)

?he exclaimed in surprise, noticing that he limped. : "It is nothing." he said, the hectic ! flush that came into his face colouring it vividly. And he hastily said goodbye and left the room. As soon as he was out of sight he was forgotten: but Mrs Ogilvy. looking out of the staircase window as she went down to meet the cook and undertake the serious business of the clay- saw him walking down the drive. "He is quite lame," she said. "I should hardly think he can walk up to the Castle." He turned info the road at this moment, and being once more out of sight was ncain forgotten- She went on to her absorbing business, which filler! all her time till the lunch gong sounded through thr house. There was a great deal of talking find laughing in the dining-room, for more birthday presents liar] arrived: one of them was a St. Bernard puppy, at the most captivating n;re of puppydora. and Pearl was nursing it and refusing to let anyone else touch it. "Where's your pin?" asked Gerard suddenly. "Put away Fafrly. of course."' said "Mrs Ogilvy, who was always standing between Pearl and her teasing brother. The girl put her hand up to the lace at lir-r throat, and in a moment was as white as the lace itself. "Oh, where ran it he., she cried out. "How thankful I am I have not bpen out! It is in the house somewhere."' From that moment an element of distraction wa= introduced into the day, which bid fair to spoil it altogether. Before th? afternoon was half over. Pearl's eyes were rrd and swollen with tears. The pin was lost. Every moment that anybody could possibly spare from the various necessary preparations for the dinner party was spent in ■rarehing for it. The whole household, from the Rev. Hugh Ogilvy to the youngest housemaid steadily exploring the house. At last Mrs Ogilvy insisted Pearl up the search and poina to rest in her own room. "You will not be fit to be spon to-nisrht, child; | go ard liathe your eyes and lie do\rn in the dark, find yon going to wear white, too! You positively cannot put on your new dress unless you get your eye? right." Tliis was terrible indeed, but evidently trim, and poor Pearl went f>way to her room very sad and downcast. The young musician, prnud. 'defiant. full of an indomitable resolution to face the world bravely no matter how dire his struggle might be, walked limpincrly nn,l in ranidly increasing pain until he was out of sight of the house. Then he paused—halted—and lifting his fool looked nt the sole of hi- boot. What a deplorable sight! There was hardly any sole at all. The boot was very well-shaped, and (he upper part of it was fairly presentable, and carefully polished. But the soles were no pro-tec-tkn from the damp, nor yet from sharp stones or other painful substance, as he well-knew from hitter experience. Ho was going through such an experience now; something very painful indeed was working steadily into his foot. His indomitable pride had made it impossible for him to confess this when in the Oirilvy'-s music room. Up would have died sooner than have allowed anyone in that house to have known that he was almost barefootHe looked to and fro, and finding that no one was in sight, determined to pull off the boot and discover what it was that was making him so lame He had just put dr.nn his violin-case in order to do this when a dog-cart came at a sharp trot round a turn in the road p-id was upon, him directly. His pride took fire at once, he picked up his violin-case and went limping on. The dog-cart, soon overtook him and the horse was pulled up short. '■Do have a lift, Mr Merrion." said a fresh and very sweet voice. '"You are lame!', Mr Merrion looked up, a vivid flush covering his sensitive face at the sound of the well-known voice. Lady Harriet Vane, the Riddlestone's youngest child, somc-t'iKCS into her t>'other's room when he was Iherc. She was Lord Cranipton's greatest friend, his help and aid in all tilings. "Yes—l am a little lame."' Mr Merrion answered. ''J have hurt my foot." "Oh, please get up, do! There ia room, though we have nearly filled the back seat with things. Crampton wanted so rainy errands done in the towa to-day that I decided to drive in and get him all he wanted. I am very glad we j overtook vow, for he is not in the state i to-day to wait patiently for anything, land he docs value the hour of music I you give him so much. I don't think I you will ever know what it is to him." By this time the quick-trotting mare had carried them a long way past the Castle, and Merrion could not but rejoice that he. had not been obliged to walk all the. way. For even if he had discovered what was laming him he was beginning to find walking almost barei fuot a distinct trial. Arrived at the steps of the Castle, i Merrion had to encounter the difficulty of walking on a very lame foot indeed; !it was rapidly growing worse. However, he forgot all about it'when he had got : out bis violin. It was a great delight ! to him to play to Lord Crampton, who ! lay back on his invalid couch and gave I himself up to utter pleasure. He spent ■ his days in a room that was almost a JliVrary, so lined were the walls with J books ; it was on the sunny side of the • Castle, and was flooded with sunshine to-day. At one side a glass door, wide enough for his invalid chair to be wheeled through it, opened into a greenhouse. A St. Bernard dog lay on the ground beside him; it had been one of his earliest playmates and pleasures — [he a crippled child glorying in 'the gambols and high spirits of the superbly J healthy puppy. Xow grown elderly and I sedate" the fine dog loved his master with a devotion like that shown by Lady Harriet—with whom alone he would go out now for walks. Lord Crampton had everything that man. could desire save the one pre-eminent boon of a healthy body. Merrion loved to play to him ever after the first time that he had been greeted with a smile. But herwsuld not be- paid for doing «q—

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v AVT Hβ R S.

a terribly sore point with everyone concerned. Probably for the very reason that he was playing for love, he never had yet performed in public as he did in this hour in the sick room. The servants crept down the corridor to listen —visitors in the Castle were smuggled into an ante-room and the door pushed gently a little ajar—and -would listen spell-bound. Lady Riddlestone was a kind-hearted woman, though somewhat spoiled by the great ladyism from which her daughter was so free, and she tried her best to compensate jMerrion for the exquisite pleasure he gave the invalid. But it was not easy. He scarcely ever stayed to lunch--he refused all invitations to dinner —and it was not possible to be always sending him game. Besides his landlady revealed the fact that he always sent it away somewhere by post when it was sent to him; he said he did not care about eating birds —and there was a conviction among the servants at the Castle that he lived on an occasional crust —like Shelley, of whom they had never heard. Sierrion stayed to lunch that day, partly because Lord Crampton begged him to have it with him, saying that he was well enough for it: and partly because he did not quite know how he was going home. lie went into Lord Crampton's luxurious dressing-room, and being alone at last for a moment, be speedily drew off the boot which had caused him so much trouble, and a good deal of pain it gave him to do so: then he examined it. Hurriedly he drew something from it, and held it up to the. light. ITe became deadly white aa he looked at it. lie soon returned to the room where Lord Crampton lay, a table having been spread beside him for luncheon. "Is not this something very valuable." said Merrion, as ho sat down: and he leaned across the table and put something on the -white cloth in front of Lord Crampton. lie was still white and his face looked drawn. Lord Crampton took up the little object and examined if. It was a pin. "A black pearl." he said, "and a beautifully shaped one. Yes, it must be very valuable.' , "What a dreadful ihine," exclaimed Men-ion. "What shall I do? Of course! 1 know what I must do! I must go instantly Io the Rectory with it. But what can I say? ITow explain my folly?" j He felt instinctively that he was talking to a friend who might be trusted not to misunderstand him, so he went straight on. speaking in answer to Lord C'rnmpton's look of surprise and inquiry. "It is that pin which has made mc lame: I felt it first in the music-room at | the Rectory. So, of course, it belongs to some one there." "Why did you not take, it out at. once,'" said Lord Crampton. very naturally, "and pave yourself so much pain and all this trouble ?"' "My accursed pride would not let mc!" exclaimed Merrion, a flush rising in his white face. "It has caused mc endless \ trouble, and now it has caused mc this." "What do you mean?"' asked Lord Crampton-. "What can your pride have to do with it?" Merrion said nothing. A servant came in, carrying a tray and set some dishes on the table. As soon as he was gone and they were alone again, Lord Crampton said: "You really have excited my curiosity—do tell mc what your pride had to do with this matter. The greatest hero ever born would not mind owning the pain of it if a pin ran foot." Merrion made no answer, and seemed to find lunch an impossibility. He was completely absorbed in contemplating the situation he found himself in. and Wondering how to get out of it. "The fact is," he said siiddonly, "nothing can save mc now from appearing ridiculous.' . The tone in which he said this was so desperate that Lord Crampton laughed more heartily and naturally than he had laughed for years. "Well, that is truly a dreadful position," he said. "What can you mean? Why on earth didn't you take out the pin when you felt it?" "That is what the Ogilvys will, of course, ask mc," said Merrion, in the most tragic tone; "it wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't seen that it hurt." '"Why!"—cried Lord Crampton, beginning to repeat his question, and growing so excited that Merrion got quite alarmed lest he should make himself ill. He was obliged to satisfy him. There was 'out one way to do it —ho drew back and lifted his foot. "Good heavens!"' exclaimed Lord Crampton. who had been surrounded with luxury all his life, and had never seen such a shoe before. "But why—" he began and stopped. The situation startled him. Then he leaned forward and put his slender, nervous hand on Merrion's. "Come, dear fellow," he said, "tell mc the whole truth. 1 want to understand. Don't shut mc out—you are like a locked cupboard—you don't let anyone look into your life —not even mc, to whom it would be such a pleasure."' "It couldn'l be that!" exclaimed Merrion. "Oh, no. it couldn't be a pleasure to you. Yes. the door is locked—and it is better lo'ked™ —bnt urged by the pressure of tie nervous han<l still kept on his, and impelled by a great longing to speak which made him inconsistent without being aware of it, ho at once began to pour out his story. How from the earliest hour that he could remember, from the moment when he had first drawn breath, as it seemed to him, music had been the passion which had been his very life. He had been unable to live as reasonable beings live, from the sheer impelling power of genius which insisted on his becoming a composer. It had been impossible for him to remain in the work first obtained for him, with great difficulty. His father had succeeded in getting him- a clerkship in a bank. The work, the hours of confinement in entirely uncongenial surroundings, the craving for music, all were unbearable—and he simply left it, and left the town with a travelling opera. It killed his father, .who ;was yerjs ill a/t the time, and yrith,-

out strength, to face what looked to him like a disgrace; and his mother was left absolutely in -want. He worked hard, and sent her money regularly; in a comparatively short time he was first violin in the orchestra of a . London theatre, and soon after he reached that position he began to play at concerts, and his wonderful talent attracted attention so that he received invitations from a distance, such as the one which had brought him to Riddlestone. And then came the passion—the craving that seized him as drunkenness seizes its victim—he must compose! —an opera was there before his mental eyes, in his soul, tangible to his inner consciousness: he must put it upon paper. He knew it was there, he was absolutely confident of his ultimate success, it only meant work and freedom to work. He threw up his post, refused all offers of engagements, and simply shut himself up to work. He had just received some large fees which kept both himself and, his mother for a time. This was spent, and both were facing sheer starvation, when PeaTl Ogilvy insisted on having lessons from him. Or these lessons mother and son had lived ever since— but only by the son denying himself the bare necessaries of life. And things were Avorse than they had ever been — his mother had been ill, and had been obliged to have a doctor, and had got behindhand with her rent. "I haven't dared to think of it," cried Merrion. "J won't let. it come between mc and my work. I shall have finished it in another month, and then it will be all right. "My dear fellow« said Lord Crampton, "why even then there may be months or even years before you get it tried!"' "I know! I know!" cried Merrion, Vbut don't remind mc of that —I won't think about that. And it won't matter — directly the work is finished I'll go into an orchestra again, and then the mother will soon be all right. Bless her! she has always believed in mc, and always been willing to bear anything for "the sake of my work. And I'm afraid— very much afraid—she has had more to bear than I have. The doctor wrote to mc when she was so ill. He said she had caught a bad chill, and that he believed it was from want of necessary warmth. I believe he looks upon mc as a sort of villain. What an extraordinary talp this must seem to you!" he suddenly said in a different tone, looking round the beautiful room. "A very interesting one." said Lord Orainpton, "let us have some lunch now. I am quite tired. 1 will think it over and tell yon what to do about the pearl. 1 will make a plan—l am good at such things." '•There's no got ting out of the fact that I mint appears ridiculous." said Merrion gloomily, "'or else tell the whole truth—and I can't do that to the Ogilvys. You are rlifl'crent.' , "Thank you." said Lord Oramptnn. "Well, 1 have thought out a plan already. Wγ will do up the pin. and send it servant over with it- You shall write a >hort note and simply any you have foun r l the pin since leaving the Rectory and think it must belong to someone there.'' "But they .itp -sure to ask mc how I found it." "Put oft' your next lesson till the whole incident is forgotten- You can easily find some excuse to do that. (So and see your mother." "I can't," said Merrion. '""1 haven't—" Something in Lord (Iraitrpton's eye forbade his finishing the sentence. "I am going to buy that opera," said Lord C'rampton. "1 will have it tried now. even before you have finished it. Tf 1 believe in it 1 will take a theatre for it. (Jood Heavens', what it will b« to liavp an interest like that in life! I shall do it." And that was how it happened that Lord Crampton, afterwards the Marquis of Riddlestone. was a great power in the musical world, and from his invalid couch in his country house organised and arranged and financed some of the greatest musical ventures of his day—helped and guided by the genius he introduced to that same world. His plan was carried out. The pin and the note were sent by a servant from the Castle to the Rectory. Pearl, radiant and happy, fastened the recovered jewel into her white dress—and the whole matter was forgotten in other overwhelming interests. The next day another note came to say that Mr Merrion had been called away, and asking her to postpone her lesson. He p-nid a flying visit to his mother and then went to do various errands for Lord C'rampton. The opera was produced, and created great excitement. It brought a great deal to Lord Crajnpton and to the composor; immense pleasure to the first, fame and success to the latter, who plunged into his work more profoundly than ever, composing fiercely, bringing out one work of genius after another. He no longer walked nearly barefoot, nor did his mother fall ill for need of a fire.