The Convent on the Dunes.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 23, 27 January 1912, Page 12

The Convent on the Dunes.

By KATHABINE'TYNAN, Author of " The Way of a Maid," " A Daughterof the ■ ■ Fields," etOi [All Eights Reserved.] ' •

*Ehe fishing village was scattered over the high ground- as youi com© up *rom the' sea. On the • cliffy between the-sea and the dunes were the chalets widen come alive every July for the season, and were dead and shuttered all tha'rest of the year, except) in the case of one or two who lived in. their chalet® all the year roufid and en» dm<e& the buffeting of the t winter storms, the assaults of the sea. and the ' desolation of winter. Such a one was M. Meelsom, who beingj interviewed by Lydia Preston resolved himself into plain Mr. Milsom. He waif a lean, grey man, with ahag-< ga'rd expression and a young Wife who openly flattered him, Lydia. was sorry for, the man lrom the beginning .of the interview when she was introduced to Maifkme Meelsom— a black-eyed Krench v/ftt&iua, with a contemptuous way ol brushing away her English husband's opiffiofis. Lydia was a marine painter. SSe-wanted .to study the fisher-folk as they livSd through the hardships of the winter. Pito.for him made her a lodger, at Villa Hiskm© Slarie. though *ho was not prepdsfessed by bhe French -wife, and the vilk itself was frowey. Plainly M. Meelsom longed for the society of one of hi* own race and speech. She had' not been long at Villa Selene Mftfie before she discovered that Monsioui. was' a gentleman with a past. He hajdjat/ some time been an officer in* an Edggsh, cavalry regiment. What dreary wart* lay between that and Villa Helena Mjjftip,- where he did much of the housew<kks arid worked in tho shabby garden to* raise a few vegetables for the home, LyHi» could only conjecture. Being a pMk*6phßi? and- something "of a student or-lOe, she had not the usual prejudices toflSS shocked. "Poor old black sheep V 6h££hoiight to herself, and felt sorry for the "geiitT&nair that died hard in. Monsieur. He really had excellent manners still. * 2^a*teMMttyy making" friwds with th« fisher-folk, she discovered that Monsieur was in, no very great odour in St. ; Michel. Perhaps in revenge for being disowned by his owb order he was Radical, Socialist, anti-Clerical. lit St. Michel thess thing* were yet anathema, and- the fisher-folk ar they pasted" Monsieur looked aslsfanc*''if' they t did nofr give more forcible erfpreWon to their feelings. He lived in a curious loneliness, the poor black sheep. Lydia was sorry ■ for '-hdm> wiite acknowledging tha+ ddutft&ss he had ito' more than his de^Mi&r~' "' ' ' Inland, ajnile or so across the dunes Jay an old balled town.-- It had a Ms--tory, this &d#oJi?lfc ! tKat?\had grown tip about the '-fr&lls' 'of a convent equally famous with the tAwn. 'Che convent, was empty! now, £jed.uesitrated ■. to the' Gov©£rt(m£»t. _Visdl>ing J 'the' o^d watted tcAWfr- there w^ra so many subjects to pairtU that Lydia almost forgot that #he^was » marine painter. She had dfW& glsfoeed -curiously at the 40ft high! wait tHat enclosed' thdfi convent. The mere *i^£ of the convent compelled wonder and interest. It wae gigantic, eno-EfiWus.., i i*< The" town merely crawled up to its walls. There was something suggestive of o"*gfeaV mediaeval fortress in those 40ft .buttressed" walla, It only needed a tale "of mural paintings in 'the chapel to mak& Lydia curious to sea it. Monsieur would do anything for Lydiai He professed a respectful admiration for her "brains as well as her beauty. He liftjd... his hands in amazement that oueff^seatity, -such* brains, such accomplishments should 1 be still unwed. To be 'ffor*/"she Was at the order of Ama^ aons. The Amazons wetfe cruel to their lov#rik Lydia tolerated Monsieur's compliments. She had a" fresh young heart of <pitV' for the worsted^ even the disgraced, in the battle of life; and Mofi.«ieu"r enough of the gentleman to enable her to forget his probable iaiofuities' while they talked together. The man had education as well as breeding. ' Hc-'was'a copious and. easy talker. He had known most of the interesting people of his time. \ thousand, thousand pities, thought Lydia, that the malignant fairy had been abia to slip into his cradlei the on© thing that nullified the rest. The merest hint on Lydia's part that she vdesired to .explore the old convent in tne> walled town, and .he was all agog to further her desire. H& himself had never ,seen the convent. He . hinted scandalous things^, of ite. history , which Lydia passed bY in wide-eyed disdain. She' hardly needed to be informed that before Monsieur became libre penseur he 1 ' had .been of the old religion. His very 'bitterness' would have made her aware of the fact, she being a person of fine intuitions. The; thing wc^uld be ( easily > accpmI pl«Eed* through the' radical Maife, one 1 * oiJthe few persons who Seemed to bo fcivil to Monsieur. There came a da> i-when ' "the' thing was to be A accomLydia dressed herself simply j in' a^frock' of lilac print. "It must be .Something she could send to the wash- ' tub, for the place, immensely t old and [ unoccupied ', these two or three years •back, would be full of. duet ( and cob- ,, w ebs. / / , ■ i ,v, v . They were «ent from pillar to post in , search of the "convent keys. When they had all but given up hope, they rejceived them at iast from a. youn^ the entresol of whose house ' overlodked ,'such a brilliant garden as •itone could./iieve^ have hoped to. find iril tthe dingy« gjirf _ cruinbling town. He ogeij-ejyed admiration at Lydia, jw i»ihad eveEy^ma^ ehe, had met in the 1 ietreet. Tlift' lilac .gown became her clear i[ekin. and colour; ■.she walked s vvith an afr of grace! ul .strength.. . She> <had heavy dark.hair twisted in splendid' ieoils at the back of her head. Her blue -i*ye& repeated tile lilac ot the gofyn. The -Frenchman , could hardly forbear ,a com(pliment a»-he scowled at lylohsieur,. being lof Ahfy clerical party, and' co .an anHe. walked <vith them to the chap- , plain's touse ' of. the tonvenu by .which 1 «!they were to enter< He could not give Jjthem the' keys, he explained/ as another <sgentleman wished to see th& convent ttte '*came afternoon. He would let them in, detaining the keys. 2 He'lalketl volubly to -iydia as they JvalkeS, along side by eide. ,He hardly -noticed' 1 Monsieur, Did Mademoiselle ►understand, then, the magnitude of the c'tfeVelit? It was of a size enormous. > «It~ covered so many hectares of land. -jlimself.he had been told that the pasisg?#of the convent coveied without' f^lotrt)t>; thxee- miles. -Mademoiselle must "take care" he warned her, that she did not los < &"ifer*'way iirtbe~ convent. took it for serious. Ec parte^with them ' -at the door of the dtfilJlSfrrs 'nouse; explaining to them how lt"*Coflld opened from the ineide but not from withdut except by using the key. When they left they were to siam the door to. behinc 1 them, taking care thai",ih> lock clicked.— So! He lifted his hat to Lydia, pointedly ignoring MontiHitif «nd_ went out into* the sunny I $triet, banging the. door after him. The " idck-rltckedy The- echo- of the closed Wew*? seemed to reverberate- through }!3Srfflie«L'of emptiness. " ' , '"•^ffce-' chaplain's houee was eHtf^efed, co -"thcA. they found themselves *Ii» almost darkness. There wae a. litter ' l$!iKP* r6 an^ ** taw .lieai'. lieai ' tiieix feet. A 'Xmwty ifla" dacomposuig - odour jvae- 'in--

the air. They were glad to hurry through • the darkness and litter ot unseen things and escape into the chaplain's garden, once beautiful but now overgrown— a desolate Calvary in the middle of it with a bush of heavy white roses creeping against it as though they ( prayed deliverance- from the weeds that were strangling them. They found their way through what ffas almost a thicket. Before them rode the. high walla of the convent, blank on this side. An open door led into the interior. There was a long stone passage before .them, dimly lit.- it ended in a broken door, the door of enclosure at whkh the nuns had -made a formal resistance before their expulsion. ( They went from one passage to another. They seemed endless. The place was very dim, for the low windows wsre> cuttained. with cobwebs , which Swing from the groined roof above thenheads- There was dust under \ their feet, «oft dust that slipped and moved,. Once a- rat scurried before them, with asqueal. There were innumerable doors. Sometimes they led into low vaulted rooms. Again they led to other passages which took them away from the main one,. The air was very stuffy, full of close mep'hitic Vapours. They were glad to' 'emerge presently into a cloister that *an round four sides of an overgrown gai)--By a door which they unbolted they found thear way into the garden, and drew deep breaths. The high convent walls, with their many windows rose high above them. The garden iwas in a well, yet one could breathe here. In 1 the long shul>up convent, centuries old, there was some nameless oppression in the air which forbade their • breathing. In the cloisters they opened here and , there with some i difficulty a cobwebby window,- and. let the air, such as it was, enter. Under their feet were the graves and braes es of the nunc, some of them dating six hundred years back. The fierce afternoon sun was outside. Here, where it nevef penetrated, the light was I cold, obscured ,by 'duet and cobwebs. It i was & vault-like place. | "Let us get upstairs," said Monsieur, with a, shiver. Lydia glanced at him. He- was looking pinched and cold ; his 'facft-had darkly blue shadows. Perhaps it- was the light. . • •' She looked up ' unwillingly. She Had discovered the brass of an English nun, and Wanted to copy the inscription. ' "I will stay," she said, "and you shall get, ou> an! ,the garden and; eat •peakrhes while' I '.Write -cfowri what is We Recorded joJ "this very noble and honourable -dame !' '-' • • Ife^wentiaway arid left her. She for- , got him in^ the interest of deciphering the '.inscription over which co many feet" hadb walked- m so* many- hundred years. ShVhad forgotten her pretty, frock, iy-' ing almost face downwards to "discover the half-obliterated lettering. • It might have been the position : it -might have been the unwholesome vapours of the old,- old place; from \which' the air had so long been shut, and which, indeed, nad never been blown, through by & free wind from' the day it wae built, Sud'■denfy she waff faint, her head She knelt up to ..ecover herself:" She looked down the long cloister "•' to ' the arched dotfr with the darkness beyond;at the end. She realised that she was^in ta .place of graves. Graves everywhere round the four sides 'of the ciois'ters. Monsieur's face in the doorway wai • a welcome sight. ' " . : . ' "I think we had better 'hi g6ing7^ he said, "if you ,haye quite finished. The eun has set." , Ly.dia -had art idea that he looked ill — wiflfee than -usual. Perhaps it was the i bad light— 4foe shadows. ' ' ' ' "Yes; we had 1 bettef be" going/ \ she .said, getting to her feet. She felb* she would be glad to escape— to* be -in- the steeet am<#ig the- people "again". '"It'-ftfefi a place of ghosts, of the dead — a prtffaned, dishonoured, desedfatetl place. Small Wonder if the ghostsV 'tf'ere atigry ! Th6y ( found a way out of, the cloisters and went down "one -passage into another—another and another. Ifc was darker now the_3tfri was" set. Odd Hdw alike they were; There were' 1 Ho landmarks. Now and again "they 1 thought tt> have ''ecognised something, only to find presently that they .' mtis t' have' been deceived. They grew rathe"! 1 x quiet as they went on with the sflatioWs thickening about them. MonsiedfV^flow of talk was suddenly chfecked.; %~'A\ vague uneasiness- fell upon" Lydia I ,' . "Mai foi !", Monsieur^safd iat last in a high', unnatural ..voices- ?,'i', believe we are 'at fault.; ~ We. mus,t -retrace our steps, find the chapel again. The cha;pel is close by the chaplain's house. We 'must' Have taken a wrong ;i turn out of the cloisters. What fools wd were I" 1 They turned back/*only io find themselves once' again 1 In a maze of passages. Th6y 'were hopeful, only, to find themselves _' baffled, took turnings they thought' they 'remembered only to 'find thejnselves more lost' than ever. At last in a little rbonii thq barred window's • of which, looked' ■on a square enclosure, ' which ' they had not seen before, Monsieur' suddenly gripped Lydia'a arm. s ' ' ''I am not well, Mademoiselle," he said. "Could you open a' window"? The air of this place is infernal." ' She helped him to a' window seat and. got a window open with difficulty. She was alarmed at his face. It was of a bluieh pallor. He breathed with difficulty, his hand to his side. , ,'T have a most. . . agonising . . pain," 'he gaeged. "It has . . happened . . before. JDon't . . be frightened. Promise . . you won't . < leave me." *•• "I promise'," she said. Her pity Werflo,wed<for the suffering of the man. He breathed hard > " The sweat Stood on his forehead. Hte lips were white. The hand gripping hers tightly was wet. "Don't leave me," he panted. "I should die with iear .. . in this place. What on earth ..• induced, me -to come. We are . ...lost. We shall . . spend the night . «. here. My God 1. 1 slandered,' them . . the old nuns. I . . never believed, it , . though, I eaid.,it. You won't leave me?" . "' shan't leave you. Don*t be afraid. We shall try againj as soon as you are better, Some one will come to look for us." "No one will come . ."he said. "Only '„ . Dupont knows. Dupoht , . Would think it . . a jest . . to shut me in. the old . . rat-trap . . all night . . with the ghosts. L Mon Dieu . i. what ghosts !" "Holy and gentle women !">Baid Lydia. "Why should you fear them'" "Because I said,., horrible things . . about them i . not jbelieving them .■ .. my sister was . . a ntin. You don't know . . a heretio . . what should . ..■ yW Itnow. Yet . . you defend them They will . . not hurt ypu . but — — '' ■ His head dropped against her arm heavuy. Wild with terror she sprang up and laid him out along the ground. She remembered to have heard that that was 'the proper treatment for heart. He looked as though he were dead. Hia feet stood up stiffly. The thin aristocratic featuies seemed to have fihitrpened. ' Then fear took possession of her. What was she to do? Was he dying, or dead? She had nothing to give him." Mitt wyb afraid of the open door behind her : of the interminable dull pafcfiagfß. OutsidA the dusk gathered in the equare enclosure and the many windows seemed to look-dojVn jupon'if»Ukft unliddted c)ca.

Ah! She had caught sight oovaf v a little iron, cross. This was the cemetery at last. She looked back at the figure on. the floor. It was motionless. All of a, sudden she became conscious of a dead stillness. The- heavy breathing had ceased. . \ A door slammed somewhere in the Convent, and she could have screamed aloud. She . stood in the . middle . of the room between the darkneee -jutside and the dead or dying man »/ithin. Another door slammed. Was something coming? She stood, watching the door that opened on the blackness with dilated eyes. Could anything that came be more dreadful than what Was here? She heard footsteps. Did the ghosts of dead nuns rqme with living footsteps? The footsteps were still faint •] and far away ; and — someone was whistling surely — whistling a cheerful English tune, a ridiculous music-hall ditty which one heard everywhere' that year. All of a sudden she remembered that M. Dtipont had spoken of another visitor. If she should lose him ! Dear Heaven, if he should take another turn .of the maze and paes her by. She ran, stumbled) towards the foo*,stepd and the whistle. There was a light, a light borne gingerly by someone who feared " that the draughts would blow it out.' The darkness had come so quickly. Thank God for the blessed light and th* living footsteps coming — coming. ' Roger Leslie, aiso at fault and contemplating a 1 night in the old convent with no very pleasant anticipations — he was not afraid, of course — imagine a soldier being afraid of an old rat-trap like that I — 'yet whistling to keep his heart up. was amazed by an apparition rushing oh him out of the darkness, and flinging herself into his arms. No ghost I He felt the warm living form, though the light had gone out. Lydia, wild with terror, had hurled herself upon him careless of anytKing_ save to feel the proximity of something living like herself— something warm and brave and fearless thai- could whistle a cheerful inane music-hall air amid the darkness and terror of that haunted place, ' "Steady, my darling!" said Roger Leslie, in a broad Irish accent, " til' I get a light. Don't be afraid. <Yoti've got me." She wasn't afraid — or at least she was no longer wildly afraid — now that she had got him. - He. struck a majtch afe Well as ho could, keeping; one arm about her, 'lit the- bit of candle he was carrying, and looked in her eyes. She saw a youth, fair-headed and gtey-eyed, with a peculiarly handsome chin and a goofl reliable honest expression. He for hie part saw a face which he mentally characterised as a darling face, no lees. To be sure, she looked Beared out of her life. She still clung to him, stating apprehensively beyond his shoulder. • "There! there!" he said, as thougi he soothed "a child's terrors. " Why the life's frightened oui of you, darling. I suppose you're lost, like myself. What a place ! It|s like the old place weused to'Tead'abpfit in our school bookß — the labyrinth, wasn't it? I'm not surprised you lost,' 'your way. They told me at Dupont's that ;th>re was some ono here before me— a monsieur" — ho spared to mentidri the qualifying terms which M. Dupont had used to describe the Monsieur — "and an English Mees. You, I suppose, are the Meea. But where is the Monsieur?." "In there," said Lydia, .beginning to sob— she who had always held herself strong minded. She pointed backward. "He is ill — or dead. He 1 was ". . I frightened ..^/V when 'he thought ... .we were lost, and . . . hfe had' -. ... Jt thirik . , . a weak, heart." ,'\ j"-. Roger , Leslie gaVe vent to & lititl* whistle that 'signified dismay and shocked concern.'^, ' • \ * ''We'll take a 'look at the poor f§Llow, darling," he- ifald. He was quite unconscious of the " darling " ; it seemed to- 'come- naturally out of his terfder pity and protection for the terri 1 -' Bed girli " Show me where he is." They went back to -the room where Monsieur lay in the ' thickening dUck with a strange air of rigidity settling upon him. y . ■ , 4Young Leslie flashed the caitdle before the open eyes, standing between Lydia and the dead man] then he tiifneu to her quietly. • • > "We can'o do anything," he ' *said. " We'd better look for the way out."' They found., it after some "considerable time had elapsed, during which each haft to contemplate the prospect of spending, the. nigHb .in, .the old YcbnvMt. Wonderful . how it was **horft 'of its terrdrs for Lydia ■ in the comforting society pi A pleasant, able-bodied young man, full of a^cnivatyous deefre and intention to .keep her from being frightened. They had all but made up their minds to'spjMid^theynight m.the kitchen" garden, 'the leasft eerie place they ha<| been able t6V "discover, in the .little grotto, withj.feejkis, found- it fronv which the image of Out* Lady of Lourdes had been ruds)y torni '.whefl, quite by accident, they came upon the chapel, which, as they knew tfrom.th'e street outside to which it showed" a' blank wall, lay ■ side by side wit^h the chaplain's house. The very poor" gaslights were jUst springing up in tfte street outside when at last the"y emerged. , It was not yet quite dark in the comfortable world outside. With the terror . behind and the lit street* before they" paused a second. ' - , "YouU let me sea you. again?" said Roger Leslie. "This thing, has^ made us friends, hasn't it?" ►. -" "Oh, yes,'* said Lydia. ,"-You don't even know, my. name, -nor i yours. I' am Lydia Preston, an- artist by proieesion. I've been <staying for the last >eai at the pe'rtsiou ot — that poor man " she shuddered with a quick look backward. "/They call nun M. Meelsom j here, l befl#v*e he if* English, or half I English— the name Milsom." " Thank you.. I am 'Roger Leslie, a captaitl in the. Royal field Artillery. I've been' studying the French soldiers' ways in my noliqfajr. Fine fellow the Plou-picju, not"ls6 «mai i t as ottr Tommies, .but fine Specimens. I was going on to Paris 'to-rriorrow. , Now I'll stay and look after 'you- l -you'll go home, I' feuppotye!'" ' •■* < • "Yes^l-- shall' go home: I shan't want 'to stay in St.- Michel after this." H6 .stayed. b"y her— saw her through the neceasary* horror tof the inquest ; waiteti while she? made her arrangements ; finally discovered that he needn't go to Parish after'- all, and travelled home with hen After all, as he said later, a thing like that established a Dond. It was not likely that they should not fall In love (With, each "other. He always said that he tell W -love with- hi* wife at the moment she flbilg •heWelf so frantically into his <»rriis. And she? Well, 'perhaps she confessed to Lin? that no mao coUW ever be quite the eama to her as th* one who gave her auch Warm comfort and shelter at the most terrible moment of hei life". The consent is. now ( razed to the ground. No one can ever again be lost in its mazes. But Mrs. Roger Leslie has always a curious horror of old crumbling places, and resolutely refuses to explore such. Her husband thinks she should bleaS the old convent, as he does, for bringing them together; but as she does not like talking, about it. he iorbeftrs" from arguing out the point. „_,.-';