IN THE HEART OF THE STORM.

Evening Star, Issue 8718, 9 January 1892, Page 2 (Supplement)

IN THE HEART OF THE STORM.

A TALE OF MODERN CHIVALRY.

By Maxwell Gray (Author of • The Silence of Dean Maitland.') PART HI. CHAPTER VI. TllK RIVERSIDE ARK. The noxt afternoon, about the falling of dusk, saw Philip walking through snowy lanes and across field paths to the rivers bank. He had pulled hia coat collar up about hi* face, and crushed his hat over his eyes, with a burning fear of being recognised by passengers as he strode swiftly along in the pale snow-gleam. < Ashamed of Jessie! That was indeed a atrauge experience, and yet it was the atrougest in the wild medley of agonised feelings that surged within him. He pitied her much, but condemned her more. Nothing, he thought, with the stern I narisaism ot male kindred, could palliate, much ions excuse, conduct such as hers; those secret meetings argued deception as well as a frailty that made him ahudder. Piteous as the idea of a su-K-sougWt death of despair was it was .still the one sign of grace to be hoped for. Hut he did not thmk she had taken her life; the country talk, the cold looks and averted heads of her acquaintances would not provide a motive strong enough for so desperate a measure, and no more pressing motive could be argued. Ho did not know what Jessie had known too well, that, guilty or not guilty, Mrs Plummer would never receive a disgraced girl beneath her roof. " She might die on the road first," washer habitual expression, often heard by Jessie. In the long watches of the night, as he tossed uneasily upon Mrs Plummer s lavender-scented pillows, he had thought much of Jessie'a disharmony with her surroundings. Redwoods, the scene of pleasant holidays in childhood, had been taken without criticism ; but now that ha came fresh to it after so long an interval and habitual experience of more polished modes of life, it struck him that "wood ways" could acsxcely have been congenial to Jessie, the jnoro so as she saw this homespun roughness iu contrast with the refined elegance, almost splendor, of Harwell Court. A vague remorse mingled with these thoughts ; he asked himself again and again what he could s ia ve done better fot her, and the answer always was—nothing. Tho fault seemed to iie in circumstances; she had been trained out of harmouy with her position in life, she had no social state), she had riaen from one class but not reached another. If he had taken her to India her isolation would have iiuen frightful; he would have tad to leave Iter while he marched to the first "lief of Lucknow, and went through the Rohllcunde campaign. And if he had married her in England and left he* behind, it would have been far worse. Then Jessie s aw'exb sorrowful face would rise before him with gentle reproach. No evil could be attributed to that sweet and guileless ohjld. But he Kwembered that nearly every .woman has one* been innocent h T e had passed tko morning, not without some fueling of sacrilege, in the small whitedraped room that had beeo hera, looking over her papers and thing 3 in search of some clue to har disappearance. His own letters were all there, neatly packeted and endorsed ; how cold anil hard they seemed ! One had arrived after her disappearance and had never beea opened; ther* was something inexpressibly ghastly iu and reading it. Her favorite books were thew, a soauty stock ; her ' Thomas a Kempis,' the 'Tennyson' he had givea her on her fifteenth birthday, well worn and much underlined.

Love took up tiie harp of lila and smote on all its choidß with might, . Sraoto the chord of self, which, trerobUas, passed in music out of sight. ThU was dated September, 185S, and uoubly »aored. There were loving and most affectionate letters from Miss Lonsdale ; she appeared to have kept ev«ry scrap of her writing, one or two pencilled notes from Ethel Medway, not a line ia the hand he -expected and feared to see. There was a commonplace book, dainty and neat., into which she had copied passages from works that pleased her; he was surprised at the esitent and judgment of her reading. Some household recipes, work patterns, and half a dozen enigmas and charades completed Jessie's stock of papers. A few trwUeta, yalueless, old-fashioned things of Mrs Meade's, were left in the little rosewood dressing case; amongst them, wrapped in diver paper and inscribed "For Philip," was the ring he had given her at their parents' grava, the opal ring which she said was unlucky. "But whatever is this?" Mrs Plummer tjneuiimed, while exploring a drawer of clothing at his desire. His heart Bank at the sight; I'or it was a morooco, velvet-lined jewel case, fresh and new, bearing tha name uf a well-known firm of London jewellers in i>old letters, and it had evidently been put futo the far corner of the drawer for concealment. He wrapped it in paper and set it AJiide for future use.

" Dear heart!" exclaimed Mra Plummer ooon <iiter, aa something rolled over the bare white boards from &e folds of a dress she was vigorously shaking before replacing it in the drawer, "how did she come by pearls?" " How, indeed !" he echoed, picking it £p and examining it with heavy fear. It was large, of beautiful lustre, aad pierced. It must bave been worn with that dresi, and dropped from a string. It waa no cheap imitation, but a pearl of price—a thing she tould not possibly have bought. He did riot like Mra Plummer to see it, and put it quickly away, wondering with »n awed wonder that women should sell their souls for stones, aadt be tricked by so poor a filling as the flash of a jewel. Xhe last gleam of sunset was gone when he reached the riverside an,d ptood upon the bank at the spot wheje the .handkerchief .had been found. The place .had a playground for them aa children. Here heavy timbers, chained roughly together to prevent their being washed away, were laid f >j>t t - like along the river's edge to fee jiwoned—the shore ends half bedded in mud, the others lifted and floated by the lull tids. To stand on the end of a timber kalk, and spring up and down, with the splashing through the cracks when the gceat beams rebounded from the spring, had then been a heavenly pleasure. If one performed thu dance upon a Jong balk stretching into the river far beyond the others, one had the additional happiness .of the chance of missing one's footing and going .aplaah into the water, a catastrophe that oace befell poor little Jessie, whom he had fished out with some difficulty and much laughtwija hia part and weeping on hers, carried home, a piteous little objeotlike a drowned kittea.

'Near these timbers was a small grove of stunted oaks, some of whfrh leaned over the water. There boys used to .#ndress, and, ..climbing into the trees, tako headero from the overhanging tops. Opposite was «. meadow whence they bathed at full tide, drying themselves by the simple process of /racing round the mead in the sun and wisd, touting and leaping like young oolts, as -knoteot of clothes and aa unconscious of ".their ne3« *»a unfallen Adam. The meadow was white now, the river was blaok in the x&ak by contrast with its auowy banka, the edgus .of the timbers were scaled by great white flakaaaf ice, the tide was running up, flowing strongly beneath his. jeet as be stood on tbe edge of the Sowing .timbers slippery with snow; the grove was heavy with shadows. About a foot beyond the timbers the channel was deep; he knew k well, and so did Jessie. A Blight spring from the springy balks, and one would be in mid-stream out of depth. No house was in sight but the ark, built in a boat at the water's edge; the grove would shelter one from the gaze of passers-by. dally Samson, the old woman who lived in the ark, had aaen her from her door, Roger had bound the handkerchief on the timbers; bat what motive had Jessie for self-destruc-tion? Roger maintained that the soandal had crazed her, but Philip thought it would take something stronger than mere talk to drive a girl who held seoret meetings, received jewels, and was false to her absent Jtover and fritnd, to desperation. How false

Jessie had been, to how solemn a trpthplight, to what Baored memories ? False to her dead father and all her youth. Yet he did not reproaoh himself for his own passionate swerve from loyalty; he had conquered his heart's desire, and sacrificed all his hopes of advancement to keep faith with this frail slight creature. Besides, he was a man, and are not men's temptations heavier than women's ? Are not their passions stronger ? Mast not a man love when under the spell of beanty and fasoination he does not seek. Is it not oriminal for a woman to love at all exoept at the word of command ? Do good women feel the beauty of menslight as it is in the estimation of males—or yield to fascinations they have not encouraged ? So Philip thought in his instinctive male arrogance, drawing conclusions from arbitrarily-fashioned premises, such as men lay down for women, blindly wondering when the latter spoil the syllogism by & false oonolusion, and not dreaming that either premise can be false. Musing thus, he went along the boatpath towards the black ark, whence one red glow from a little window gave comfortable assurance of warmth and humanity amidst the black and white desolation of the snowwrapped fields and deserted dark-flowing river. Another and broader islow streamed forth at his approach, as Sally opened her little door at the top of the railed gangway leading to her ark, and stood in the keen open air, a quaint figure, familiar to him from early childhood, calling to her dog. "Oood evening, Sally," he called out, stopping at the foot of the gangway, which passed from the bank over the water at Hood and over shingle at ebb-tide. " Don't you remember Philip Randal of Stillbrooke Mill ?"

" Meade's boy ? Yes, I minds 'en," she replied, taking a pinch of snuff, and surveying him with a critical air. " Growed," she added, after a few seconds, when she dipped down into the ark, beckoning him to follow into tho warm little nest. It was an old tub of a boat, some 10ft long, shored up by timbers firmly sunk in the river's bed, so that the tide could not float ia off. A low plank wall rose from its sides some 2ft or 3ft high, this being topped by a wooden roof like an inverted boat. With its tiny windows, one shorewardsind one rivenvard, its little door, and its wive pipe through the roof, it was exactly like the Noah's Ark Philip and Jesaie used to play with a3 children, and it was a thrilling joy to them to go there of a summer afternoon, especially at full tide, when the ark seemed to float on the river; then it was delightful to draw in the gangway and have tea in the marvellous little house, every inch of spaae in which had been utilised for Sally's limited needs. Philip seemed a giant as ho descended the two steps and sat on the ohest by the little grate, which blazed cheerily with burning driftwood and bits of old boats. There was the tiny dresser with bits of shining crockery, the curtained bed-place, the geranium in the window, the few pots and pans, the candlestick, tho sea shells, lumps of ooral and other sea treasures, the Maltese doll, once the desire of Jessie's eyes, and the fullrigged model frigate, long the desire of his own. How delicious Sally's milkless tea used to be in this fairy dwelling ; and Sally herself, what a marvelloua picturesque old sibyl she looked tji ajie sat taking her snuff—the scent of which ee.ejiwd to Philip like a memory of infancy—relating falp after tale, chiefly of the sea. She sat today in the winter fire-light &a she used to sib in the summer sun-glow, the same quaint figure, with the same brown expressionleso face, surrounded by the flapping white cap-frill, with the same bare brown arms, which, like the face, seemed carved in old oak, wearing the same tr.gss-over shawl and scanty dark skirt that he in boyhood. Summer and winter, indoors ana Sally's attire never varied ; thus she rowed o» tho river in enn or wind, wet or cold.

He had her a packet of snuff and some Indian ngs.r«i to add to her ouriositiea. She received thoift with a grunt of satisfaction ; then she roae, and, opening . a tiny cupboard above the little fireplace, ] brought forth a black bottle containing some pale, clear cognao, which she poured into one of the old china teacupj and gave biia, frud wjuicb he knew well had nevor passed the While she did this, ha took rapid pty?cji c,' the familiar objects in th# cabin, and saw o.a t J'ttle shelf, with the Bible and • Filgrim-'s Fro-, greas,' a railway timetable, which his quick ' eye made out to be of last year's date. He talked of old times and the Crimea and t»io Mutiny, and then Sally began, as she always dii a taste from the black bottle, one of her atsrje?. He listened silently, till she became almost i;n;oußcious of his presence. She rambled on, &e sue, pifcbtbly did in the long nights and summer ! days wheju che sat alone, her mind thrown back on the past. Then, when she paused fell to staring before her into the glowing \vccd £oals, he said, without preamble: " Who was ia the boat with you and.' Miss Je«9ie last October, Sally 2" "Never a soul," she replied, still ga/Jng' into the fire, her head slightly bowed for ward and her hands resting on her knees. " And how long were you rowing to Lynmonth that fine, calm day?" he added, keeping his hands before his eyes, while his elbow was on the table, lest she should turn and cutiik th£ eager pained interest that he could keep out of bis voice, but not his face. "Matter of a hour; tide agen us," she said absently, being, for so practised a. story-teller, short of speech, which doubt-' less made her tales tell the more.

" And you had to pull well, wanting to catch the midday boat, no doubt ?" he continued, vainly trying to speak carelessly. £ut either some vibration iu hia voice or his persistent catechising roused the old woman, and sup turned and eyed him sharply. " Who's talking of boats i " Bha growled. "Look here, Sally," said Philip, "bt all be square, fair, and above-board. How much did she give you to put th# Plummers off the scent?

Sally looked at him and took more snuff, not unmoved by the apparently irrelevant fact that he sent his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and caused the mellow chink of coin to be heard.

" Pound," she said. " What's yourn f ",One pound ten," he replied, producing the money. "Tain't enough," said Sally promptly.

"That's a pity," he returned, "there's no mare to be had. Thirty are not ploked up every day." "Oh dear, I be a lone woman," moaned Sally, eyeing the bright gold wistfully. "I am her guardian, in place qi her father," continued Philip. "She didn't know I was ooming home yet, and very likely wrote to tell me all about it. I daresay the letter reached India just aa I stepped ashore."

" Not ?he 5 didn't want nobody to know," Sally sepd, " For the first days, perhaps, But she may be wantiog money now, and I not able to send it." He took up the tw.o gold pieoes and tossed them on the table as he spoke. «• What'll ye do to her 7" she asked, following the coins with her eyes. " See that she wants nothing, poorobild ! and that—that nobody does her harm," he, muttered brokenly. "Make it two, lad ; ah, deary me, I be a lone, iorp woman. Make it two, dear," she said coaxingly, He chinked another half sovereign down on tha little table, and Sajily covered the three bright coins with Her hard b;own hand.

" Winter's hard, living's bard, %a hard to be a lone 'oman," she muttered, clutching the gold, yet staring irresolutely into the fire.

" Still harder to be alone when young and unprotected," added Philip. "It will be th* best day's work you ever did in your life, Sally, }t you just tell the whole truth."

•'Ah, deary, dear! She begged and prayed and settled the day and ftocf and bide long ayou. She fixed twice, but couldn't get down hers, flow'll you live away from your folk t I asked. I shan't want, Sally, she Baye. My fortune will be made. I'm gwine where the grotmd is covered with gold, she says." " Did sho .come alone ?" asked Philip, in his deepest voice. " Alone ? As lone as the dead 1 Once gone, no coming back, I tells her. No good, Go Bbe mast,"

«' What did sho take with her ? Boxes V" "box and a bag. Jim fetched it from

Cleeve. She gave him five shillings. Just catohed tho boat at Lyumoutb pier." " Who mot her there?" " Man carried the things aboard." "How was he dressed? Like a gentleman's servant?" he continued, in an agitated voice.

" Lord knows. A bit of brass tied on's arm. There was a lot more like 'en helping off boxes." " Oh, a porter," he said, with relief. Farther questioning elicited nothing more of importance, so, enjoining reticence upon the old sibyl, Philip took his leave of her and stumbled out of the tiny cabin into the night with his worst fears confirmed. What duplicity, what a long course of intrigue on the part of this young, soft, tender thing. Who could blame him for having no suspicion of double-dealing in that quarter? Why, he would as soon have thought of suspecting one of Heaven's whitest angels. Half way across the snowy field, which sloped somewhat steeply down to the river, he stopped and looked back at the solitary light in Sally's tiny window. He could just see the dark mass of the oak grove, the black blot of the ark in which the one red eye of light glowed, and the darkness of the river flowing between its ghostly, gleaming banks. It was a clear, moonless, still night; the black vault of sky blazed with the white fire of innumerable frosty stars, the light of which reflected from the snow was sufficient to walk by and discern objects in outline. Ho took something from his pocket and hurled it, with the widest sweep of his arm, towards the dark river ; it glittered in the pallid light, making a tiny trail as it flew like the tiniest of falling stars, and vanished. It was the opal ring he had given Jessie at her parents' grave.

(To be continued.)