THE END OF THE VIRGIL.

Hawera Star, Volume XLVII, 19 May 1928, Page 8

THE END OF THE VIRGIL.

the cottage door closed with a muffled clang, the woman who had Come through it paused in the porch, huxldlin«- her shawl more closely about bead and shoulders; then she lilted the storm lantern- which she had placed on the cobbled'“path during the closing td the door, and, with the light Swinging she passed out into the villag street. At the corner ol.a by-road a policeman was talking to a coastguard; toth men crave her a kindly goodnight,” as she came abreast of where they stood. ‘‘‘You’re' "oing to watch at the same place, Nance,” ..the coastguard added. “Ave I cannft sleep, and 1 mun go,” she told hiiti. “I know it s dalt, but the sea calls. I like to dream that happen some some day it \vr*l him- back to me—him that; it took away.’ . She passed on, vanishing into the blackness though for a little while the fljjme of her lantern remained visible, dancing as a will o’ the wisp. Ais"tiiey stood looking . after, another figure joined them, that oi a well-dressed man, who was spoken ol as V company’ ’ in the village, where lie was supposed to be an artist who bad .come out of the season to make studies of the storm-tossed sea nr. The coastguard and the police had private information,' however: they knew him !or what he really was. “She’s going there again,’ he said, his London -accents in contrast to the east coast burr in tlieir voices. .. “T'telL: vou you're on the wrong track doubting her.” The coastguard spoke violently. “It’s three years since her man. Tom Harry Cappleby, went to sea, and was lost. Nobbut more than a month they’d been wed, but there’d been words between them. He, was jealous of another lad, folks said. Anyhow, he never came back. The coble sank on yon far reef. AYe found two of the men that had manned her; but the third was missing, arid she, poor lass, won’t believe he’s dead.” _ , “Nor do I.’’ The. man from London spoke; definitely. “Cappleby, knows this coast —he ha s found . means of communicating with liis .wife —she has been in the. Habit of going to the Smuggler’s Head to meet his ghost, 1 daresay, but now she goes to meet the living man, and bring aw ays what he gives her. It’s a clever trick—you chaps - that are used to her wandering about at night would never suspect.” “f 410110 suspect her now.” The coastguard’s'dogged fury rose, “There was never a straighter, more honest lass in Yorkshire than. Nance Cappleb.v.--- She goes yon to meet her man, but he’s non© wick. It’s a dead man out of the sea she wants to see.” “We’ll follow her and find out.” said the detective from London, and gave a few curt instructions which the others had to obey, though against tlieir will. Meanwhile, the wom.au had begun to run. The ground on the cliff-top was rough and uneven, but she knew it all too well to need to pick her way, though blackness was around her, and silence save for the mutter and splash of the sea at the foot of the rocks. She seemed the only living thing in a dark and brooding world. The villago was far behind, she even lelt the track near the cliff’s edge, which the coastguard had marked for their patrol with whitened stones, the long couch grass wrapped about her knees, arid she forced her way through it, more cautiously now, the lantern held low, lor the crumbling cliff edge was near. As she had done many times before she found the half-hidden path she sought, and down that path, which hardly deserved the.. name, she scrambled for a hundred feet or more, till she reached a rocky platform, liehind her the mouth of a cave yawned, in front another path, even more steep and broken than that she had t raversed, led downwards to the beach, hut she attempted to go no farther. Tinning/ she placed the lantern within the cave, where a ledge of rock made a convenient shelf, then she was out on the platform again, her face turned to the sea sobbing below. There was no moon, and clouds hung low; The night was very dark, but ahead phosphorescent gleams caught her eye fitfully, and >she knew they showed where the breakers foamed white above that ledge of rock where her man’s coble had been lost three years before. “Eh, lad —eh, lad, if you could know I love you.” She spoke aloud —on so many other nights she had done the same—crying out her love —her 'remorse for angry words—her forgiveness of the jealous doubt which had lashed her into anger. And as before only the whisper of the waves answered, save when overhead came the shrill scre&ni of a belated gull, winging its licavy way through the night. Suddenly she leaned forward, her breath caught, hectic spots of colour in her cheeks. Her quick cars had caught another sound —the rhythmic beat of oars' cutting the water, their • attic in the rowlocks. How could she hope her vigil was ended ? That the man she had mourned was drowned on the far reef was coming hack? She called common sense to her aid, but it was vanfiuished. Instinct was stronger, and she knew. Unseen in the night, the boat grounded; there was a pause as the lonely rower made it fast, then he was coming up the cliff face, silently, cautiously, with the certainty of one to whom the perilous way was familiar. "■ '■■■> V . The interval was vex-y long to her ; in reality it was short. His head and shoulders appeared on the edge of the platform, he drew himself to the level rock, and—he saw her —saw her standing against the cavern’s mouth. She did not dare to move lest the blessed * dream should pass, and she would come to the cruel awakening as often as she had done before. “Nance—my God, what are you doing here?” That was his greeting. Not with joy at the reunion, not with a wave of happy love in knowing she was true, as she had pictured his. return in the days before hope hacl died. There was horror in his voice, there was terror even. Of all people, in the world she was the last he had expected to see—the last he wished-to see thex-e at that hour. She did not move from whei-e she stood. An arm's length apart they looked,-at each other; husband and wife, so long parted, so stmngely met. “These many, many nights I’ve come to-;look out over the sea where I

thought you lay, Tom Harry. ' Her voice was unbroken, but its whisper thrilled with tragedy. “I’ve watched, trving to call you back to tell you i iove you, lad, T love you.’’ He was a strong man, a line athletic tigure in his blue jersey, but- the hand me lilted to wipe the sweat from his forehead shook as with palsy. “You love me He muttered under his breath. “And I was dale fool enough to think you meant it when you said you wished we’d never got wed. When the coble went down I held on; I tried to save my mates— God knows Y did—but they were washed away, and as 1 saw them go. I wondered why they was taken when they had wives and bairns, and 1 was I(3 it —me, as wife did not want.” A sob tore from her, but her eyes were dry; they were riveted on his face, lo wiiat was this story leading —to what :-' “In the end 1 was saved. I saw the li-mis of a motor yacht and hailed her. I was taken aboard, the folks treated me kindly, but 1 tumbled to it there was secret work afoot, and when they said they didn’t want to put me ashore hereabouts 1 Jet out that 1 <1 sooner none should know 1 was saved. •Let them think I’m gone,’ I thought. ■Then Nauee can marry the chap she’d rather have.’ ” . , •‘••Oh.’’ It was an inarticulate cry—the erv of a dumb creature that had been dealt a mortal wound. Out of the intensity of suffering she found her voice, “it was you all the time, lad; I never thought of any other chap. 1 couldn’t help poor Dan carin«- for me or him coming back from sea to find me wed. it was you doubting that made me say \vhat wasn’t true. God forgive my lying words. What have they .done to me.' What have they done to you?” For she knew the man who had been given back was not as the lad who had gone away in anger. “it’s me that was to blame.” He spoke uncertainly. “Hut I was that 1 fond of you, Nance, the thought of another man made me see red. Hut I’ve j come back now. ffh, believe all the years I’ve been away I’ve never stopped loving you, and wanting you. ’ I’ve been hungry to have you in my , arms.”

She was in his arms then. At the close clasp the ice of vague fear whic h fathered at his strange greeting melted. The warmth of his touch, the tenderness in his voice, blotted out ail besides the wonder that he she had mourned as dead had been given back to her. She did not ask why he had returned thus secretly, and. at dead of night —it was «nough that he was there. •Clinging to. him, she felt his kisses on her lips, she kiiew that ho had lifted her off her feet, and carried her into the cave, where the storm lanteru burned. It veil in that moment of reunion the caution of a hunted criminal was his. “To think you’ve been watching for me. and waiting for me, and loving me. and me never knowing. If 1 had known He broke off. “It’s a good tiling I didn’t. I’d have come straight back to you, and never mace mv fortune the way I have.’ ‘“Made your fortune?” The face Lhat lay against his breast was glistening with happy tears as she raised it in "the lantern’s faint light,’ “Eh, lad, do you mean you’ve lots of money, 3,ame as chaps come buck with in stor\ books. It don’t matter whether you’re rich or poor, so long as you’ll none go away again.” “L’ll have to get back to-night.” He spoke hurriedly. “I’ve to .meet a chap on cliff top, and afterwards to see them as sent me. Nance, you mustn’t tell a living soul you’ve seen me here. Keep it dark or you and I’ll not be together after all.” His voice had taken a new grimness, she began to tremble as she moved in his close hold, striving to see his face more clearly, and in the effort knowing that vague change in Ijim was marked more strongly than she had realised. “You want none to know _ you re here.” Slowly she spoke. “Well, lad what’s wrong?’ , “.Nothing wrong.” . His laughter was awkward, and the echoes of the Cave caught it> up, distorting it till the sound was meant to charm her fears away, lingered as a menace, as a moan, “i.’ve brass enough to make a lady of you, and that’s all that matters. You’ll tell your folks you’re getting a place in London, and you’ll dome to me. We’ll be happy as wo never thought we could be. We’ll be together, and there’ll be no more daft misunderstandings or .” “But the money,” she whispered. “Lad, how have you earned it? You’ll have to tell me.” “I don’t see why I shouldn’t.” He was making a virtue of necessity, knowing it would be impossible to throw dust in her eyes for long knowing, too, that he could trust her not to betray his secret. “I’ve done a bit of smuggling, same as your grandfather and mine us to get up to, only my job’s better paid than theirs.” Not particularly shocked, as why should she be, when smuggler’s blood was Lu her veins? she remained, her .arms round his neck, his arms holding her. “What is it you’re smuggling?” she asked presently. “It won’t be tobacco or cigars.’ “It’s less trouble than that stuff,” he told her. “The folks on that yacht that saved me were in the game, and when they found I knew the coast they got me to help. I can bring hundreds of pounds worth ashore in my pockets. and give it to the who’s waiting a bit from here. It’s what they call ‘snow’ —cocaine, if you will have the right word.” She tore herself free, and as she did so his hand went to his pocket, and drew out a flat case that might have ■held half a dozen cigars. “Here’s some of it. It’s easy to carry about—it’s .” With a furious gesture she struck his hand, and the case went clattering to the rocky floor. “it’s devil’s work,” she- cried. “I’ve read of cocaine in a Sunday paper. It’s traifickj ing in the souls of men you arc, aye, I and the souls of women, too. Give up your wicked work, or you’ll not be aught to me. I’ll not take a penny you earn by it.’’ “You’re talking dalt.’ His face flushed an ugly red, all the worst side of his nature, which had been dominant since their parting, was very much in evidence, “if you care for me you’l come to me as I am. If not, I’ll go.” ’ “Aye. you must go—go.” She was right away from him now, as far as the confines of the cavern would allow. It was out of the darkness her despairing voice came. “I prayed

God to send you back, but I would rather you were dead out yon. than this.’ She flung out her hand to point to the moaning sea, and, though her face was hidden, that pointing hand shone white in the lantern’s glimmer. “It’s you that’s sendinig me away, not me *bliat’s leaving you. If 1 go you’ll none see me again. He moved towards the mouth of the cave, then stopped. “What’s that? His voice took the hysteric ring o{ terror. “Someone’s coming There was the hoarse munuui o. voices—the clatter of many feet coming near. The woman acted; sue caught his arm. “The chimney,’ she breathed. Let awav bv chimney same as smuggle) s did’in the olden days. I’ll keep these chaps till you get clear. . A moment he hesitated, but the peril was pressing, and he acted on licl words. At the back of the cavern a narrow shaft ran upwards, a mere slit in the rock, forming a steep and difficult way, much appreciated by mountaineers* in the summer time; it had given practice to many a budding Alpine climber. She heard him go clambering through the blackness, there came tlio slight rustling rattle of fallin it pebbles, a slithering crash all veiy fault. He had to go with extra care, but there' was safety for him ahead, and she—she must forget he had been with her, save in her haunting dreams Motionless she stood, her hands clasped on her breast under the shawl, her lips moving, though she could hardly be said to pray. She had prayed so often in the past, and in her bitterness it seemed her prayers had been answered by mockery. The little crowd of men came runliing down the narrow path she had traversed. They blocked the cave s moil th; the stabbing light of an electric torch pierced the shadows, and put the storm lantern to shame. ' “! told you vou’d iind none here except- Nance.” 'The coastguard spoke. : “She's dait enough to think she 11 ; meet a dead man .” . “No, a live man,’ broke m the de--1 tective’s voice. “The man who ‘ brought her this.” He stooped, he picked- up. the case that had lain ior--1 gotten at her feet, and opened it. A L moment more it had closed with a * snapping sound, and was in his poc- > Ret, while the others huddled together, awed, shocked, afraid for the woman, L * grieving for lier guilt-. The men from ' London had been, right. Slve they had trusted had duped them, and the thought made them hitter against her. - Alone she stood, a figure of despair, t alone in every sense ot the word. “How did you get this?” The de--2 tective turned to her. “You’d better - make a- clean breast of every tiling, my >' girl, or it will lie the worse for you.” • For a moment she did not speak, seeing in the man the realisation or a grim fate, knowing, too, that those e who hail been her iriends would be i against her unless— —. But she never -? contemplated speaking the words that , would have saved herself and placed t the guilt on the mail to whom she be-' d -longed. k “I’ve nowt to tell,” she said sullend iy-

“A man came to meet you to-night ■and he brought this.” The detective was sure of his facts. “Give us his name and I’ll try to get things made easy for you. If you shield him you’ll find yourself in prison.” ‘‘To prison—me?” She had all a sturdy countrywoman's pride in her honesty and good name; the thought of prison was devastating, but she bore the blow. “Take me to prison if you must,” she said. “You’ll none get a word out ot me.” Though she would not turn her head to look into the darkness, she was straining her senses in her thought of the fugitive. Would he got clear away, and if lie did would he know of her sacrifice, and perhaps repent his evil ways because she loved him ?

“Nance—Nance lass, don’t ruin your life for the sake of a- chap that’s not worth it.’ One of the older men dared to entreat her. “It’s not you alone as will suffer; it's your folks as well — for their salves tell.”

Shp shivered, her hands were closely clasped. She had to. weigh all in the balance, and knew it was going to be very hard' but she did not waver. “1 canna help it,” she said. “If I tried to tel you 'what you wont me to say, the words would blister my lips.” The prison gateway loomed dark in “Then there’s no help for it.’ The detective put his hand upon her shoulder. “I’m arresting you, you understand, as .” A rattle, a rush at the hack. Cappleby had come back. “Let her go,’ tie said. “She came to meet me because she’s my wife, but not to help me in the smuggling. It’s me that must go to prison ; let her

go. . the uncertain light of a wintry dawn, but to the woman who waited outside the nail-studded doors all was the brightest sunshine. The wicket opened ; through it came a little body of men, prisoners newly released from their sentences, and last of all was the one for whom she waited. “Tom, Harry!” “Nance-? You’re waiting for me ? ' Her face was lifted for his kiss, her arm was pushed through his. “Aye, lad. I’m waiting for you,” she said. “And I want to tell you now, as I’ve told you in my letters, that I’m proud of you, proud as you wouldn't give a wav the chaps that led you into bad way. 4, proud that you wouldn’t touch a penny of the money you got from them. We’ll start life over again, lad, and we’ll go to a new world, where no one will know of —of this.’’ “We’ll start together,” he said, “and I’ll see to it that I’ll never let vou down again.- You’ve waited for me a long while, but it’s over now. Thank God, though, I wouldn’t touch the dirty money 1 earned yon ways. I’ve got a- pound or two put aside, enough to give i»*s a start across the sea. Eh. lass, it’s been weary waiting, hut it’s over now.” He was right. Her vigil ended, side bv side they left the shadows, . and turned their faces towards the rising sun. —15. Villiers in the “Australasian.”