CHAPTER XV— {continued.)

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 8627, 22 March 1890, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XV— {continued.)

A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a stono at its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the Btone while still the solid earth spun round and round. Presently her mind cleared a little, aud a keener pang of pain shot through her boul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt. Perhaps it was not true; perhaps Elizabeth had been mistaken or had ODly said it to torment her. She rose. She flung herself upon her knees, there ] by the stone, and prayed, this first time for many years — she prayed with all her soul. " Oh, God, if Thou art, spare him his life and me this agony." In her dreadful pangs of grief her faith [ was thus re-born, and, as all human beings must in their hour of mortal agony, Beatrice realised her dependence on the Unseen. Sho rose, and weak with emotion sank back on to the stone. The people wore streaming past her now, talking excitedly. Somebody oame up to her and stood over her. Oh, Heaven, it was Geoffrey ! " Is it you P" she gasped, "Elizabeth said that you were murdered." " No, no. It was not me ; it is that poor fellow Johnson, the auctioneer. Jones shot him. I was standing next him. I suppose your sister thought that I fell. Ho was not unlike me, poor fellow."'

Beatrice looked at him, went red, went white, then hurst into a flood of tears.

A strange pang seized upon his heart. It thrilled through him, shaking him to the core. Why was this woman bo deeply moved? Could it be — ? Nonsense ; he stifled the thought before it was born.

"Don't cry," Geoffrey said, "the people will see you, Beatrice" (for the first time he called her by her Christian name); " pray do not cry. It distresses me. You are upset, and no wonderThat fellow Beeoham Bonos ought to be lump, and I told him so. It Is his work, though he never meant it to go so far. He's frightened enough now, I can tell you." Beatrice controlled herself with an effort

"What happened," he Baid, "I will toll yon as we walk along. No, don't go up to the farm. He is not a pleasant sight, poor fellow. When I got up there, Beeeham Bones was spouting away to the mob — his long hair flying about bis back— exciting them to resist laws made by brutal thieving landlords, and all that kind of gibberish ; telling them that they would be supported by a great party in Parliament, &c., Jte. The people, however, took it all goodnaturodly enough. They had a beautiful effigy of your father swinging on a pole, with a placard on his breast, on which was written, « The robber of the widow and the orphan,' and they were singing Welsh songs. Only I saw Jones, who was more than half drunk, cursing and swearing in "Wolsh and English. When the auctioneer began to sell, Jones wont into tho house and PjOdcs went with him. After enough had been sold to pay the debt, and while tho mob was still laughing and shouting, suddenly the back door of the house opened and out rushed Jonos, now quite drunk, a gun in hia hand and Bones hanging on to his coat-tails. 1 was talking to tbe auctioneer at the moment, and my belief is that the brute thought that I was Johnson. At any rate, before anything could be dono he liTtod the gun and fired, at me. as I think. The charge, however, passed my head aud hit poor Johnson full in the face, killing him dead. That is all tho story."

" And quite enough, too," said Beatrice with a shudder. " What times we live in ! I feel quite sick."

Supper that night was a very melancholy affair. Old Mr Granger was altogether thrown off his talanco ; and -even Elizabeth's iron nerves were shaken.

" It could not be worse, it could not be worse," moaned tho old man, rising from tho table and walking up and down the room.

" Nonsense, father," said Elizabeth the practical. "He might have been shot before he had sold the hay, and then you would not have got your tithe."

Geoffrey could not help smiliDg at this way of looking at things, from which, however, Mr Granger seemed to draw a little comfort. From constantly thinkiug about it, and the daily pressure of necessity, money had come to bo moro to the old man than anything else in tho world.

Hardly was the meal done when three reporters arrived, and took down Geoffrey's statement of what had occurred, for publication in various papers, while Beatrice went away to see about packing Effte's things. They were to start by a train leaving for London at half-past eight on tho following morning. When Beatrice came back it was half-past ten, and in his irritation of mind Mr Granger insisted upon everybody going to bed. Elizabeth shook hands with Geoffrey, congratulating him on his escape as she did so, and went at once : but Beatrice lingered a little. At last she came foaward and held out her hand.

" Good-night, Mr Bingham," said.

" Good-night. I hopa that this is not good-bye also," he added with some anxiety.

"Of course not," broke in Mr Granger " Beatrice will go and see you off. I can't. I havo to go and meet the coroner about tho inqueat, and Elizabeth is always busy in the house. Luckily they wou't want jou ; thero were so many witnesses."

"Then it is only good-night," said Beatrice.

Sho went to hor room. Elizabeth, who shared it, was already asleep, or "appeared to be asleep. Then Beatrice undressed and got into bed, but rest she could not. It was " only good-night," a last good-night. Ho was going a«.vay — back to his wife, back to the great rushiug world, and to the life in which she had no Bhare. Very soon ho would forget her. Other interests would arise, other women would become his friends, and he would forget the Welsh girl who had attracted him for a while, or remember her only as the companion of a rough adventure. What did it mean P Why was her heart so sore ? Why had

she felt as though sho Bhould dio when they told her that he was dead ? Then tho answer rose in her breast. She loved him ; it was useless to deny the truth — sho lovod him body, and boart and soul, with all her mind aud all her strength. She was his, and his alone— to-day, to-morrow, and for ever. Ho might go from hor sight, she might never, never see him more, but love him she always must. And he was married !

Well, it was her misfortune ; it could V not affect the solomn truth. What c should she do, how should she endure 1 her life when her eyes no longer saw £ his eyes, and hor ears never heard his l ■ voice ? Sho saw the future stretch t itself before hor as in a vision. She | saw horself forgotten by this mar, whom i Bhe loved, or from time to time romem- \ beted only with a faint regrot. Sho saw j herself growing slowly old, her beauty I fading yearly from hor faco and form, i companioned only by tho lovo that grows not old. Oh, it was bittor, ; | bitter . and yot she would not have it otherwise. Evon in hor pain sho felt it better to havo found this deep and ruinous joy, to have wrestled with the Angel and been worsted, than never to have looked upon his faco. If Bhe could only know that what sho gave was given back again, that ho loved her as she loved him, she would be content. She was innocent, she had never tried to draw him to her ; she had uaed no touch or look, no woman's arts or lures such as her beauty placed at her command. There had been no word Bpoken, scarcely a meaning glance had passed between them, nothing but frank and free companionship as of a man with man. She knew lie did not love his wife, and that his wife did not love him —this she could see. But she had never tried to win him from her, and though she sinned in thought, though her heart was guilty— oh, her hands were clean ! Her restlessness overcame her. bhe could no longer Ho in bed. Elizabeth, watching through her veil of sleep, saw Beatrice rise, put on a wrapper, and, going to the window, throw it opon. At firat sho thought of interferiug, for Elizabeth waa a prudent person and did not like draughts; but her sister's movements excited her curiosity, and she refrained. Beatrice sat down on | the foot of her bed, and leaning her arm upon the window-Bill looked out upon the lovely quiet night. How dark the pine trees massed against tho Bky ; how soft was the whisper of the sea, and how vast the heaven through which the stars sailed on. What was it, then, thi3 lovo of hers P Waß it mere earthly passion ? No, it was more. It was something grander, \ purer, deeper, and quite undying. Whence came it, then ? If she was, as she had thought, only a child of earth, • whence came this deep desiro which was not of the earth ! Had fhe beon wrong, had sho a soul — something that \ could lovo with the body, and through ' the body and beyond the body — something of which the body with its yearningß was but tho envelope, tho hand or instrument? Oh, now it seemed to

Beatrice that this was bo, and that

called into being by her lovo she and her soul stood face to faco acknowledging

their unity. Once she bad held that it was phantasy : that such spiritual hopes were but exhalations from a heart unsatisfied 1 that when love escapes us on the earth, in our despair, wo swear it is immortal, and that wo shall find it in tho heavens. Now she believed this no more. Love had kisned her on tho eyea, and at his kiss her aleeping spirit was awakened, and sho saw a vision of the truth.

Yes, sho loved him, and must always love him ! But she eoulu never know on earth that ha was hers, and if sho had a spirit to ho freed after sduio few years, would not his spirit have forgotten hers iv that far hereafter of thoir meeting F Sho dropped her brow upon her arm j and softly sobbed. What was there left for her to do except to sob — till her heart broke ? j Elizabeth, lying with wide open ears, heard tha sobs. Klizabeth, peering through tho moonlight, *aw hor sister's form tremble in the convulsion of her sorrow, and smiled a amile of malice. i "The thing is done," sho thought; "she cries because tho m.in is going. Don't cry, Beatrice, don't cry ! We j will get your plaything back for you. ' Oh, with such a bait it will be easy. He is as sweet on you as you on him." There was something evil, something almost devilish, in this scene of the one watching woman holding a clue to and enjoying the seorot tortures of tho other, plotting the while to turn thorn to her innocent's rival's destruction and her own advantage. Elizabeth's jealousy was, indeed, bitter as tho grave. Suddenly Beatrice coased sobbing. Sho lifted her head, and by a sudden impulse threw out tho passion of her heart with alllier concoentrated strength of mind towards tho man sho lovod, murmuring as she did so some passionate, despairing words which sho knew. At this moment Geoffrey, sleeping soundly, dreamed that he saw Beatrice seated by her window and looking at him with eyes which no earthly odstacle could blind. Sho was speaking ; her lips moved, but though he could hear no voice tbe words she spoke floated into his mmd — Be a god and hold mo With a charm ! Be a m-iii and fold me With thine arm. Teach me, only teach, Lovo ! As I ought I will speak thy speech, Love, Think thy thought — I Meet, if thou require it, Both demands, Laying flesh aud spirit In thy hands. That uhaU be to-morrow, Not to-night : I must bury aoriow Out of sight. Must a little weep, Love, (Foolish me !) And so fall asleep, Love, Loved by thee. Geoffrey hoard them in his heart. Then thoy were gone, tho vision of Beatrice was gone, and suddenly ha awoko. Oh, what was this Hood of inarticulate, pasßioti-laden thought that beat upon his brain telling of Beatrice V Wave after wave it came, utterly overwhelming him, liko the heavy breath of flowers stirn d by a night wind — like a messago from another woTld. It was real ; it was no dream, no fancy ; sho was present with him though sho wan j not there ; her thought mingled with hia ' thought, her being beat upon his own. His heart throbbed, hia limbs trembled, he strove to understand and could not. But in tho mystery of that dread communion, tbe pa«sion he had trodden down and refused acknowledgment look* life and form within him ; it grew like the Indian's ma-'ic tree, from seed to blade, from blade to bud, and from bud to bloom. In that moment it became clear to him : he knew ho loved her, and knowing what such a love muat moan, for him if. not for her, Geoffrey sunk hick and groaned. And Beatrice ? Of a sudden she ceased speaking to herself ; she felt her thought flung back to her weighted with another's thought. She had broken throusih the barriers of earth ; the quick electric message of her heart hud found a path to him she loved unci oauio buck answered. Hut in what ton-nip was that answer writ? Alit. ! she could not lead it, any more thau he could read the message. At first alio doubted ; eurely it waa imagination. Thou übo re- *

membered it wbs absolutely provod that

people dying could send a vision of themselves to others far away ; and if that oould bo, why not this P No, it was truth, a solemn truth ; she knew he felt her thought, she knew that his life beat upon her life. Oh, hero was mystery, and here was hope, for if this could bo, aud it was, what rnightnotbe'i If her blind strength of human love could so overstep tho boundaries of human power, and, by tho sheer might of its volition, mock the physical barriers that hemmed her in, what had she to fear from distance, from separation, ay, from death itself? She had grasped a clue which might ono d.ij, before tho acemlne end or after — what did it matter? — lay strange secrets open to hor gaze. She had heard a whisper in an unknown touguo that could still be learned, answering L'fo's agonizine cry with a song of glory. If only he loved her, somo day all would be well. Some day tho barriora would fall. Crumbling with the flesh, they would fall and act hor naked spirit free to seek its other self. And then, having found her love, what more was there to seek? What other answer did Blio desire to all tho problems of her life than this of Unity attaiuod at last — Unity attained in Death 1

And if ho did not lovo her, how could he answer her ? Surely that mes3nge could not pass except along the golden cord of love, which ever makes its sweetest music when Pain strikes it with a hand of fesr,

The troubled glory passed —it throbbed itself away ; the spiritual gusts of thought grew continually fainter, lill, like the echoes of a dying harp, like the breath of a falling gale, they slowly sunk to notkiiieness. Then wearied with an extreme of wild emotion Beatrice sought her bed again and presently was lost in sleep.

When Gooffrey woko ou the next morning, after a little reflection, ho came to tho decision that he had experienced a very curious and moving dream, consequent on tho exciting events of tho previous day, or on the pain of his impending departure. He tosc, packed his bag — overything else was ready— and went in to breakfast. Beatrice did not appear till it was half over. Sho looked very pale, and said that she had been packing Kfliu's things. Geoffrey noticed that she barely touched his fingers when ho rose to shako hands with her, and that sho studiously avoided his glance. Then ho began to wondor if she also had strangely dreamed.

Noxt camo the bustle of departure. Ellie was despatched in tho fly with the luggago and Betty, the fat Welsh servant, to look after her, Beatrico and Geoffrey were to walk to the station.

"Timo for you to be going, Mr Bingham," said Mr Granger. " There, good-bye, good-bye! God bless you ! Never bad such charming lodgers before. Hope you will come back aeain, I'm sure. By the way, they aro certain to summons you as a witness at the trial of that villain, Joues."

" Good-bye, Mr Granger," Geoffrey answered ; " you must come and eco me in town. A change will do you good." " Well, perhaps I may. I havo not bed a change for twonty-five yoars. Never could afford it. Aren't you going to say good-bye to Elizabeth ?" "Good-bye, Miss Granger." said Geoffrey politely. " Many thanks for all your kindness. I hope we shall meet again." " Do yonP'' answered Elizabeth ; "so do I. I inn Bnro that we shall meet again, mid I am sure tint lahallbeylud to sco you whon wo do, Mr Bingham," she added darkly. In another minute lie had left the Vicarago, and, with Beatrico at his side, was walking smartly towards the station. "This ia very melancholy," he said, after a few momenta' silence. "Going away gcnorally is," she answered — "either for those who go or thoso who stay behind," Bhe added. " Or for both," be said. Then came another pause ; he broke it. " Miss Beatrice, may I write to you ?" " Certainly, if you liko." ] " And will you answer my letters ?" "Yes, I will answer them." " If I had my way, then, you should spend a good deal of your timo in writing," ho said. " You don't know," ho added earnestly, " what a delight it has been to mo to learn to know you. I have had no greater pleasure iv my liEe." "I nm glad," Beatrico answered shortly. "By the way," Geoffrey said presently, "thero is something I want to ask you. You are aa good as a reference book for quotations, you know. Some linos have been haunting me for the last twelve hours, and I cannot romomber where they como trom." " What are thoy ?" she asked, looking Up, and Geoffrey saw, or thought he saw, a straugo fear shining in her eyes. " Here aro four of thorn," ho answered unconcernedly ; "wo havo no time for long quotations : ' That shall be to-morrow, Not to-night; I must bury sorrow Out of sight.' Beatrice beard— heard tho very lineß which had been upon her lips in the wild midnight that had gone. Her heart seemed to stop ; sho became white as tho dead, stumbled, and nearly fell. With a supremo effort she rocovcred herself. " 1 think that you must know the lines, Mr Bingham," sho said in a low voice, " They como from a poem of Browning's, called ' A Woman's Last Word.'" GooiTroy mado no answer; what was ho to say ? For a while they walked on iv silence. They wore gotting closo to the station now. Separation, perhaps for ever, waa very near. An overmastering desiro to know tho truth took hold of him. "Miss Boatrice," ho said again, "you look palo. Did you sleep well last night i" > " No, Mr Bingham." " Did you have curious dreams '(" " Yos, I did," sho answered, looking straipht before her. Bp turned a shade paler. Then it was truo f " Beatrico,'' he Baid in a half whisper, " what do thoy me-j.». what can they mean I" "Aa much as anything oi&«, >-„■ as little," she answered. " What are people to do who dream such dreams 'i" he said again, in the samo constrained voice. " Foiget tlii m," sho whispered. " And if they fomo back i" " Fortret them again." " And if they will not bo forgotten ?" Sho turned and looked him full in the, eyes. " Dio of thorn." she said ; " then they will ho fore-oli en, or — " " Oi what, Beatrice?" " Horo is the station," said lieatrico, " and .Hetby ,'S quarrelling with the llyuian." Five minutes mora e,i.d .GeoJlroy was gone.