A DREAM IN ARCADIA.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXXIII, Issue 15920, 4 May 1912, Page 16

A DREAM IN ARCADIA.

(By WYNNE EDGERTON.)

[Am, Rights Reserved.] " A penny for your thoughts, Margaret. Your letters appear very absorbing this morning." Margaret Niel woke from her reverie with a start. "To tell you the truth, auntie-, I was miles away," she said with a little laugh. "In fact, I was a child again in the old vicarage garden—dear old place." '' A very good reason for you to read one letter through three times, and then gaze intently at nothing while your coffee gets cold.'' " Chateaux en Espagne—and cold coffee? What an old materialist you are, auntie," said the girl. " Bat I won't mystify you any longer. This letter is from my old friend, Philip Carsdale, to say he will be in town today and will call in to see me this afternoon. I haven't seen him for over two years." ~ "You are very fond of that boy, remarked Mrs Morriton, smiling at the bright face opposite her. A soft expression passed over the girl's face. "Yes, I suppose I am, she said slowly. " You seo, we've known each other all our lives. Our gardens adjoining and both being only children, we were thrown together a great deal, and consequently formed n friendship that we have kept up ever since. Yes, I'm very fond of Phil." "I believe you are. In fact, *t it wasn't so absurd when you've not seen him for over two years, I should say you were half in love with him. "With Phil! What an idea! matever put that into your head, auntieC Margaret's eyes opened wide with -surprise, and the colour deepened in her cheeks. ~ ~ " Perhaps I should not have said it, but I certainly have wondered, sometimes if there wore not some hoy-ana-girl love affair between you in the old days when you were so much together, said the elder woman, watching her niece's astonished face with amusement. , .. , "I'm sure such a thing never enteied our heads, auntie. . We were great friends-indeed, like brother and sister together, but we were always too much in earnest over other things to think or such frivolities as love-making. \ou know, we were very ambitious, and were always making plans to set the lhames on fire." ~ " It seems that in your case the ambition is to be realised, my dear. Are his prospects as promising as yours i " One can hardly tell as yet for he has been so unfortunate. Poor boy, he I was terribly disappointed when, alter ! a brilliant career at college, he haa to srive up all hopes of entering for the Bar and settlo down to a humdrum secretaryship. It was the old tale; Mr Carsdale speculated rashly and lost everything, and then, being not overstrong,'died under the shock. It has been an uphill fight for poor old Phil, .I'm afraid." " Perhaps you will find him altered a great deal." _, .' "I hardly think so. His letters are tho same as ever. But Ido wish some better appointment could be found for him, for all his fine talents are wasted now'. And I know his talents are greater than mine. You don't know how much I owe to him, auntie. If it were not for his encouragement my poems would never have been written. Yes, I owe all my success to Phil, and when people praise my work I often feel that half the credit is due to him for developing a talent I hardly knew I possessed." Margaret spoke eagerly, her eyes bright, and her whole face animated. No one ever called her pretty, but many people had been heard to remark that she had a sweet face, and certainly, with her soft eyes and delicate, faintlyflushing skin, she was far from unattractive.

"How enthusiastic you are, child!" said Mrs Merriton, laughing. "Your success has ■ not cooled your girlish ardour one whit."

" Why should it? Yet you cannot deny that I am much older ivk every way than when I first came to you," 6aid the girl quietly.

At lunch Mrs Merriton suddenly announced her intention of paying a longdeferred call on an old friend, and not all her niece's protests could persuade her to alter her plans. "You can do very well without me for once, my dear," she said.' "You will enjoy a nice quiet chat with your old friend, and I shall be back before dinner."

So she had her way, and set out im mediately lunch was over, and Mar garet ran up to her room to change her dress. It took longer than usual to-day. Phil liked to seo a girl welldressed, so she must look her smartest Several frocks were considered and rejected, and finally she pulled out a gown of palest heliotrope, and hesitated. Phil's favourite, colour .was heliotrope. " What a little stupid I am," she said to herself. " I am as excited as a schoolgirl. Anyone would think J was going to meet a favoured lover!'' Her aunt's words of the morning suddenly came to her mind, and she flushed hotly. "Why will people make such absurd remarks? As jf I should evefall in love with Phil" I am just uf> likely to fall in love with my own brother—if I had one." She had not been very long in her pretty little dm wing-room, when a loud ring at the bell sounded through the house. She half rose to her feet, and then sank back in hor chair, her heart beating quickly in a most unaccountable way. " What is the matter with me?' she thought. " Whatever makes me so nervous to-day ? Fancy being frightened of Phil!" "All right, Mary; I know the way, and I'll announce myself, thank you," said a man's voice, and the next minute she heard footsteps flying up the shoit flight of stairs. It was Phil's old impetuous way. She rose to greet him with a bright welcoming smile as si sharp rap on the door was immediately followed by his entrance. "Phil!" she said, holding out both her hands to him. "Meg, dear old Meg!" . He took both the outstretched hands in his, hesitated a second, and then, stooping, kissed her. " Forgive me, Meg, ho said, as she drew back with a sudden flush. " I really couldn't help it. I was carried back to the old days when we were children together." "Impetuous as ever, Phil, said Margaret, laughing. "I am so glad to sue you again. Auntie is out, but she will be home before dinner. Of course you will 6tay." • "You seem to have taken it for granted. But I shall be pleased to stop, for I don't go back till to-mor-row, and am putting up for the night at an hotel —a quiet little place close by. I had to come tup to do some business for the'governor, but I got it all done this morning, so I'm quito at your service for the rest of the day." "That's lovely. Wo shall be able to have a nice long chat. Auntie being out, I am not at home to anyone, so wo shall be undisturbed —not like the last time you oame.i It must be quite three years since I've really seen you properly." "More than that, I think," he said, dropping into an easy chair and stretching out his long legs. " But sit down, Meg, where I oan see you. I haven't had a good look at you yet." She took the seat he indicated, with a gay laugh. > "What a stupid you are, she said. "That's better. You haven't altered a bit, Meg, except that you have grown up more," remarked Phil, surveying her attentively. " Did I tell you? I'm going down to the old home next Monday for a week or so. The governor's coins; abroad, and doesn't want me." " You are! Oh, I'm so glad. How extraordinary!" exclaimed Margaret. " Why, I'm going to stay with Mrs 'Denton at the Vicarage next week. They have often asked me, but at first I could not bear to go so soon after dad's death and see the old place, with all its associations, in strange hands. Though one could not call Mr Denton a stranger, he was dad's curate so long. But I really am going this time. How strange we should both bo there together." " It will be quite like old timet. So you have another volume of poems oyt, Meg. You have raced me this time, in spite of the fact that in the old days it was I who aimed highest." " It is in a great measure duo to you. Phil, if I have won any success," 6aid the girl quietly. "Me? Don't be too modest, Meg—but perhaps I oughtn't to call you ' Meg' now you are such an important personage. It's a great liberty for a humble secretary to take." He laughed, but somehow to the girl's sensitive ear the merriment seemed forced. "Don't, Phil," she said, with a little troubled frown; "I shall be extremely annoyed if you call me anything elso but ' Meg.' I'll rmg for tea, and then you can tell mo all about yourself." She felt nervous again, in the same unaccountable way, and the advent of tea formed a welcome interruption. Margaret busied herself with the teacups. "Go on!" she said, smiling brightly across the table, "I want to hear all about everything." Nothing loth, Phil launched forth into a full recital of his doings, his prospects, his ambitions, his ideas, Margaret putting in an occasional word. Meg listened, her eyes fixed on their fair boyish face, one hand shading her own. More than once a troubled look come into her eyes, and a feeling of sadness took possession of her. She I shook it off, annoyed at the persistent I way it kept returning. i She was not sorry when Mrs Merriton returned, and the conversation became, of necessity, more general. She ' controlled her feelings, and was hor old bright happy. self for the rest of the evening, and it was with a i<>st on h°r lips that she sad "Good-bye *> to Philip gut tiie- door had hardly closed on him Kofore, turning to her aunt, Margaret

said, "I'm awfully sleepy, Auntie. I think I'll go to bed now. Reminiscences are very nice, but they are extremely tiring." She laughed, and, kissing her aunt, hurried to" her room, for she saw that Mrs Merriton was disposed to talk, and she did not feel in the humour for any further conversation to-night. She locked the door, and sank into a chair to think, and as she did so tho smile faded from her lips. The whole of the events of the evening came back to her. And then as sho thought of it she knew—knew tho cause of those strange misgivings, knew why it was that things seemed the same, and yet not the same. Clearly and unquestionably she realised that she had passed Phil in tho race—had' left him far behind her. She had risen in those three years, risen unconsciously perhaps, but as she looked back sho could not deny that those years had taught her much, and he, he had not risen at all. On the contrary, he had lost some of his ideals, and the high ambitions of youth had become obscured in the battle with tho world. Sho had risen above him, and between them there was now a barrier—the barrier of knowledge, of power, of intellect. The realisation came upon her now in all its fullness,, and turned her triumph into ashes. How could fame be sweet if the price must bo all she held dear in the past? The loss far exceeded the barren gain, and as tho truth came home to her, Magaret Niel buried her face in her hands, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Margaret was sitting in a secluded corner of the garden, her little writingtable, covered with papers, before her, but her pen was idle, and she was gazing with thoughtful eyes at the sunny landscape. She had been six weeks in the quiet village where she had spent her caildhood. The fortnight with her friends at an end, she and her aunt had taken a tiny cottage on the outskirts of the village, intending to stop there for the rest of the summer. And Philip still lingered, for tho somewhat eccentric but wealthy old philanthropist to whom he acted as secretary was eirill abroad, and except for an occasional business trip with the various charities in which the old man was actively interested, Phil was his own master. Consequently he and Margaret were thrown a great deal together, for Mrs Merriton, with the quickness of a woman whoso romance is over, to scent a possible love affair, had discreetly kept herself in the background, and tho two, by mutual consent ignoring the intervening years, had resumed their friendship at the "'ntimate stage where Fate had compelled th*"n to relinquish it.

With the resumption, of the old familiar relations, the girl's old influence over Phil had reasserted itself. From the first she had steadfastly determined to try to obliterate the effects of the past few years, and rouse the dormant fires of the old high ambitions. She was woman enough to place a woman's influence at its highest value, and, remembering the sway she had exercised over him when they were children, she knew that if a vestige of her old power remained she could do _ it. It needed but the incentive to raise him to her level or higher still. Looking back now over the last few weeks, Margaret acknowledged to herself that she had succeeded. Tha old boyish enthusiasm had been aroused, and the many quiet talks they had had together had" opened his eyes to much. Her work was done. For the first time she felt some misgiving—" I wonder if it was wise," she mused. " 'Twas rather a foolish thing to do. yet he is my friend and he needed my help so; and what a happy time we have h*d. Why cannot things go on like this£or ever." She laughed a little uneasily. "I shall soon get used to being without him," she persuaded herself, ' and we shall always bo friends- Anyhow when he makes his name, as he will, i shall feel proud that 'twas I—l alone—who woke his aspirations, and the best part of him is mine—mine. A oust of wind, catching the papers on the table, and threatening to scatter them, suddenly brought Margaret s thoughts back to the present. Her hand closed over a roll of manuscript and she said to herself, "How pleased he will be. It will be such a surprise to him, and he hasn't town quite him"KhirmSnffo .step sounded on the gravel, and the girl sprang up to ereet him. He only smiled a little Safely as she came forward with outEc fed hand, and with the first dam* a* his face her smile of welcome "WhK the matter, Phil?" she aS " NothbSuch; at least I have had a bit of a slock this morning. I'll tell U lounge chair xt i n« ?rawn u» ready for him bePhilP." she said? Win* towards him anxiously. " Miook:S &ad, dropping his . H f Shis "ands, said,, " It's only Jw T have been living in a fool's parahat i It l last few weeks, and my eyes 2 1SS * W been opend to the fact. I W°twO letters by the post this mornhad two i from the . governor, rems'A* me to leave by the mail toquesting me h{m That wag not ff»Sr }mfl „ freedom, but, Meg, IhU's worse to come.".

"Worse?" repeated Meg mechanically, staring at him in wonder, "worse?"

" Yes, I'll tell you now what I ought to have'told you long ago. I'll begin at the beginning. You know how I went to the governor's last year as secretary and general amanuensisWell, he is an eccentric old chap, and my life was very dull and lonely, so I got into the habit of spending my spare time at the doctor's place. Ho has boys of his own at college, and took an interest in me. You remember I ha.ve often mentioned him in my letters? Well, there was one girl I often met there, and—are you listening, Meg?" " Yes, go on," said Margaret, ■ and her voice sounded strange to her, so cold and expressionless it was. She was as motionless as if carved in stone, and her head was turned slightly _ away.

"Well, Doris Mannering was very pretty, with fluffy hair like a baby's, and was the belle of the place. She had scores of lovers, but for some unknown reason kept them all at a distance till suddenly she showed an unmistakable preference for me. Meg, I was lonely and—well, I let myself drift into an engagoment, though her people did not quite approve, as they wished her to make a better match.''

"Is she clever?" asked Meg slowly. She knew now that this 'unknown girl had taken from her something that nothing else in the world could replace. ' " Clever 1 Not a bit. She's only a frivolous little butterfly compared with you, Meg, but—she loves me." "Then what is the trouble?" "This. She writes that she has quarrelled with her people about me, and, under pretext of a visit to a friend of hers, is coming here to see me. She may be here to-night." "What madness 1" The words broke from Meg involuntarily, and she half started from her chair. " Yet the worst of it is that I dread to seo her. ' For one wild minute I thought I would fly off by to-night's mail, to avoid her." " Phil, you could not, when she has apparently given up all for you. You must not* fail her now, whatever the cost." , " I know. But her letter brought home to me what I have been gradually realising the last few days—the emptiness of the shadow I so eagerly grasped in mistake for the real, for my love for her is not the best I can rrive. My heart has been nearly torn asunder in the struggle between loyalty to her, and my honour and loyalty to you." " Hush," said the girl, rising to her feet. "Hush, Phil! Such things are best unsaid. Where is she coming Meg was striving blindly to divert the conversation from personal channels. The look in Phil's eyes told her enough. He rose and faced her. " She does not say," he said. "Her one idea seems to be to come to me, but that of course is impossible. It would be awkward enough had I a mother, but as it is "She must come to me, then. The spare room is empty. I will meet the evening train," said Meg with decision, struggling to hide the unsteadiness of her voice. . ,' . , "Meg, dear little friend, how good you are." Phil tried to take her h*nd again, but she withdrew it quickly. "Don't," she said, almost fiercely. "I've been a fool, I know, not to find out before that it was more than our old childish friendship that made your companionship so sweet to me. Meg, you have made me what I am, and the best part of me belongs to you, 1 " g PhiT, Thill Hush, oh, do hush!" cried Margaret." "You must not." " Now I have hurt yon. Forgive me, dear. I have made a mistake, and must bear the consequences," he said sadly. " But my greatest fear when realised my mistake was that perhaps by my selfishness I might have brought you trouble." | "You mean that " she asked,: looking him straight in the eyes.- ] " I mean that if you had cared, 11 "Yes, and if I had cared?!' she re- I peated slowly. " What then?" | " Meg, Meg, could, it have been? ' ! " If I had cared, do you think I would ever climb to happiness over the heart of another woman! You misujdge me, Phil!" I

" I know your true heart, Meg. God forbid that any act of mine should bring pain to you. Will you forgive me? " Phil, need there be any talk of forgiveness between usP We have always been friends, and, far or near, must remain so to the end," said the girl tremulously. Then, as he made no answer, 6he went on in a low voice. "You must try to forget to-days foolishness, and I—l will forget it too. We have been verj happy these few weeks, haven't we, ThilP and rf we have either of us ever dreamed of impossibilities we must remember that it was only a dream—a dream in Arcadia." fior voice broke, but she struggled bravely to keep her self-control. " Whatever happens, remember I am always your friend." ~ .-. . , " I shall remember," he- said. And Doris must never know that 1 ever wavered in my lovalty to her. I must make the best of what is mine, and forget that I ever cherished a desire for a I paradise that lay beyond my reach. I "Then these weeks shall be as a sealed book to us, and we will forget i that they ever existed. . Let us come I back to realities again- Y° u ha<i be * ter

leave me now, Phil, while I think things over a bit. I will explain matters to auntie as much «s is necessary. You will come up to.-night and see—-her?" '

'" Yes'. And do not think me ungrate*' fill because T cannot thank you for "alf your goodness. Au revoir, my best ' friends.-"-'- -'— '--'- 'He took her hand and, bending, kiss, ed it once more, and then, witnout a word, passed down the garden path and out into the road.

Meg watched him till he was out of sight, and then went slowly into tha house to fight out her battle alone.

The 5.15 down,the only evening trala that stopped at Winford. was punctual to'the-minute; but Meg had been wait- ' ing for some time when it drew up af' * the little wayside station. There were very few one of the first to alight was a girl in a dark blue costume, with a mass of pale waving hair. " Fluffy hair like a baby's," thought Margaret, with a sudden sob in her throat, but she did not hesitate a moment. She came forward quickly as the girl gazed round in a bewildered way. ■■■•■•

H*/ You are Miss Mannering-P" she jn, quired in her low, even voice. The girl turned sharply at the unexpected greeting. "Yes—l am," sh»said; but how did you knowP"

" I was sure of it. directly I saw you. But I must introduce myself. lam Margaret Mel, Phil Carsdale's old playfellow. I promised to meet you for him."'

Oh, I have often heard of yon. Bab why did he send you? Is he very angry with me P" and the childish blue eyes seemed ready to brim over with tears. She looked so pathetio that Margaret was touched in spite of herself, though her heart was still sore, and she felt a sudden warmth towards the weak, fool, ish little thing who had raised an insuperable barrier between herself and Phil.

I '* Come," she said, with a winning smile, " I will tell you all about it as we go along. It is only a short walk. Have you any other luggage?" " Only this bag. But where are we going?'' " To my cottage; I am down hare for the summer."

" But why should I trouble yon, Miss Niel? If I cannot see Philip to-night I can put up at .at inn or somewhere." " I should never allow that when I have a room empty. It will be no trouble at all, and, besides, I have been Phil's friend so long that now yon most let-' me-be yours- too." •■'■ Yon-'are'very kind. I'm afraid"! have been very foolish to come Eke this; but I felt that I must see Philip again. You know, mother wanted me to break off my engagement, but I would not, so I made arrangements to spend a week or two with an old schoolfrend of mine. I sent my luggeageon to her—it's only about three stations farther on—and came here first." " '"■Poor child, you must be tired out. But you 'will'"see Phil presently, 'ana .then we will see what can be done. Anyhow, you must stp the night with me." ■■■•-

She kept up the conversation with such a calm brightness that the other girl never suspected the deadly heartache that lay beneath it, and talked unreservedly. But Meg was extremely glad when they reached cottage, though the walk with Phil's betrothed had only strengthened her determination -to carry things off with a High hand. The girl loved him, of that there was no doubt,-so there was nothing more to be said. .■*?

So she put aside her own pain and steadfastly shut her eyes to the emptines of her future, and only thought of Phil's happiness as she strove to prove herself the true friend she had promised to be. To the weary girl who was the innocent barrier between her and a happiness so great she dared not think of it, her sweet womanly sympafchj seemed almost heaven-sent.

Meg was at the gate when Phil cam* up the lane in the gathering dusk. Neither of them spoke, only for a moment he held both her hands in his, and looked into the sweet, brave eyes that mrt his own so steadfastly. Then they went slowly twoards the house. On the threshold Meg paused, and without a word Phil went in alone.

There was a glad cry, and as the door closed on them, Meg saw Doris fling herself into his arms, while the " fluffy hair like a baby's " sank on his shoulder as she broke into a passion of tears. In the dainty room, so characteristic of Meg, Phil soothed and comforted the impetuous child that for the future was to be the prinicpal figure in his horizon, before long: the pretty face dimpled in smiles again, and tears were forgotten. But out in the darkness of the garden a woman wept softly.