Marah.

Northern Advocate, 22 September 1906, Page 5 (Supplement)

Marah.

A PROSE IDYLL BY £. M. MARSH.

CHAPTER I.

"The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." The sun was setting on that most pitiful sight under God's heaven, the joyless face of a child ! Everything was bathed in gold, warm, glowing gold, but s the child's face remained, .unlit, contrasted with the glory around her. It seemed as if the moon had looked upon her birth and imprinted a cold, sorrowful kiss upon the baby features, freezing them into an unnatural calm. One. might have thought her a statue, so still she remained, her hands encircling her knees, her head turned upwards, apparently heeding nothing that went on around. The babble of the brook at her feet, the "good-night" chirp of the birds, the cawing of the rooks as they flew homewards, brought no change in the patient hopelessness of the tightlyclosed lips. Then suddenly, without any visible cause, a subtle change of timid expectancy came into ncr expression. With, the quick car of one trained in Nature's solitudes, she had heard footsteps, iong before a light-hearted whistle broke the stillness, and a boyish figure seen strolling down the beech glade on the other side of the stream. The westering sun set the comely head in a frame of gold, and the golden rays seemed to laugh through the tangled mass of his brown hair and dance in the sparkle of his bright blue eye ; joy surrounded him like a halo. He was busily occupied in peeling a cherry stick, occasionally pausing to test its pliancy and streagth. On he came, never looking up till he flung himself down at the brook side, like one of Gideon's host, to drink the limpid waters ; then only he remarked the singular looking figure opposite, and, propping hi a chin on his hands as he lay full length, stared in undisguised amazement. He saw a child dressed in an ill-fitting black frock ; long, straight, blue-black hair hung dishevelled to her waist; the pallor of her face enhanced the glow of a pair of deep grey eyes that looked too large for the rest of the small; finely-cut features. She did not seem at all bewildered at his protracted gaze, but scrutinised him carefully in turn ; then said, "Thank you for letting me have a good look at you ; only, wodld you mind, I should like to hear you laugh." The boy was so tickled that he went off into a peal of mirthful sound that seemed to give great satisfaction to the listener, who, notwithstanding, remained perfectly grave even when he gurgled out, "What a funny little thing f Why don't you laugh too ?" The child looked surprised. "I ? I don't know how." He tumbled himself into an upright position in his astonishment. "Oh, my ! whjt, where on earth have you been brought up !" "Do all the children you know laugh ? I am afraid you must think me very ignorant. lam stupid, I know." "But Ifaughing has nothing to do with stupidity ; people laugh when they are happy. Aren:t you happy ?" She shook her head. "I've never thought much about it ; I don't know any children. Lady Charlotte and Abigail don't think it right to smile even ; the world is so wicked." "What odd people you must live with. My mother smiles very often ; she does not laugh as she' did beiore papa died." He paused apruptly, for the child's ex* ptession changed to one almost of fright, and, glancing hurriedly round, as ifi fearing to be overheard, she half whispered, "You love your mother ; then she is good." "Love her ? I stanld think I did ; why, she's a bricfi !" "A brick;! What's that? Something nice?" ... • ■■.■■■ The boy laughed again. "If you knew her, you would say so ; she is the dearest mother in the worfd." The child looted wistfully at him. "Ah, that's why you can laugh and sing ;it is not- wicked for you." The pitiful glance, was too much for the Warm-hearted lad— he sprang across the brook. She rose hastily, with a slight recoil. "Good-bye, you will not mind me thinking of you sometimes, will you ?" Then, entreatingly, she added, "Although I have no good mother, do you think I could ever learn to laugh 7" He caught her by the hand. "Look at at me." She did so obediently. "Now smile." Something of the radiance in his face communicated itself to hers, and '* gleam, wintry, it is true, as if it had come off Alpine snows, yet making one feel the presence of hidden sunshine somewhere, softened the curves of her lips and lurked in her eyes. The boy dapped his hands. "There, you see it is not impossible ; if I come again, you might even learn to do better." She looked doubtful. "Will you really come again ?" "Of course, if you would like to see me." Her face lit up for a moment, then the nervous look came back, "No, no, you had better not ; they might not like it. Hush, there's , someone coming," and pushing him back - with all her small force, exclaimed, "Go away ; firget Mttl,<j' JSlaraK," and like an', Indian she glided stealthily through the copse. With the same swift, noiseless footfall, she proceeded till she reached the open

park. The sun bad set. She shivered, and, lifting her dress, which was evideatly made to allow for her growthshe was little for her age— ran up the Elope, and taking short cuts through the neglected shrubberies, quickly reached j the steps of a stately mansion Forbidding and desolate it stood, the wieck of what had been. Grass grew in the crevices of the crumbling stonework, moss crept insidiously over the balustrades, and trails of ivy, detached from any support, flapped idly against the casements, or trailed upon the ground. No light gleamed from any of the windows, the shutters were barred as if they had not been opened for generations. It was a grim house for a young life to grow in ; but the child passed fearlessly through the gloomy hall, where all the objects were swathed in ghostly draperies, her footfall echoed through the wide gallery abovo with the mockery of children's pattering feet. The small darK figure vanished up- the great oak staircase, which led to the more important suites of apartments, and, passing along a corridor, entered a very small, plainly-furnished bedroom. Hastily plaiting her hair, and putting on a pair of slippers in lieu of her damp boots— she was evdently accustomed to wait on herself, this small person o£ ten years old— she traversed the length of a darkening passage, and tapped at a door. A* clear voice said, "Come in," and the child advanced into a somewhat large,, low-ceilinged room, heavily wainscoted, and partly surrounded by bookshelves, in which were ponderous tomes, mostly ancient divines, lives of saints, works { on heraldry, and histories of great families. The furniture was handsome, but no easy chairs or luxurious sofas tempt- j ed to repose or undue forgetfulness of j this world's troubles ; all was stiff, upright, hard-backed. Most of the chamber lay in shadow, save where a small circle of light radiated from a lamp 7 1 standing on a table near the fireplace, in which a fire was smouldering. Near the light sat an elderly lady, dressed in a sevqre-looking black garb, sewing; a j coarse woollen garment. There wcro traces af beauty in the well-cut features and delicate complexion, but pride I was in every hard line about the mouth, in every glance which shot out of her dark cruel eyes ; that pride which has only the past to feed on, which present misfortune and the shadow of disgrace only intensifies. She looked up as the child entered, her searching gaze noted at once the change in her expression ; the apathetic resignation to a dull, colourless existence, the acceptance of her lot as inevitable, was gone, and in its place was a suppressed questioning eagerness, as of one wakened suddenly from semi-consciousness. She stood clasping and unclasping her hands, meeting the other's scrutiny with half-piarted lips. "Ypu are la to, Marah. Where luivc I you b«*en ?" The child started. The ch'llin^ manner, for the frst time in her blurt Inc, woke a sense of resistance, ohc wojLI not be cowed into silence. "Lady Charlotte,.- why is it wrong to be happy ?" The lady looted momentarily surprised, but her expression changed to unc of scornful indifference. "I suppose you mean to insinuate' that you are not nappy ;am I, think you ? Whoso fault is that ? What do you como to me for,; talking of happiness ? You who .'fay by day arc a 'iving witness to my humiliation. What have you to do with happiness, child nf a mother who ciieu with the memory of a mother's curse ringing in her ears ? It is for you to expiate in tears and self-denial the fact of your existence." There was something so hard, so piti- | less in this speech, that the child shrank and trembled, unconscious of having done anything to merit so terrible a sentence. She had hitherto kept her questionings on the subject to herself, vainly racking her childish brain. Too young and selfabsorbed to combat the strong will that dominated her every action, she , was rapidly becoming merely an animate machine, when that boyish laugh and kindly touch awoke her dormant faculties. A glimpse of the land of promise had been vouchsafed her ; was she to be shut out for ever ? She was beginning to believe herself physically deformed as well as morally degraded, but her boy friend had looked at her without any repulsion ; he had evidently not thought her different from others, except in hor ignorance of joy. With a. courage that astonished herself, she stepped forward and laid her hand on her companion's chair. "What did my mother do that you should hate me for it ?" - Lady Charlotte's cold self-possession-was broken at once. The face quivered,", the trembling hands could hardly hold . the work with which her fingers had been occupied, her eyes had the fascination of a basilisk, her words seemed to come in spite of herself. "I do rot n«.te you. ' I hate the sin of which you arc the evidence, the love of admiration, the desire for the world's vicious enjoyments. Happiness ! Oh, my (sod ! When we have souls to be saved ! Earthly pleasures in the balance of eternity !" She wrung her hands, then grasped the child's arm : "Youi poor foolish worm ! Go out in the crowded thoroughfares and get crushod and mangled as I ami mine have been ; you know not what you ask ; it is my greatest mercy to keep you hidden here." Her grasp tightened, and, looking straight into the child's dilated eyes, she whispered, with terrific earnestness, "Go, and see what fale is reserved for a nameless pariah ! Do you hear, Marah ? You are a blot upon an untarnished name, a stain on an old escutcheon. Shall I blazon it forth ?" She dropped her hold, and rocked herself to and fro ; then, turning suddenly, with a gesture of unutterable loathing, "Go out of my sight ! But no ; once for all, never mention your mother to any human soul- You have no mother, nor any claim on me ; I have no earthly ties ; my daughter died. Do you not see her name in the family vault : 'Sylvia Ren•dall. Unmarried ' ? My daughter whom

.[ loved." Her voice rose shrill, theD sank into a whisper. She fell back in her chair*,, with twitching lips and staring eyes. The child's horror-stricken gaze roused her. "Go away !" she screamed ; "you have her eyes as she looked at me when she was mad. Mad ! lam mad sometimes, I think." She tried to rise, but her breath came short and quick. "Call Abigail !" she gasped. The child flew to the door, and, darting by the gaunt woman who entered, locked herself into her own room.

CHAPTER 11.

"Lady, you can enchain me with a smile." "Oh, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's bide. - Sir Dudley Charteris sat, or rather, lounged, in an easy chair, in his mother's boudoir, his long legs stretched out before him, contemplating his boots with puzzled expression on his cheery face. The accident of birth which often shapes our destinies, the environments of good or evil, of happiness or misery, which give to our character a bias crooked or straight, that strange life-problem was working itself out vaguely in the boy's mind. His own life was so joyous that to meet a child ignorant of the very rudiments of mirth seemed inexplicable. Old people sometimes became gloomy or morose, but that might be accounted for i by the length of their life's journeyeven children being fretful when .they are tired ; but when life is young, the blood flowing unchilled through the veins, the sun shining,- the very insects rejoicing in its rays, the birds warbling in the woods, and twittering in the hedgerows, and what of spiritual in Nature's voices silent to the boyish ear, hidden as in a sealed book to the boyish mind, lying like a fair aad freshly written page, musical|, legible in the miother's eyes— what can the earth be but very good, jocund with melody, rippling in streams of happiness ? And of all this Marah was ignorant. Dudley Charteris could only cry out against what seemed the injustice of it in the ejaculation, "It really is a shame." A woman, beautiful with that soul beauty which is as superior to mere perfection of form as gold is to tinseV, looked up, saying, "What, my son ?" "Why, about Marah. I went this afternoon to Mario w Wood, and found her at the same spot." "Was she pleased to see you ?" "I declare a fellow could hardly tell. I believe she's a little gone here"— the boy tapped his forehead significantly. "I could get nothing out of her at first. She looked as if she had had a fright, and mado mo feel quite queer by asking if she looked mad or wicked. Her big grey eyes have an eerie gleam, I must say. "Mother," Dudley straightened himself abruptly, "don't you think you might ask her to come and stay with us ? She has scarcely, ever spoken to a human being except that horrid old Lady Charlotte and her ghoul of a maid." Lady Charteris put up her hand. "Softly, my dearest. What connection is this child of her ladyship ? I know she had only one daughter, who died unmarried, some years ago." "I really can't tell, only Marah lives at the Hall with the owls and the bats —the house does not look fit for any other inhabitant. lam sure she would be pretty if she only looked civilised, .rid had some one to love her. Mater, dear, you might," he added, coaxingly.. "But, Dudley, I have not spoken to [Lady Charlotte for years. She is quite a recluse, and, I understand, very peculiar. It would appear intrusive, and yet —the child, poor little thing, no one to love her, did you say. You must be kind to her, my boy." "Oh, mother, if her ladyship only saw you, I'm sure she could not resist. Won't yoW try ?" Lady Charteris sat musing thoughtfully on the past., She certainly had that bond of sympathy which suffering gives to gain her an entrance within the closed doors of that embittered heart. Why should she not try ? She was not a woman of many words ; she suggested so much more than she said. "My dear, I will do what I can." Dudley sprang up and hugged her until she had to cry for mercy. "Oh, you darling thing !" he exclaimed. "It* is as good as a fairy tale, the good fairy bearding the witch in her grim cavern, and taking the little princess out of her clutches. When will you go— to-morrow ?" v. "Impetuous boy, don't be too sanguine." :■ Indeed it was not without serious misgivings that Lady Charteris undertook the mission. She had but rarely seen the mistress of Daintree Hall, and on each occasion felt as if some shadow came between her and the sub. But that had been in }he heyday of her early married joy : now, widowed in her prime, she could sympathise with tho lone woman so terribly bereft, whom sorrows could neither bed nor break. Yet, what could she say ?— make what excuse for intruding upon the privacy of years ? Had it not been for the pity a,wakened in her heart for the child whom tier eon had taken under his protection, She could almost have turned back even when she reached the Hall, there was such a forbidding look in the frowning walls, broken by no gleam of light from open windows or shining panes of glass. The perfect stillness was appalling. She had left her carriage at the lodge, so as not too rudely to disturb the quiet of the recluse. Her first discovery was that the door bell was broken. This did not promise much welcome to visitors, and how to Rain admittance was problematical. The undignified alternative of seeking a back entrance did not strike her. Unwillingly she was beginning to think her errand was after all fruitless, when a voice at her ellbow made her start— she had heard no footfall. "Did you wish to go in ? I can show you the way."

Lady Charteris looked dowa, a»d a gush of motherly yearning welled up in her heart at the sight of the forlorn little creature. "You are Marah," was all she could say ; then, stooping, she softly kissed the upturned face, which instantly became transformed with the glory of a sudden rapture too deep for words. The child only laid her lips with touching simplicity on Lady Charteris's gloved hand, and, stepping in front of her, pressed a spring, which made the heavy Jpor recoil on its creeKing hinges. Lady Charteris paused on entering, say^ ing gently, "Had you not better go and announce me 1 ?' i but Marah was already halfway up the staircase, beckoning her on. As in a dream, the young widow followed her guide, impelled onward, although made almost nervous, by the gloomy, shadowy surroundings. Her visit seemed still more quixotic, even impertinent, looked at in this half-light. Lady .Charlotte had every right to decline an interview ; yet she went on, calling up all her self-possession and persuasive powers, little knowing the adamantine will against which she would have to contend. Suddenly Marah paused, and held up her hand as if in warning, and disappeared into an adjacent room. Lady Charteris was near enough to hear the dialogue that ensued. "A lady wishes to see you, Lady Charlotte." "To see me ! I see no one— you know that, child. Send her away. lam not at home to visitors." "But my Bible lesson was about entertaining angels unawares," she continued, with gentle persistency. "Don't use the Scriptures lightly, Marah," was the reply, in severe tones. "Who is this person ? Go and tell her I have given up all intercourse with strangers." Lady Charteris felt she must either beat a retr&t or take the bull by the horns. The latter course seemed the most natural, so she entered softly, saying, "I hope you will not place me in the category of strangers, Lady Charlotte. H a ve you forgotten me ? It is some years since we have mot." Lady ' Charlotte bowed stiffly. "To fhat am I indebted for the honour of this visit?" she inquitfejd, .with frig&a politeness. "When your ladyship last saw me 1 was a happy wife and mother ; now I have returned a widow, but, thank God, not childless. I could not be so near one who had trod even a more bitter path than I without giving and craving sympathy." Few could resist that winning manner, and even Lady Charlotte thawed slightly, and motioned her visitor to a chair. "I must apologise for my ungracious reception, but I have given up all earthly ties, and dovotc myself to the study of sacred things and works of charity* 1 have ' neither time nor inclination to cultivate '. my neighbours'" acquaintance.'' The end of the sentence rather belied the studied courtesy of the beginning, but Lady Charlotte ignored any unpleasantness, and remarked gently— "You have the gift of the anchorites of old, who were able to live by and for themselves." "Pardon me— for God." Lady Charteris towed her head as if in assent, and continued: "But you' have the consolation denied them*— that of a child's presence," looking at Marah affectionately! "My boy's existence is the only thing that reconciles me to life when the cloud of sorrow broods darkest." Lady Charlotte's voice took a harsher tone. "Your boy is a joy to you because he is your own— the memory of a happiness never to return. Marah is a child who but for me would have been nameless and homeless. It is my selfinflicted penance to give her a home. Whenever I feel tempted, to pride or selfesteem, I look at her, and know that i* her a great name has been dragged in the mire, and feel humbled, saying, with the Preacher, 'All is vanity ! Beauty and youth and love, all crumbling dust and ashes.' '• Lady Charteris looked at the child to see what affect these extraordinary words had on her, and found that she was apparently unheeding", gazing at her las at one of a different race- or higher stage of being. A smile of exquisite compaission ' and tenderness trembled on 4 Lady Charteris' lips when she caught that steadfast gaze, and Marah sighed with a sigh of wondering delight, as if that were all she had been waiting for to complete her happiness. Sitting on a stool l.y Lady Charlotte's side, in her favourite attitude of clasping her ' knees, 7..ady Charteris was struck by a strong family likeness, not so much to the Rendalls as to the Doulton.-s. Lady Charlotte's brother was the present Earl of Doulton, and a weird light seemed to be thrown on the skeleton in the old Hall. The suspicion rankled in her 'mind in spite of its wild improbability, but it only deepened her pity for ( the orphan. Pleasantly she replied,, "Little Marah is rather young to look upon life as your ladyship or I might do. She has , yet to learn its sorrows ; let? her foe happy while she may. I should iecV quite ! grateful if you. Would allow her to spend a day or two with us. It is good for boys to have a girl companion occasionally ; and my Dudley, happening to meet her the other day, ha.s been very anxious to have her as a pUaymate, and begged me when I called to ask you this as a great favour." The effect of this request was startling; Lady Charlotte's face twite -il nervously ; a strange' pallid hue en t over it ; her voice .came muffled as if through a mask, froca which, alone the eyes flashed luridly. "When I undertook the charge of this child, I registered a vow that I would never trust her •beyond my ken, that never should she run the risk of having her eternal hopes destroyed by intercourse with man. She is dedicated to a life» of self-renunciation as rigidly as Roman Catholics dedicate their children to the service of the Vir-

gin ;" then, waving her hand as she saw Lady Charteris was about to speak, "It is useless to argue with me ;■ my mind is made up ; the past cries out to me, 'Beware ! trifle not with earthly temptations, they are too subtle.' The future I can only guard against by keeping Marah free from all appearances of evil." "But," interposed her visitor, somewhat haughtily, "what harm can my sou or I do ? He is a boy of noble instincts, and I, at least, can be trusted tg take c a re of her." With increased energy, Lady Charlotte answered : "Your boy, being such, will, G»d willing, be a man ; and what have I not suffered from men ?" She fqll to rocking herself to and fro, muttering again and again, "Oh, the sin and the shame ! Oh, the sin and the shame !" Then, with more self-possession, she 'continued hastily, "Do you not see that, if Marah once tastes the forbidden #>ys» ,she will repine at her lot ? What matt would take a nameless girl, whose History must! te kept from him ? And, any way, it is better for the name to die out ; she is the last, thank God ! Let her be ; she will be grateful some day. She has nothing to do with such as you and yours ; she cannot mix with you on an equality, and with a lower grade she shall not." What intense, bitter pride clone out of her hard cold eyes ! Lady Charteris felt grieved. She had failed in her mission, and, what wounded her tender heart, feared that she had but made life even darker for the child. : (To be continued.)