ROGER TREWINION.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 12859, 6 May 1905, Page 3 (Supplement)

ROGER TREWINION.

[l-tIIUSHIj: -1 SPECI\L a&HaXUKMEXT.]

BY JOSEPH HOCKING. Author of " The Coming of the Kins." " All .Men Are Liars." "The Story of Andrew Fairfax." etc., etc. CHAPTER XXV. Tin-: voice of Tin; crimen. Here sits the prie-t ; and faint and low. Like the sighing of an evening breeze. Comes 'through these painted lattices The ceaseless sound of human woe; Here while her hosom up lies and throbs Willi deep and agonising sobs, That half are passion, half contrition, The luckless daughter of perdition Slowly confesses her secret shame— 'llio time, the place, the lover's name! Here the grim murderer, with a groan. from his bruised conscience roll- the stone. Thinking that thus lie can atone For ravages of -word and flame! Co, -in no more! Thv penance o'er, A new and better life begin. . . . Cod will restore The peace that filled thy heart before And pardon" thine inutility ! LONGFELLOW.

Tin.' journey to Barcelona was uneventful, at any rate for inc. During the, whole time I lived in a kind id hideous dream. 1 was ever thinking of what I had seen and done during the little lime I had been in England, but nothing was real save a horrible weight that oppressed mc. I know that the captain sought to be friendly, while some of the passengers seemed to be interested in th sad, silent man who ever sought to I' alone, but 1 paid little heed to their overtures. How could i when two ghastly passions, hatred and remorse, possessed mc?

Sometimes 1 caught myself thinking of what Ruth had old me during those two or three sweet hours we were together. . .I remember asking her why she had seemed to love Wilfred (he better! and why, when she saw how 1 loved her, she did not in some v.ay let in* know ihaf .die cared for me. And blushingly she told me that, besides tin | repoiL; about my boa.sling that she would have to many me, which she only hall believed, sin was afraid I would think her forward and immodest. This set me thinking how it bad all ended. flow through misunderstandings our Jives had been ruined, until life seemed a tragedy, and Providence only a dream. But no relief came to me; the burdens which I. had myself made still crushed me to the. earth, ami I. could see no brightness in the future. We reached Barcelona at length, ami 1 set mil to find Salambo. I knew that if all had gone Midi with him I should have little difficulty in this. Id* had given mo instinct ion- which were unmistakable as to his whereabouts, so 1 started at once for the address at which he told me to inquire. I found that this, house was occupied by his own parent-, and no welcome could be wanner than mine when I I old them my name.

J asked them ii (heir son was well, and I quickly found that, lie was well and happy, thai he had found Inez, that they had been wedded, and were living not far'away from them.

Quickly 1 found my way thither, and soon .Salambo and I stood face to face. Only one look at him was enough to convince me that hi* parents had told inn the truth. "All is well with you, Salambo?'' I said. "Ah, all is well,'.' be cried; "the saints have been good to me. You must see my Inez, she will )> here directly"."' .■■.

litis gave me a little hope. ' Halambo hail committed ■> .sin similar to mine-, and yet lie was happy, He. hurl become wedded* to (lie woman lie loved, in spite of the terrible past. Might there then be some chance for me? Not that I expected to wed Hull); I gave up all thoughts of seeing her. again, but 1 might Snd're'st from the terrible pangs which now made life almost- unbearable, i resolved before the day was over to have a long tajik wjth my ojd" captaiu, and, it' possible, In seek the same means bo obtain- ease and happiness. Presently his wife came into the room. 'fney had only been wedded a short time, and she blushed at being introduced as his wife; but- 1 saw, in spite of everything, that she was happy. Not that she looked free from pain. There was a look in her great black eyes which told me thai she . had suffered terribly i-u ihs oast, and tics silver

streaks in Iter raven black hair told the same story. She was very beautiful, and I did not wonder that, Sa'lambo loved her. From the way her eyes rested on him 1 knew that he reigned king of her heart. l .We sat together during . the evening, sometimes talking and sometimes listening to Inez—for 'Such Salambo would have me call heras she sung some sweet Spanish love songs, until the time came for her to retire, and then wo two men, who had passed through many strange scenes, were left, together. " You are very happy,'' I said, when she had left the room.

" Happy as man can be," he replied. " My Tnez through all these long veins was faithful to me, and has ever been as pure as an angel. And you, Trethoway, or rather Prewiniou, how' did you Unci affairs at- home? Not well, ] fear."

i told him, just as I have written it in; these pages, all that had happened since 1 left him. When 1 described my meeting with Hill Tregargus, and how 1 had beard that- Ruth had died of a broken heart, driven to death by Wilfred. 1 saw the tears start to Salamho's eyes, and he eagerly asked, what followed next. Then 1 told hint of my meeting with Wilfred, what we had sa'id to each other, and how we had engaged in a deadly struggle on the cliff. "And didn't you kill him?'' he. cried, clenching his hands nervously; "didn't you hurl the viper on the rocks beneath'.'' "Would vou'.'" 1 said.

"Would 1?" he cried, "aye, and be proud that I had rid the world' of such a one. The saints would sanction such a deed." 1 told him what had happened, at which he gave a great sigh as if of relief, after which a. scornful smile played around his mouth as I. told him of the terrible sufferinafiS 1 had endured. lie did not. speak a word during the recital of the visit to Ruth's home, but give a' start as I told him of my determination to visit her grave, Then he sat like cm© entranced as I described my entrance into Ibo church and related how 1 lifted back the stone from the vault. Breathlessly he sat. while I narrated how I had removed the clasps from the coffin and looked on the still face of my darling: and then leapt like a madman from his chair as I told how I fob her hand move. Alter that, while [ told the remainder of my story, lie walked up and down the room excitedly, sometimes laughing and again giving a civ of gladness, until 1 came to that part where 1 told Ruth of my sins, whereupon he sat down again, still'staring at me wildly, "And you left her because ofthal?" he said in astonishment, when I had linished. " 1 could do no other,'' I replied. " Ah, but. von could," he cried. "How?'' Tasked. "Why. that action of hers did not express her aversion of you, or if it did it could be easily overcome. Yon should have remained with her and she would soon have forgiven you." "How could she 'when .1 could not forgive myself'.' Resides, if I had stayed in England 1 should have been arrested as a murderer, and that would have brought her worse sorrow still." "That need not. have been." he replied. "You could have brought here here aye. and she would have gladly come, too." .1 dismissed this suggestion, for I knew it was not possible. For three weeks 1 remained with Salambo, then I felt thai 1 could stay in Barcelona no' longer, and must be on the move. Bine: memories still urged me to go somewhere, it mattered not where, in search of neuce.

i told Salnmbti ibis, and he did las best to persuade me to stay with him, Inez adding her entreaties to Ids; but 1 felt 1. could not. Something, I knew not, what, impelled me to leave them, so I got a berth mi board a vessel, and went away again to follow- the calling, 1 had followed so manv veins.

We 'shook hands at the vessel's side; he to go back to his home and to happiness, and f to sail down the .Mediterranean, still in search of rot and peace.

CHAPTER XXVI

•IHK VOICE 01- CUP. j Alone, ■ alone, all. all alone. Alone on a wide, wide sea! 'And never a saint took pity on > My soul in agony.

0, wedding guest, this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas that God Himself ■Scarce seemed there to be.

The self-same moment I could pray, Anil from in.v neck so free. The albatross fell ofV and sank Lilt* lead into the sea.

Up pravelh best who lovcUi best. All things both prreat and small; For the dear God Who loveth us, He made and loveth all. -"The Ancient Mariner." For a veiir ' sailed the Mediterranean as a common seaman. 1 thought, or. rather, I hoped, thai by hard work and mixing in the society of 'men who had borne something of the brunt of life, besides visiting different towns at which we had to call along the coast. 1 should banish from my minclwhat became more and more terrible to me. It was a vain hope. At-the end of the yeai 1 despaired of finding happiness or peace again. "There is no Mich tiling as forgiveness of sins' I said, "and life is but a bitter mockery." Ofttimcs I wondered what had becoifte of them at home. At night time, especially, 1 found myself thinking of Ruth, and how she bore hei terrible trials, and this led me to wonder what had become of Wilfred—had ho ever been found, and. if so, had I been suspected of his death? Naturally, Dill Tregargus would think of me; but would Tie tell of his meeting with me? Then, again, would Ruth feel ii her duty to denounce me as a murderer, even hough J had saved her from the. most horrible fate imaginable? 1 knew how great was her sense of right ; 1 knew, too. how much she had loved me, and 1 did not know what course she would take. But novel one ray of light, or hope, or comfort camo in the thick darkness. Sometimes I was tempted to drown my troubles in drink, but 1 remembered my father's death, and retrained from doing so. Again I was tempted to seek forget fulness in what was unworthy, but 1 rememboied Ruth and was saved from that. Due day, about a, year after I had left Salanibo, the vessel in which I was sailing arrived at Smyrna. Towards evening we were at liberty to go into the town, and J, as usual, strolled away alone. I had not gone far when, lying on the side of the .street. 1 saw a little crippled child who had apparently lost its way, or was in some trouble, for it was sobbing billeily. J came dose and lifted the child to its feet, and as 1 did so caught sigh! of its lace. It was a little girl about live years old. She was by no means pretty; on the contrary, her lace was almont evil, and for a moment I felt like passing on without taking further notice, when lite prayer which had constantly been on my lips of late came to my mind." Hitherto 1 had received no answer to it, but now J fell that I. loved this little crippled, ugly child. In my constant visits to this coast I had picked up a smattering of Greek, so 1 spoke to the little maiden, and asked her where she lived, and without, hesitation she told me. Willi a, strange feeling in my heart 1 took her in my arms, and carried her in the direction of her home. As 1 walked on I met some of my crew, who laughed to see me with my strange burden, but 1 did not mind, nay, rather, 1 rejoiced because of what 1 was able to do. And all the while I continued to breathe this prayer, " Lord, help me to love." We reached her home at length. A .miserable place it was, and 1 found out that, the little maiden had no father. lie had died a lew months before, but .-he had a brother and sister, both younger than herself, who lived with their mother. 1 did not stay long, although 1 fell a strange feeling of pity for the poor, desolate ones. but 1 left sonic money with them and walked away alone. And now I am going to write what may be regarded as strange. The love and pity which I, felt for the little child grew until my heart warmed towards the pour and desolate everywhere, and then, involuntarily. J. caiiL'ht myself thinking of my brother j Wilfred. Without realising what 1 was do- | jog. 1 remembered sonic of our boyish freaks. 1 I thought of, the happy days we' had spent j together, and of the .times we had knelt side by .side and prayed: and in a moment ,1 knew that, the. hatred I had ielt for WilI lied was gone. Uod had answered my .prayer; 1 had learned to love, and to love i my.enemy. ' . Do imagine that my burden was gone when .1 felt this. The memory of that terrible- night became more vivid but I way changed. 1 was not the man I was on the

night when I. madly nestled With my brother. God had answered my prayer, and in doing so He had changed me. 1 went; back to the vessel a, new man, with new feelings, new desires, new- aspirations. Night came on again, and still the vessel remained iii the harbour at Smyrna. I. sat ttu the deck alone, looking sometimes at the lights of the town, and again, at the moonlit sea, still longing and praying for rest. Hour after hour I remained, until my heart grew so sad that I began to realise a misery as great almost as that I had known before (lie hatred I hud for my brother was taken away. "Oh, God, what shall I do'.' - ' I cried at length. What was it that answered me? A voire from heaven, was it my own heart? All I know is that, sounding from I know not where, 1 heard the words, "Go home!"

I felt 1 could not do this. I could not bear to go back to the scenes of my misery and sin. I should be ever swing the dead face of my brother; there would be less rest for me there than here. And it would not be safe to do so. Perhaps even now the officers of the law were in— But I would not- think of that.

All though the night I struggled and prayed hut ever in answer came the same dread message :

"Go home. Confess your sins.'' At length strength came; at length the battle was fought. I made up my mind to go home, to give myself tip to the officers ot the law as my brother's murderer, and in a moment the burden was gone, and 1 was a heo man.

1 will not try to describe with what feverish anxiety J made my way hack to lingland. 1 only know that some secret power seemed to 'be urging me back; and although I felt I. was going to my death, 1 was glad when I landed in Falmouth Harbour.

Once on my native .soil my love for life became strong, and 1 had to tight my battle over again, or I should have had to do so if 1. had allowed mysell time lo think of it; but 1 stilled all thoughts of escape, and hurried on to mv old home.

When 1 arrived .viUiin a mile or so of Ttewiuion. 1 paused, and began to ponder as to what course would be best. Should J. go to the village constable. Philip rinch? i knew him well as a lad, and had seen him when 1 had been home the year before. Or should I go straight to 'lie old house on the cliff, and there, before mv mother and servants, confess my sins'.'

The desire to see the old place was so strong that I determined to take the latter course, If .1 surrendered myself to Philip Finch T should be taken at once to the lockup, and thence to Bodmin Gaol, while if L went home .1 should have one more sight of the old rooms which 1 had not seen for more than eleven years.

And so, with fast-beating heart and limbs trembling, I hurried onward. Feverishly I opened the postern door which admitted me into the grounds surrounding the house, anc" then, with a- pain at my hear! which no words can describe, I went i.;". 0 the towei entrance and rang the bell.

CUAFTFR XXVII. WITHIN TUB OLD HOMK. And he who has not learned to know How false its sparkling babbles show, HoW bitter arc the drops of woe. With which its brims may overflow, lie lias not learned to the.

The prayer of Ajax was for light; Thronpli all that dark and desperate fight The lilackne'S of that noonday night. He a-Ucd but the return of sight To see bis Iceman's face.

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, Where floats the fennel's hitter leaf: 'the Wattle of oar life is brief. The alarm, the strnKclo. the relief, 'I hen sleep we side by side. LONGFELLOW

Kleven long years. Yes. it Mas that since 1 had last stood by the hall door. 1 had left it with a mad passion in my heart, with tierce grief raging within me: I returned saddened by sin. stained by crime, yet subdued and repentant. 1 could not help thinking of this as the bell danger" within the wide ball ami echoed through the silent house, while memories of the old Jays Hashed like lightning through mv excited brain. How singular it was, that T. the rightful owner, should stand ringing for admission like a stranger, and move singular still it seemed at the time, that 1 should for long years have been a wanderer away from the home of my lathers. And I stood there as a culprit. I was about to enter my home only to conic out a prisoner, a man accused of an awful crime, i was not sure if they would hang me. for his death was an accident. I did not bull him from me; he slipped from my hands in spite of me, and yet murder was in my heart.

And thus I stood at my own door after clever years of weary wandering, of lonely agony, of God-forsaken life, waiting excitedly, yet with a numbing pain at my heart," for the meeting with my mother. Ah, how should 1 look her in the face when she asked me for her sou; how should 1 withstand her withering scorn, her terrible wrath? It was evenlime. and the October winds had shorn much of the foliage from the trees, what remained being russet 'brown. The wind, too, as it,played amongst lh« shivering leaves, told only" a tale of decay and death. At length I heafrd a step along the stone corridor, an aged step, as though the one who came was weary and tired. All this 1 noted as I stood waiting while the door opened. It was relet Rolperrow, who had been, servant of Trewiniou long before 1 was born. lie looked at me with some astonishment, not unmixed with fear. "Whom do volt want to see. sir'.'" lie asked. " Mis. Trewiniou," 1 said. He eyed me from head to foot, as if afraid that by admitting me he should be doing wrong. " L cannot admit a stranger," he said at length, " and I cannot let you see. my mistress until I know who you are." " Is she well?" I asked. Again he seemed to wonder why I should ask such a question, -and he answered sadly : "Yes, considering all things; but what is that to you'.' Who are you and what do you want?"' 1 suppose I was mil id' a veiy prepossessing appearance. Like most of our race. 1 was large, and strong, Villi: my clothes were somewhat coarse, and my hands were own and bare. 'then my face was covered with a huge brown beard, and 1 war, tanned by long years of exposure to sea air. "Take mc to some room where we call talk together, l'cter Polpcrrow," I said. "Peter I'olperrow !" repeated the old man. "Who are you that you know my name?'' "I will tell you soon, l'cter," I answered ; " meanwhile lead me to Mr. Roger's old room. 1 will promise you no harm." "Master Roger!" repealed the old man; "he hits not been here for long years. He has gone a way, God only knows where, and 1 suppose he'll never return any more. Rut what do you know of Master Roger?" "Lead'me there and I'll tell you, I can tell yen many things you would like to know."

Me seemed to be staggered tit my ""ids. "Do vou know him?" he risked. " Yes.'" " Have vou seen him latch?" "Yes." New life seemed to come into his withered, aged form, a new interest came into his aged face. "Seen him! When, oh! when did you see Mi, Roger?''. "1 have been with him to-day." Still ihe simple old mail did not catch my meaning. He evidently could not think that 1 was linger. " Where did you see him? When is he coining home':" he asked anxiously. "Take me to his room and I'll tell you." Without another word he led me to the room I used to call mine, I feeling a kind of shiver at, I stood within the walls of the old house. At length we were alone, bill ii was dark there ; we could scarcely see each other's faces. "(let a light, L'ete'r," 1 said. He hobbled away, and soon returned with a candle, revealing the furniture of the :.ooni just as I left it years before. " No one has slept here since Mr. Roger left," said Peter tremulously. "1 don't think that anyone dare that knew him, and certainly no one should with my consent." " No Vine but me, Peter,' 1 said.

" What, do you mean? Who are you, and—arid when did you see Mr, Roger? Tell me quickly." " Peter," I said, "does nothing tell you? Hold the light to my face and then think. Have you never seen me before''"

The old man held the candle as I had desired him, and looked steadily at me, but there was no flash of recognition, no look of joyous surprise. "I doan't remember; I never seed 'ce before."

He said this dreamily, and in so doing relapsed into the old Cornish vernacular. "Look again, Peter. Remember how Wilfred and I used to wrestle on tho headland. Remember how I frightened you by telling you that Deborah league had illwished you. Think of an awful storm, and that wreck on the "Devil's Tooth," and of the young lady I saved. Can't you recognise me now''"' Then old Peter knew me, and tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.

"Oh! Master Roger;" he said, "thank Cod you've come home; hut to come like this, to come home as a—" But he could say no more; he sodded like a child.

He had heard then. Somehow it must have been rumoured abroad that 1 had killed my brother, and so my presence was painful to him. Perhaps Bill Tiegaigus had told that he had seen me, and heard me vow vengeance. Perhaps Ruth had in a moment of madness revealed the terrible truth!

"Do you think my mother will see me, Peter?'' 1 said to the faithful old servant, as gently as 1 could. "Oh, Mr. Roger." he sobbed, "you was so young, so beautiful, so happy in the old days, and 1 always looked forward to you becoming master, and servin' you till J died, and now to see you come home like this, a-ringin' at the door, wlieu you should have walked straight in, and to be asked questions by me when——"

"Never mind, Peter," J said, "it cannot be undone now ; but still you won't mind doing something lor me now, for the sake of old davs."

"Do! I'll do anything," he cried. "I'm going down 'to the library," I said ; "will you go and tell.my molhei to come there? But don't tell her it. is 1 who want to see her. Simply say that a stranger is asking for her." 1 found my way into the library. Candles which cast a, flickering light were placed on the table, making the room ghostly enough. How well. 1 remembered the old place, ami how memory afte. memory came back to me as I waited there. J often thought of the time my lather had led me there on my' fifteenth oirthday, and told me.of the curse of my race, and main- other tilings which seemed to have cast. a.' shadow over mv life, 'then I thought, of how terribly his words had been fulfilled. The story of the curse was no meaningless jargon. It contained awful truths, which had been fulfilled in me. And yd I was not Jure. Perhaps what had happened was the simple outcome of broken laws; perhaps Trcwinion's curse was an old wives' fable. Still, the truth thai; my life was cursed was ever before me. I felt that even then I was, humanly speaking, branded with the hand of Cain. Cod had forgiven me, but man never would ; the sin of my life could only be wiped out by yielding myself up to the hands (if justice' And this I had come home to do. 1 was waiting there to tell my mother that I had murdered her dearest son, that ] had taken all joy and brightness from her lit'.;-, and then, having brought the greatest sorrow a son can bring upon a mother, I would go to meet my righteous judgment. (To be continued m Wednesday next)