UNKNOWN

New Zealand Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 5802, 20 January 1906, Page 10

UNKNOWN

No fit,< l hriv« im,<p f ©*©<l th© ©xi«ten'o a chui'.h in tfuii if tit You w«nt n Daly avwiiUf. entered by a tj•*i<j gat« Jro/n t,h.- road. a gninu hnM. skirl©'] two of a cornfield. opened another gat©. and w*nt down. down, thr«»u>;h a tunnel of gr« n taifng©. At th* v©ry bcHtom, in A rup of the val Joy. you found the oharch. Thor© wituw a rlmrchyard pruning up to lb© g r*Y gab nf tfi* /-him;);. The newer portion of the chun hj.»rd lay beyond, neuter The tureen t '<> Ui*fi »■ i<j si Tb«r© w&a red earth thcr© where a nr>w gravo had been filial yesterday, PeopU approached the church by different ways. The wavs were oovend in, lurk with Joafogw. Tbore wa« iaijnet.fi ng very wurie about the place. 'Ho- Mutter of u bird in the irr was enough to ulairtio a nervous person. There w;.u» »mch an molaUon of ilw dead from the living. Iho rhurch wa/1 cloned all Un 1 .vr>k. Only on Sunday did the foot, rttopse of the liviruf eotjnd there. uu;<>« st migli! b« it funeral, or a wedding, or a chnwleuing, or perhaps a curious. Mitfot-eKj.diiif rttranjfwj. Such a one wus Hugo Dampior, doing a Military tramp through Surrey and Buahqx, with a on his hack tor all luggage, spending hirf nights, taking hm mauls at ians or cottage*, enjoying hiiiHualf hugely m bia irtoJalmn. lie wan a Unely-nalund person, The girl lw> lovid had b«*©n taken from b:m on tha eve of their wedding. It h.ul no? •mbittomi hia nature, ihi» immens© loaa*. I.Hit it had made him fond of bis own company, of solitude in which Muriel 'a eyes and voice could be with him. unciij*lurbt*f by the interrupt on of other people. Hu was not unhappy any longer. Ho wan placid, and. in a manner of apeaking, content, now that life sn it appeared to other men was over lor him—at thirty-thi ©e. A pink /rocked child had pointed him tho way fo the church, having been won out of her first ‘♦by wpeoohittssineiii. He h/wl sent her running to her mother with a great treasure of a shiver sixpence. Ha children. ll was a thousand pitien that a man like him bold himaolf bound (o thobe chill aup Mnl« of the dead. Ho had no groat enrknuty about the ehtiich. liits guide-book indicated nothing of internet excepting one of the most ancient vew-treep in England, whi.oo rivon trunk troa great enough to contain ji little hous© where the sexton’s* srpadffi and rakes and brooms were locked away. 'The architect was uninteresting, and he wim an architect by •prt'fewnon. After th© child had left him he herniated us to whether he should climb down into fhat cup of the valley to vuat the parj&h dTiurch of ukoburst after all. The evening MayYn B©yon<! tho rolley tho hill wiis purple an a empphiro tgjunat a Ixusißiiant sky. The ear’h's annoor awring in a soft wind, breathing Pdotira of lilac and may ami honeymcklo. Th© c<*ol Mweetncm was dr- \ ligbtial. He had found the inn close at hand whore ho should sleep that nighty or waken to boar tho eong** of the nightingale. Id the ahadow of the Irll the fields were golden, tho drop gold of buttercups, the pale gold of tho charlock. Such an axquitfite lino the hill had ngainM the peaceful okv. Thor© wiw not a wound but tho singing of birds. When hr had Boon the rhurch he would k i » back to the Inn for h«« nuppor of cold meal and broa-1. and choose and bom - , and to sleep in a quaint attic, heavily beamed, with hcnoywurklo to the eavcv* —if the nightingalos would let him sleep. ll© whintlod woftly to himwelf jwi hr went down tho field path. Hin renuncia-

‘ion of the moiTal joys of life hod brought him n cheerful quietness. lie (vniked ruiiml the church, |in»il down 'iv the height of its roof, still whistling. 11 wn here tho shadows had it all ilien nwii way. The hill blotted mil >l’e clear Hinting of tho citron-cob,urod -ky. Ah. th"r<* i>»» the tron! He slopped iver graves to reach it. Ho had no fear of -foa h since the grace held nil hi.-* hopes. Vet he wiui startled when n voice came from the tree, a woman's voice. (''nr a v v ml he thought it iv a a Muriel's. It him l ines in it like Muriel's., "Who are you?” the voice cried imploringly, "Can yon get mo out? I am loekid in the troy.” Locked In the tieo! For a tnoiiien* he had whinmical thoughts of hntmt-

Elryads: but they were the joyous creatures of tho twilight of tho world in which there wan no death. Ho approached iho tree, and passed his hand over the door. "How did you get Incited in tho tree?" lie asked. He had the oddest (a rise that Muriel waa Uieto. at the other side qt the door. ‘ "I wn idi etching it. and I stopped inside. Then tho wind slammed the door, and when I tried to got out it was kicked. 1 have boon hero four hours, and no ono haa come. I have shouted myself hoareo. I was terrified at the thought of being bore all night with the graves all about mo." "Poor child!” he Bald conipasnionato-' ly. "It in horrible to bo frightened. Are you euro you cannot unlock tho door on your side? There i» nothing on this side but a keyhole, no sign of a key." "X have tried over and over again. It must bo a spring lock. There is no ■way oX opening it unless wo have tho key." "Why. that is easily got." he said. ‘T grill go as quickly as 1 can to tho village, find out who has tho koy. and release you." Ho had turned to go on hhi errand. Ho remembered bow in hie college days ho had boon a famous runner. He wondered bow long it would take him to do a bit of atfrinting to tho village and bock to release tho tree’s captive. lU> had something of eagerness to see tho face of tho girl whoso voice was like Muriel’s. For a long time he and eagerness had boon strangers. Ho had taken a few steps from the tree when n dolorous cry recalled him. •TTtrn are not going to leave rac here te tho dark among the dead?" the voice said. "It is not dark," he answered, gently. "There is still the afterglow in the •western sky. but the hill shuts it out. I shall be hack as soon aa I pceoibly can." "Don’t leave me." "My child, how am I to got you ont tf 1 don’t leave you T“ "I was nearly mad with fear when you came. Did you see the now grave over there? The man who lies in it hanged himself on Tuesday. Don’t leave me." * « a The obscurity was greater in the churchyard. Soon it would be quite dark, the short darkness of the summer night. Ho felt no at the girl's uureartjnablonesa. Muriel had been a nervous creature, easily terrified. There was no hardship in being in the >pcn this night of May. Still. » thought came to him that it was not usual for girls to ai>«nd the night out of doors He had lo be careful for her. "What will thev think of your not returning?” ho naked. 'Tour people. I mean. Isn’t there somebody who will be wild with fear? You had better let me lock for the key." "1 have no one. I am staying at an old woman’s cottage in the village, I have been sketching the country, bicycling hither and th'ther. Sometime*! when I have gone too far X have slept atari inn and not returned till next day. At 10 o'clcck Mr* Fitt will blow out her candle and go to bed. She will have made up her mind that 1 am not coming hack." "If you won’t let me go for the key I must see if I can’t herd the door and its lock,. I am only afraid cf hurting you. Will you stand back as far tut you can?" "There is only room to stand upright." j Dumpier whistle*!. 1

I '’Ah and t]*wn- op*mi -nw«.rd »»< I xnunt on idea of ■ r rh« voice n-uCird by th** wood of t.ho ; door n»jt mor f - ev ;r I. kc Munel h. 'i i’fre *fui ii p*h!i f n tefulenn'iw to ]»!.* h«-»rl. !!'• f*'<- ; ui though Muriel w«i* ! s.herc. th» d».or, in mortal I©r*‘po not b.p nlr.»id." h«- f-iid. and Vr’jwj a pj[-’;uofi!i•uity in hi« tonca. “1 am not go;n” tu leave you. n*»t till the •un !'•> not b»> afraid.'* • "j ivi.-h I fould j**i you,” said the Hr struck a n.aJch A;>d it flared Up. ‘T f-.tf, th»* light.” the voice caid •r>yotifrklr. “ Hi'; top of th© 'lfj’jt. l-'ortumirnlv it h‘-> biwliy.” "Vom !r» I* thing' Must you •Lfind b*>lt uppiPitl 1 nightr •h'* wall. Th“ divort.fort _ it nothing. grown qu u.‘W<, to it. Af! rr the terror »i the night among tho dead it is* hk«* Il©av»*n kntov that you are th'*re. You won’t away, and leave “1 won’t awuy and leave you. Shake fingo-rw on it. I I ca.n pet I),; fing f, t k . in ov<t ?ho top oi tha jp>>r.’ lie ciimbod into the f</rk of f.h« y«»w | tree, and. b-Uiing down, folt for the jin fa rst.hv* and r»hp(/<«l his fur/ors ! 'i’hev touch* I **! by olhej--1 t'Oft .ih a rose-lejif; and the touch ' fl.nlbH him • ddlv. . "You won’t b' ufmid to blaj* in the I ohurehvani all night r” said the voice ! eirw. Uj hi© car. j “No! in the legist. lam ho glad, an • grateful 1 came t.his way. 1 ‘ am g-jng to »it down on th© old flat • jtiHt f.udng ihia. I have | -spirnt tin* night in more uncomfortable j rirmiii ''lano-H.” I •‘You won't fall AHbyspP" j IU- laughed at tlia misgiving in her Vlijns. *T imv© .vcvarn and yean* ill which to j ho said. ’T promise you I j rdiall k<M«p awake.” ! “Will arivono mi.-vi voaP" j "No <m.> will miss mo. Like youra*!r. I !iin in the country for my please re.” ”1 have a holiday.” The voice bad n little prde in it. "X work very hard all the year.” “What do you do?”

Th© fork of the tree won capacious. Ho kittled himself in an easy attitude to listen. Her voice cam© up to hm ear, .-oil, with mui tones in it. like Muriel’s voice. “1 write storic*. Perhaps you know my name, Mur ©I Gsuxoigno. I have a fteriftl in tho ‘Daily Prattler/ It hm* been running for three It rather bn.ko me down, but they wouldn’t let me leave oIT. It ui trying, having to keep the excitement up for eo long. Hut I have closed down now. I said 1 couldn’t keep tho villain alivo any longer.” So «ho was abjo Mnriol. He was so aniazod al tho coincidence thnl he hardly took in what sho wjis telling him about her feats of authorship. “And you?” she askwj, ”1 am a man without a history. I am an architect, but I don’t do much at ;ny profusion. I havo enough money to do without it, and to gratify my lastct, which are Himpio enough, except that 1 1 collect bric-a-brac, furniture, silver and pi into, m a small way.” “oh,” glia tatul. and there waa a Utile nuHtoro reproaoli in h«r voice that doEghU\.l him. "Hut you ought to take d<v light-in work. You aro young, arch’t you? Your voice ;-ouuds young. You oughtn't to ho contenlo<l to live on your money.” “I wasn’t once/’

"Why are you nowf" lie had not. talked about Muriel to hi* dearest friend. His lovo for hor hiul lin'ii all reticence. Now ho could not toll what impelled him to answer os he did. " Because—l lost the woman I was to have married. She wan another Muriel, She took m'- foothold in the world with her. Since she left ! have had no ahidne place. One half of me is dead, yeti M-e. one half of mv bodv and my soul." A, he -aid It he had a feeling an though the youth in himself cried out ainins! th > hitter aynfenco he bad paas--d on it. "1 am sorry." raid the voice at his ear; and then there wart silence between th ru for a while. After that pam-e tho talk recoinon need. A hie white moon hunt! above the churchyard now: presently nightingale,; he;riin .11 all the coppices. They were singing at their wild-vU, while he lis'encd to Muriel (!a. o gne's simple stoi c. Nothing con'l have been nimplier. lonelier. She had had only her father, and In- v.-ae dead. While he lived she had striven to .-.implement her dernier irt-un-e hv doing i v-pewriting. In typewrit ntt the manuscripts of authors «he had discciyeml a faculty for weaving tales of wonder herself, and she had been sneco-rtfiil in a way. "It isn't literature,” she said; "yet I’ve heard two girls talk about 'The lieautiful Fiend'— that's my 'Prattler' ■dorv —in a ’bus. and they said it was lovely. It has brought mo in a hundred and fifty pounds." "That is success." ho raid, keeping the smile that wan on h:s lips out of his voice.

After midnight tho talk dropped, fin illy conned. He bad an idea she waa asleep, even in her (handing jxwition; ami once or twice he nearly dozed himself, and started awake, hearing her , non voice call him in a sudden terror. "Sleep, if yon can." he said to her at last. "I give you my word that I shall not leave you. Very Boon now it will ho daybreak. T can see already a pale lino in tho East.” A few minutes later, loaning to tho open space at tho top of tho door, he hen is! her regular breathing and waa filled with a groat joy. It was aa though Muriol had boon given back to him. was oloso at hand, a warm, living woman, and not tho gentle ghost who had amilod at him from tho other side of the grave. For tho time ho yielded, to bin jov. reminding himself at the same time that tho morning would bring his waking. Ho would discover that this Muriel wan not tho least bit in the world like the Muriel ho had lost. Tho enchantment of tho night would begone, and the day would have no illusions. He must have slept nt tho last, for ho started up suddenly to broad daylight. The early morning sun waa shining on tho dow of tho grave gm »«-•-■). All tho birds were singing in fall chorus. Ho felt cramped and uncomfortable. Aa ho climbed ont of tho tree she called to him. "AVhat o’clock is it?" Something jingled at his foot. "Half-past four, and I have found tho kev. It lay at our feet all tho time." He put the key in the lock and turned it. It was like tho dreams como back in which Mur cl had been his again, while ho had told himself all the lime that it was a dream and a cheat, holding tho r-kirta of his joy with bofh hands brenuao he know they were slipping from him. He opened tho door, and she came ont blinking into the strong sunlight. "How good you have been to mo!" she said. They wore Mnriol’a words to him as ! ho sat fanning her in that last illness, j TTiis girl was about Muriel’s height; she | was slender in her white frock with its i broad green sash. Her eyes and her 1 heir were of a red-brown colour. There I were a few freckles on her pale skin. She had a soft, pale red mouth, like [ Muriel's. Her expression wu.a simple and innocent, t •• Po not forgot, me." Muriel had said las she lay dying: "but remember that where 1 ntn I shall be glad of your joy. .Above nil thbigs 1 want you to He happy \ without tut.” I Well, he had theught that he had nt- . faired h.a:ipif;e.-.s in that nenelesa. supi Ic-B living. Now hi.-* heart began to ■ beat in his side .a. though its beating 1 had been suspended for long. ■We shall nor j 0..-,. sight of e.arh otlmr for ever, we who Slave become . friends in ono night." ho mid. "Wo S .are both such lonely people." "Yew." she answered, .and he f.uv her [ breast flutter. "Wo are both such lono-

'.r pAnd w«* i?ha'l aoi ;(/‘A •:gbt Tv-un. in “M.A.P.”