Island.

Otago Witness, Issue 1161, 28 February 1874, Page 20

Island.

BY ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE.

I cannot say when I first began to feel th.3 change that had come over me. 1 had liked my work ; was earnest in my wish to improve ; knew that I was improving. Gradually I became listless ; could not fix my attention on anything ; found myself idling away my time ; looking at nothing, thinking of nothing ; with a dull heavy head, and body ill at ease. I had better state at once that I was not in love. The most trivial thing — a carriage passing in the street, a fly buzzing on the window pane — was sufficient to attract my attention. I was specialy attracted by other people's conversation, which was curious, because if there was one sort of sneak that I had despised more than another, it was an eavesdropper. One day I heard a firm voice say, in the inner office ([ was an attorney's clerk), <c It matters nothing, sir. The place is mine ; and if I choo3e to let it run wild, that is my business. If you will not prosecute these people, I must employ some one who will."

Simple words enough. " These people " had evidently been trespassing ; and our senior partner (as kind-hearted a man as ever stepped) had suggested that, as " the place — whereverit was — was uncultivated, they had done no positive harm. And yet, all that night, that firm voice rang in my ears ; and the idea that I was to be prosecuted took possession of me. I was going to be hanged for trespass ! I knew that this was an absurdity, but still I was going to be hanged. No ;it was not a nightmare. I was wide awake. I could not sleep. My bed turned round with me, slowly, at first, making a ring of phosphorescent matter in the air as it swung. My head ached frightfully. I burned all over. The walls of my room vanished, and I was whirling along in epace — always on my road to be hanged for trespass. Then I sank — sank slowly j and as I sank, the pain and burning passed away. I was on an island shaded by great willows, whose silver bark shone in the sunshine, and whose quivering leaves made dreamy music overhead. Violets and primroses bloomed around on the grass, made more deliciously green and cool to my aching eyea by the feathery ferns which nestled in every little hollow. But, 0, the wash of the water, as the river swept along besid© me 1 The placid calm of the dteep pool that curdled at my feet ! The soft slow waving

of the reeds ! No word 3 can paint the delight I felt. No pain, no horrid whirling, no fear. Nothing but rest ; deep cool green rest, with the murmur of the leaves and the ripple of the stream for a. lullaby. I had brain-fever, from over work they said. It had been creeping over me for some time, and at last struck me down. For days I had raved about some crime I had committed. For weeks my life was in danger. Just before I sank, weak and tortured, on that blessed little isle, I fancied I heard some voice say, " Thank God !' : I had awakened from a natural sleep, and it was my dear sister's voice. When our poor mother died, I was astrong boy of ton ; and Mary was "the baby," often left in my charge whilst our father, a hard-working barrister, attended to his business. Before she was fourteen our position was reversed. I was a hopeless cripple, and she my nurse — my friend, my comforter, my second mother. I have heard that cripples are envious of health and beauty in others. For myself, I can only say that, if I were to describe Mary, you would think that I was a lover painting my mistress. Well, she is my only love, my ideal, and concentration of all that is beautiful and winning in woman — my patient tender sister. She floats, rather than walks, about the house ; and the vory air that surrounds her is charged with peace. There is music in her voice, hope in her soft brown eyes, and pain sinks deadened under the touch of her gentle hand. My father was a learned and a laborious, but, in worldly matters, a carelesa man. Mary and I had little more to live on than we could earn. I got thirty shillings a week in the office of Messrs Bradley and Tirr, and she gave lessons in drawing and music. Mr Bradley was very kind. Though it was nearly three months before I could return to "my duty, he never filled up my place ; and the parents of Mary's pupils were just as considerate to her during the time when she could not leave my bedside. It was all done for her sake— every one loved her.

We often talked about my sensations during that frightful illness — especially about that imaginary isle on which my fever-tossed mind had been flung, and where I had found such exquisite peace and repose. We called it Tangle Island, and made quite a little romance out of it. One Saturday afternoon, when I was nominally well, but wofully weak and spent, Sam Payne — one of my brother clerks, and a very good fellow in his way — came, and proposed to give us a row on the river. It would freshen me up a bit, he said. So oil' we sot — Mary and I and Sam ; he rowing, she steering, and I stowed away as comfortably as they could manage in the stern-sheets. It did freshen me up, and pleasant it was at first, bub there was no support for my poor back, and I got tired. Mary — who reads me like a book — found this out, and proposed that Sam should land us where there was some willow-trees and a nice grassy bank, upon which I could rest, whilst Sam went on to a mill about a mile and a half lower down, where he had to transact some business for his father.

1 was right glad to lie down, and Mary made me as snug as snug with the shawls, and pillow she had brought. " 0 Charley," she cried, when she had done, " look about you ! Would not thi3 do for Tangle Island ? " I had been in pain in the boat ; I was easy on the bank. I was steeped in pleasant green shade. There were violets, and ferns, and primroses around. There was a musical ripple of flowing water, a dreamy waving of reeds, a glint of sunshine upon a golden shallow, in which minnows flashed and darted— just as in my dream. I don't mean to say that the spots were identical. What I had seen in fancy was all much larger, and I felt that I myself had no size or weight, and floated rather than reposed. But theassociations were the same — above all, that of relief from suffering ; so that, in a little time, I blended the one into the other, and made them identical. "It would indeed, dear," I replied, " if it were an island at all." " I think it is," she said ; " I think a branch of the river runs on the other side. Let me go and see ; I will be back in a moment." She went, and returned with a bunch of forget-me-nots in her hand. " It is an island, sir, and just as pretty and wild as the one you described," she said, as she resumed her seat by my side. " I must take a sketch of it, and when you are a little more rested, you shall go to the other side and judge for yourself." She took her sketch— sho was bo quick and happy with her pencil— and, supported by her dear arm, I crawled to theother bank, where we found as nice a nook as that we had left. " Now is it your island 1 " asked Mary. " Yes, dear," I said, "it is my island." " The deuce it is ! " growled a harah voice behind us; k «I thought it wan mine." I We turned, and saw a man — a hard-fen-

tured man — of about thirty-five years of age, in a common brown shooting-dress and a straw hat, standing on a hillock in our rear. We were both so innocent of doing any harm, that after a momentary motion of surprise, we took no notice of the interruption, and Mary went on putting some touches to her sketch. " What are you doing here ?" demanded the stranger, in a gruffer tone than before. "My brother is an invalid, sir," Mary replied, moving a little nearer to me. " A friend took us out for a row ; but he could not endure the fatigue of sitting up in the boat, so we landed here." l( onmy property." "We did not think it was the property of any one in particular. It looks wild enough." " The old idle excuse for trespass," he cried passionately ; and then I knew him. He was the man whose voice I had heard in Mr Bradley 's office — the man who had insisted upon trespassers being prosecuted. " What is it to you," he continued, " how I may please to keep my land ?" " We have been here but a short time, and we will go directly the boat comes back," said Mary. I said something too at this point and at others ; but all that is worth repeating passed between him and Mary ; so I will not tell you what I said. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, after a pause. I think he was rather taken aback at my sister's coolness. It takes a good deal to convince a woman she is in the wrong, especially when she is acting for one she loves.

"Indeed I do not," she replied ; " and I——" " Well, go on," he said. " Excuse me. I was going to say something which I prefer to leave unsaid." "Why?" "In the first place because it would have been rude, and in the next because

17 " You are checking yourself again." "Do you really want to know my second reason ?" "Out with it." " Well, it is no use trying to punish a fish by throwing water on it. " " Meaning that I am so rude myself that I could not feel an insult ?" he observed with a grim smile. "You can draw your own conclusions," she replied earnestly ; " but excuse my remarking that all this agitates my poor brother, who is only just out of his bed from brain-fever. We are Borry we came. We will go as soon as we can. Will not that satisfy you ?" " What is his brain-fever to me ?"

"It might be something to you to know that this quiet place has brought a sufferer release from pain," she said quite earnestly ; but I saw her lip tremble. " Vastly fine ?" he sneered. " See to what such ideas lead. You march into my house, you eat my dinner, drink my wine, unasked, unwelcomed ; and when I venture to expostulate, you say, '0, we have conferred a favour upon you. We were tired, hungry, thirsty. We are better now. Won't you thank us for what we have done ?' "

"There is no similarity in the cases," said Mary, flushing up. "We have consumed nothing that is yours. This land, these trees, this grass and its wild flowers, may be your property ; but the charm they have, the feelings they invoke, belong only to the minds that appreciate them, to the hearts they touch. The charm is inexhaustible, the feelings ever new. They will be the same when we have gone. We have spoiled nothing, taken nothing, that is yours." " You have," he answered ; and as he spoke a strange change came over him. The hard lines of his face seemed to melt away, and his voice became almost gentle. " You have. You have robbed me of my Holitude. Can you not imagine a fever here, and here " — he touched his forehead and his breast — " which what you have named can assuage, and which any presence that breaks the charm sets raging V For the lirst time during the discussion Mary looked frightened. She rose quickly, and asked, "May I take my brother to land in your boat?" " And who is to bring it back again for me?" "I will." '• Then how are you to join him ? " It is not more than knee-deep at that point. I can wade across. It would be death to him to get wet, or we would both go that way. Let me have your boat." "That channel is not so shallow as you think. There is a place in the middle where the water would be up to your waist." "No matter." " And the current is strong." "No matter. I would do anything to get away." " From me ?"

" From this place. O, sir, let me have the boat! I can manage it, and will bring it baok in ten minutes." <{ No,"he said, after looking straight

into her eager face for a moment or two, " you shall not have the boat. What is that you've dropped ?" It was her sketching- block. He picked it up. " Another robbery ! You draw well, young lady." " Well or ill, it is my business." "Do you mean that you sell your sketches ?"

" I sell the drawings I make from them. " " Good again ! To my island, which I prize for its loneliness, is to be made public property ? A picture of it hung up in a gaudy frame, in some cheesemonger's parlour, to suggest a good spot for picnics ?"

"I can easilydispel that fear," said Mary, taking out her knife and proceeding to cut the sketch off the block. " You are going to tear it up V "lam."

" Nothing of the sort ; I claim it." And before she had the least idea what he was about, he snatched the now-sepa-rated paper from her hand. I was furious. Ah, me ! what it is to be a cripple ! I said some angry words, backing up Mary's indignant demand for the restoration of the sketch, but he took no notice of me.

" Give me this," he said to her, " and ye will cry quits about the trespassing." " On that condition, and if you will let me have the boat." " You shall not have the boat." "Then you shall not have the sketch." " You want two things for one. You are a sharp bargainer." " One is asked in your own interests. Our presence here is offensive to you. I do but ask the means of relieving you of it. ' ' "Suppose you were drowned wading across, what would people say of me ?" "I don't think you care much what people say of you. " " Isn't that rather rude ?" "Is it polite to snatch things out of a lady's hand ?" " What is this you have written under it ?" he asked, examining the sketch, and taking no notice of her last retort. " Tangle Island ! Why Tangle Island ?" " It would not interest you to know." "Teli me why, and you shall have the boat."

There was something so droll in this bargaining, that Mary could not help smiling. He smiled too. Then between vs — for after a little time he condescended to listen to me- we told him about my illness, my dream and its realisation. We had got about half through, when he sat down on the grass beside us. And as I told him that I did not often, even when well, get a glimpse of green leaves, and what a feast of healing and peace I had enjoyed in that quiet spct, he tookmy hand and said, " Poor fellow," quite kindly. " Tangle Island ?" he repeated when all was told ; " Tangle Island ! A good name, a better one than you think. There are more things connected with it in a tangle than its creepers and shrubs ; more things growing rank than its weeds. Tangle Island ! Tell me, would you like to see it over-run by a herd of vulgar picnickers, scattering about greasy scraps of newspaper and empty bitter-beer bottles, and trampling down its flowers playing kiss-in-the-ring. Somehow we did not answer, and he went on.

"If you were at war with yourself, and everything around you soured, dispirited, unhinged, would you not like to have such a place where you could come sometimes alone and think ? Think perhaps of the times when — did I say you might have the boat ?" "0, sir," said Mary, "do believe me when I say how sorry we are that we came.

" Look here," he replied, " let us make another bargain. Finish that sketch for me in colours — I buyiog it of you, of course — and you shall come here whenever you like. 1 won't disturb you." " You are very kind ; but — " "I'll have no buts,"he interrupted. " I like you to come — there !" "My good sir," Mary replied, with one of her dear merry laughs, " one does not have all one likes."

"You're right," he said, with a little of his old griraneßS, " one does not" "Besides," she went on, "remember your own words about asking two things for one. If I sell you the drawing, I have earned no right to come here." "Give it me, then." "It shall be yours. Call for it in a week at Mr Brownlow's, the stationer's atHillford." "YouliveatHillford?" "We do." " Why mayn't I call for it at your house ?"

" You can if you like. Ours is the last cottage on the London road, just before you come to the turnpike. " " You have not told me your name." "Waterton." " Your godfathers and godmothers gave you another," "For the use of my family and intimates only/ said Mary, a little ptjfliy.

"Good. Now I must introduce myself. lam John Tilsley, of the Grange, Marden — the man who prosecutes trespassers, and gets bullied in the newspapers for wanting to enjoy his own." " Now we may take your boat ?' asked Mary. "There is no necessity," he replied. "Do you think that I would have allowed you to carry out that mad idea ? Your friend was in sight when I seemed to agree. You will find him now on the other side. "

And sure enough at that moment we heard Sam shouting for us, and both started up to join him. " Are you going without saying ' Goodbye '?" asked the lord of Tangle Island. "Good-bye, Mr Tilsley," said Mary. " Good-bye, Miss Waterton, until this day week. " And so we left him. We found Sam looking very hot and tired.

" I've rowed like blazes, " he said ; "for they told me at the mill that this island belongs to old Tilsley, and he'd have prosecuted you like a shot, if he'd caught you." I don't know why he did not admit that he had caught us, but neither of us did.

Early in the next week — I think it was on Tuesday — Mrs Brownlow (of the Library) dropped in to tea, as she often did, and brought us good news. All Mary's drawings deposited with her for sale had been disposed of. Hitherto, we considered the sale of one in a fortnight as highly satisfactory, and here were five bought and paid for at one delightful swoop ! The fortunate purchaser, as described by Mrs Brownlow, was " a party in black, looked like a clergyman." Then we began to talk about things in general, and I asked her if she knew Mr Tilsley of Marden.

" Know him !" she said. " Lord bless you my dear, we've played together times and often as children. My mother was houskeeper at the Grange, and no one knows more about John Tilsley than I do. He was only a second son then, and grew up wild, they said. Leastwise, there was trouble between him and the Squire when he came back from Oxford, about money matters and that. And he wouldn't go into the Church, as his father wanted to ; and he made bad worse by falling in love with Miss Allen, daughter of the Vicar of King's Upton — him as was before Mr Starcross. ' Are you not content with having beggared yourself, you fool 1 ' the Squire roared, when Mr Allen came over and told him about it — 'but you must try and drag this girl into the gutter with you V My mother heard him say so, and she heard Master John's reply. ' You shall not speak to me in that way again, sir,' he said. And he was right. The Squire never spoke to him again any way ; for the next morning Master John was gone. But before he went — as we found out afterwards — he made his brother swear that he would help him with Fanny Allen — receive letters for her, keep up her heart about him, and all that. Master Will was very fond of his brother ; stood up for him to their father many a time, and got him out of lots of scrapes. Will swore he would do all he asked, and off went John to Australia, trusting him. Well, if you'll believe me, that sneak of a Will went and made love to Fanny on his own account, and married her. And there was John working away, making a fortune, and writing her long letters every month — which were never delivered — telling her how he was getting on, and that he would soon be back to make her his wife.

"Mydears, when those two brothers i met again, it was awful — awful. They well-nigh killed each other. Indeed, people did say that Master Will — he was the Squire then, for the old man died soon after John left — never did quite get over it. He died too within the year, and so John got the property. But, Lord, it's no use to him. He's regularly broken down and soured. There wasn't a merrier, more open-handed lad in the county than John Tilsley ; and when I hear people talking about his stinginess and his prosecutions for trespass, and that, I says, " You go through what he has, and see if you like it.'" " Badly as his brother behaved, it must be an awful reflection for him that he was the cause of his death," said Mary with a shudder.

" He'd nothing to do with his death — that was all gossip. Will died of rheumatic fever. John has no call to reproach himself for anything he's done." "And what became of the widow?" asked Mary.

"The less we say about her, my dear, the better," Mrs Brownlow replied. "Jilting one man, and marrying another for his money, was not the worst thing she did by a long way. " I asked her if Mr Tilsley was married. " Gracious no I" she said. " Why, he hates the very sight of a. woman, poor fellow I"

Mr Tilsley came on Saturday for hit picture of Tangle Island, and found fault with it.

"What do you mean," he growled,' "by putting in that boat with a crimßon cushion? It wasn't in the sketch."

Mary explained that amidst so muoh green she required a bit of contrasting colour to lighten it up. "I don't care," "he persisted. "I won't have it. It is not true. I wantthe place as it was that day. This thing" is not like my boat, or your boat, or any other boat :hat ever floated. Besides, it gives the idea that some one is there. "I hate any one to be there. I want the place as I like it — desolate."

Mary agreed to paint out the offensive incident, and set about doing so, as he | desired. I don't think she wanted him to i come again. When it was done, he gave [ another growl, and said : * " You're right. It does want colour," • "You have had your own way,' sir," she replied. I shall not alter it again. " " Will you do me another one of the other side ?" " I would rather not." "Why?" "I am not accustomed to be dictated to as to what I put in my drawings. Ido jmy best. If that is not good enough, they can be left alone." "I won't dictate. You shall anchor Noah's Ark there if you like." "With a portrait of the Bear enjoying the scene," she added, with a, malicious smile.

For a moment he looked puzzled, and then catching her eyes, which were full of fun, burst out into a laugh. " Thank you for that," hesaid, " It'sthe first laugh I have had for many a day. Yes, by all means put in the Bear. I suppose yon will dress him in a brown shooting jacket and a straw hat?"

Well, to make my story short, Mary agreed to paint him the companion picture, and he called so many times whilst it was in progress, that good Mrs Brownlow took me aside and warned me that people were talking about us. So when the picture was done, I gave him a hint that he was not to call again. I appealed to him as a gentleman, so far removed from our humble sphere as to be inadmissible as an ordinary visitor, not to compromise my sister ; and when he hesitated, I told him roundly that I would not let him do so. He made no reply. He only uttered a horrid curse, and strode away. The next thing we heard of him was that he had shut up the Grange and gone abroad.

Two years passed. Mr Bradley gave me my indentures, and dear Mary had made herself famous. Her pictures hung on the line at every water-colour exhibibition, generally with a ticket on them. We were prosperous and happy. We had a boat of our own now (with crimson cushions, if you please), and a man to row it, vice poor Sam Payne, to whom my sister had felt herself obliged to say "No." MrTilsley had left word with his steward that we were to go to Tangle Island as much as we pleased. Often we went to, and often talked of the "Bear ;" but Mary would not make any more drawings of the place. Once, when I proposed we should take a cold dinner there and spend the day, she replied, quite sharply, that I ought to be ashamed of myself for not respecting his feelings — referring, of course, to Bruin's denunciation of picknickers. I could not quite understand this, as Mary was hard upon him in many respects, when we were speculating what had become of him and what he was doing. 1 suppose that some time in every boy's life he has considered persons of the Giaour, Werner, and " Stranger " stamp as, heroes. Mary only thought them "great big sulkies" and had no patience" with John Tilsley as a great big sulky too.

She would make no more sketches of Tangle Island ; but drew from it an inexhaustible supply of studies — grasses, ferns, wild flowers, water-weeds, and what not — for her drawings. She dried and pressed these when they had served this purpose, and we had a fine collection of the flora of our favourite retreat.

We were sitting on that same bank where we were first caught trespassing, and again I began to wonder about Bruin.

" What can it possibly matter to us, dear," she said, " where he is sulking ?" " Don't call it sulking, Mary," I replied ; ' ' think of all he has been made to suffer. "

"That's no reason why he should curse and swear at people, make himself disagreeable, and beungentlomanly." " Ungentlemanly V "Yes; ungentlemanly. How did he behave to you ?" I sat and considered awhile, and then I said : " Mary dear, I sometimes think that he was so savage that day, because he liked to come to our house. " Muoh we had to attract Mr Tiletey of the Grange I"

"'"rielt almost "sure tKere "was an attraction there for him," I persisted. " MeaniDg me ? you dear old goose !' Bne answered laughingly, but blushing crimßon. " Precisely," I replied. She kissed me, and said I was a dreamer of dreams, and would never make a lawyer. " Upon my word," I said, " I think it is a pity your were not the man of the family. You are bo uncomantic — out of your pictures." "Don't be so sure of that," she answered ; "I romance a good deal about poor Bruin. He lias been badly treated, and there must be much that is good m him. He would not have given up the whole tenor of his life, gone out to Australia without a sixpence, and made a fortune for the girl he loved if there were not. Do you remember what he said about his mind having run rank and tangled like this island ? That idea, and his love for the solitude of the spot, show that his sorrows have not brutalised him, as some think, but have given his nature a twist which might yet be undone. I confess I should rather envy the woman who could untangle his thoughts, and let the sunshine in upon them— not for his Bake, you know," she added quickly ; " don't fancy that fora moment. I should envy her for curing him of a mental disease, just as I should envy another who had nursed some poor child through a fever, that's all. And now, having relieved our minds on this subject, let us forget Bruin, as he has forgotten us." "Agreed !" said a voice behind us. We looked round, and there he stood— in his brown shooting- jacket and straw hat— just as we had first seen him, but with a very different expression on his face. "Agreed!" ha said; "you shall forget Bruin " (a shadow of his old grimneßS came over him as he spoke the word) "as he has forgotten you. Have the good folks of Hillford done talking "They have had no cause lately," I answered. " They shall have plenty soon. I am going to be married." "Married !" we both exclaimed. " Yes, married. Why not ? There is a hand which, with a few magic touches, has taken all the tangle out of my mind. Do you" (thiß to Mary) "envy its owner] " You have been listening ! 0, how unfair ! " Mary cried. " Why not say ' ungentlemanly ! «• It was ungentlemanly. " •* Granted. But you have not answered my question." " And I don't mean to answer it. « I made a long struggle against those magic touches," he went on ; "felt my powers of resistance growing weaker and weaker, and hated myself for it; but somehow, when I had quite given way, I was contented. Don't you think that the woman who has dove this— for a woman it is— ought to be just a little proud of her work ? Don't you think that she has incurred a very serious responsibility ?" " I don't see that," Mary said. "No 1 What would you think of anyone who picked a half-drowned cur out of a pond, and restored it to life, and then flung it back to perish V "It is getting late, and we must go, Mary said, as she rose. "If it were midnight, you should not go until you have answered all my questions." . . "Mr. Tilsley, this is— this is— "Ungentlemanly ? Perhaps it is ; but when one is as much in earnest as I am, one cannot stop to be polite. Do yon envy the woman who has let sunshine into xnymindr " You overheard me say so, she replied, half crying with vexation. " Why make me repeat a foolish thing ?" "O, it was foolish, eh?" "Very foolish." "It was not," he said in a deep low voice, which trombled with emotion. "This, and what else you said of me, prove that of all the men and women I have known since— since 1 was made into a wild beast, you alone understand mo. Mary Waterton, youra is the touch which has untangled my mind ; yours the hand which ha* let sunshine into my lite. You have half saved me from the bitter, bitter waters in which all that was good in me was drowning. Have you theheartto throw me 'back Mary? It is not what I heard to-day that makes me speak thus. 1 came back to do bo. But what I have heard gives mo more hope than I have dared to entertain for two long miserable years. Here, on Tangle Island—" I don't know what more he said. I thought it high time for me to execute a strategic movement, which I did in. good order. I don't think either of them missed me. I stayed away for full half-an-hour (they said it was ten minutas). I was not even called back then ; but, really, it waa getting quite dark ; so I rejoined them, and found -well, that my ijuutw Mary vrw Queen of Tangle Xeland,

1 In" a few months she became mistress of the Grange, which soon won the reputation of being one of the pleasantest houses in England. Its master started a pack of fox-hounds, and was captain of the county eleven. There wasn't a more popular jolly fellow about than John Tilsley. There waa no change in my Mary — there could not be— for the better. Poor or rich, she was the same unaffected, straightminded, honest-hearted woman. "When the children are very good they are taken to play on Tangle Island ; about which I lately overheard tho following conversation : John. Pooh, pooh, 'my dear ! Let them picnic there, if they like. why shouldn't the poor people enjoy themselves ? Mary. They may enjoy themselves wherever they please, but they ehall not scatter greasy paper and bitter-beer bottles on Tangle Island. Dear John, that little iale is holy ground to me. It brought me the great happiness of my life. It is but a wee, wee spot: Do let us keep it sacred for ourselves and our children. And she had her way.