Set in a Silver Sea,

Otago Witness, Issue 1489, 29 May 1880, Page 24

Set in a Silver Sea,

Byß. L. FAEJEON.

Chapter XU. Margaret's Diary. FTER a lapse of eight peaceful years the wound I received when a girl by the loss of my darling Clarice, and which but for my dear husband and his father would assuredly have caused my death, has been suddenly and strangely torn open. Not that it is possible I could ever forget Clarice. No ; to the last hour of my life she will be with me in spirit, loved and mourned with all the earnestness and strength of which my nature is capable. But the love of my family and the wise counsel of Matthew Sylvester, whom I now call father, have brought to my soul a certain resignation which has contributed to my enjoyment of life and has enabled mo to f ulUi ils duties. For the living have claims upon me as well as the dead. My husband, Paul, our father the good Matthew, and my two dear children Joseph and Gabrielie, are constantly with me, filling my life with cares and joys ; and now there is another, a stranger, a child called Evangelino, who has made my heart bleed afresh. The years that have passed since I lost Clarice seem to melt away, as though they had never been ; all the incidents of my early life paas vividly before me, with the f-iroo of actual presentments, and at timea I feel that Clarice id by my side, and that 1 have but to turn to clasp her onco more in my arms and to hear her aweefc voice address me by the name of Marguerite. Are these impressions the

result of chance thought, or of aforgotten dream, or are there mysterious influences in our lives which sway our moods in defiance of existing circumstance, mocking reality with shadowy hopes or feara which may bring joy or despair to our hearts 1 "It is night. Our children and Evangeline are asleep ; my husband and father are absent, and will not be home till late. I have often intended, for my own guidance, to place upon paper a brief statement of the events affecting myself that have occurred during my residence in this place, together with such impressions and fancies as have strongly affected me. I will take advantage of the present opportunity, and will write down aa clearly as I am able a record of what has passed since I first set foot upon the shores of the Silver Isle. " From my window I can see the fateful mountain with its snow-clad crown, shunned by all on the isle, because of the fearful story connected with it. The legend of Evangeline and the two brothers was related to me soon after my arrival on the isle ; I waa strangely fascinated by it. By some untenable process of thought I connected the fate of Evangeline with that of my dear siater Clarice; there is no explainable reason for the connection except that they were both young and fair and dearly beloved, and met their fate through treachery. Looking out now, I see a shadow moving up the heights. I cannot clearly discern the figure, but I know it to be the shadow of Ranf the deformed, who brought the child Evangeline to this peaceful land, and left her in my care. No other being would have the courage to tread the upward path. " I think but for my urging, we should have remained in the old world, and might at this present moment be foll©wing our wandering life. But the accounts of this isle related to me from time to time by Matthew Sylvester took a powerful hold of my imagination. The land he described waa more like dreamland than reality, and it waa at my earnest solicitation we came. I was harassed by the uncertainties of our career ; our fortunes were too often at a low ebb, and I expected in a few months to become a mother. I thought it would be a happy augury for my child te be born in a land of peace, within hail of kind souls who, if anything happened to me, would for the sake of Matthew protect the innocent being from the storms of the world. So, with many a sigh (for there had been happiness as well aa anxiety in our days) we bade adieu to old associations, and turned our faces hitherwards. " The manner in which we were received did not please me, and I was beset by feara that I had been unwise in my desire. The isle was fair and beautiful, but there was a restraint in the bearing of the islanders, who, while welcoming Matthew Sylvester and my husband as friends having a claim upon them, appeared to regard me with coldness. Stranger as I was, I thought they should immediately hold out to me the cordial hand because of my relations with the Sylvesters. In this I was unroasonable. It was natural that they should wait to learn from personal experience whether I was woithy of their friendship, which, as I now know, once given is never withdrawn without just cause. The men and women of this isle are of a more simple and therefore higher nature than those of the countries in which my life had hitherto been passed. They do not live only for the hour ; the interest they take in each other is earnest and enduring, and I hold them in high regard. The feeling is mutual, I hope, but before I was satisfied of its existence on their part I was unhappy because of the uncertainty of my position. " The fault was in myself. I held my feelinga in reserve, and even when the women came to me, on the first night of our arrival, with gifts of food and offers of assistance, I received them, lam afraid, in an ungracious spirit, 'l hey did not, however, relax in their kind endeavours to make me feel at home among them. Still I waa not softened ; I experienced a kind of resentment at tho thought that I was in a certain way on my trial before the islanders. I expressed thia to my husband. " ' It will be honest, Paul, that I should show them the worst side of my nature They will not then be able to say that I practised deceit.' " ' Be yourself, Margaret,' replied my husband ; ' what you feel, show. But I 'think of all the places in the world this is the la9t in which a man should wear a mask, whether for attraction or repulsion. Do jvntice to U3 and to yourself.' " ' In what way V " 'By being natural.' " Upon Matthew's return on that first night from his long interview with hia friends, in which I understand he had given an account of our wanderings, and I doubt not somo flattering descriptions of me (which again caused resentment in me) he told us that the wolcome accorded to us was genuine and hearty, and that the house we now occupy wa« to be ours as long as wo chose to remain. It is a large and mo3t beautiful residence, perhaps the best on the Silver Isle, and the fact of its being given so generously should have convinced me of tho.goodness of the islanders ; but I waa in a rebellious, querulous mood that night. The house belongs to a gentleman named Mauvain, who sought refuge on the isle when he was in danger of his life through political troubles, and when ho left, after a bojourn of many years, he gave the islanders 'treo use of it until ho or somo porson authorisoilby him appears to claim it. 3n that event, although T shall be sorry to change my residence, having grown attached to the house, it will not be a j/i utter of nerious importance to us. Wo aio now in a position to build a house for

ourselves, having become so by our own labour. " That was a momentous question. How wore we to live 1 " ' We cannot eat the bread of idloness,' I said. " ' Surely not,' said Matthew, merrily. 1 "What then shall we do ? Make a start with drum and castanets ? How they would gape and stare to hear us mouth and rant ! We should have an audience, Margaret; the children would run after us all over the isle.' " •' And their mothers,' I said, with a grimace, ' would ever after lock them up tho moment we showed our faces. However, I believe I shall never be contented here until we show ourselves to your friends in our true colours. They must know us as we are, father. ' " 'lam of your mind, Margaret. Ido not intend to give up old ways entirely j T have my plans in more ways than one. But make your mind easy ; our path is clear before us. Trust Matthew Sylvester. He has not roamed the world for nothing. ' " Then he explained how hia father had beon a famous fisherman, and had taught him tho cunning of the art, and how, during his absence from the Silver Isle, he had taken attentivo note of the better kind of fishing-tackle used in the countries they had travelled over. " ' We will teach them thia and other things,' said Matthew, 'both useful and entertaining. I can show them rare improvements in rod and reel, and especially in the art of making artificial flies. I have spoken of it already, and my ideas havo been well received. Paul and I will set to work presently. ' " They went to work at once, and we were soon placed in a position of independence. These seem trivial matters to mention here, but they were serious to me at the time, and I took them much to heart. ' ' It troubled me that for a time only elderly people visited our house. 1 love the society of the young, and it pained me that the children of the isle did not seek my friendship. I cannot describe how gentle and patient Matthew wa3 with me during these rebellious moods. He schooled me to patience and to a better understanding of things, and insisted that his friends showed a wise discretion in their behaviour. " ' Sudden affection,' he said, ' is not the most lasting. The people of the isle build upon sure foundations, and for my part I am satisfied with their conduct. But our first consideration is your happinesa. The world is open to us to return to it if we choose, and choose we shall j if you are not contented here. Let us, however, give the new life a fair trial, and not burden it with fancied ilia. Precious stones have often been thrown away in haste. Trust me, Margaret ; if you are patient, you will win both old and young. " His words, thank God, proved true. Gradually the people grew to love me, and trusted their children with me. Their hearts were not hard to win, and our house became their favourite resort-. Then I had a new care and joy to occupy my mind ; my baby would soon be born. " I yearned for a girl, whom I could love as I had loved Clarice. I fondly hoped that my child would resemble Clarice, and indeed believed it would be so. " c We will call her Clarice,' said my husband. " I would not have it so. My child should not bear my sister's name ; it might carry with it a bad omen. v But my first-born waa a boy, and we named him Joseph. I felt no disappointment ; I was fully, perfectly happy. He did not resemble mo in feature ; he favoured my husband's family. " From thia timo it was that I began to be assured of tho enduring affection of the islanders. Had I been closely allied to them by blood they could not have shown me greater kindness. My mind was moro composed ; my joy in my child was great, and I said to my husband : fi ' I shall bo content to live and die upon this happy isle.' " This better state of contentment had its origin partly in a dream I dreamt shortly after I becamo a mother. ' ' My dearer life than mine was in my arms ; gazing upon my child with an exquisite sense of gratitude to God, I fell into a happy sleep. " A fair white snow-land rose before me, high up in the heavens. It waa tho basin of eternal snow 1 soe now from my window. AIL the world was asleep, and this lovely work of nature rose before me in perfect peace and purity. Boyond it stretched the calm and beautiful ocoan. Not a ruflle disturbed its breast. No sound fell upon my ears, not tho rustle of a, leaf ; no object was in view but the snow-land and tho ocean. " Thus I Jay aa it seemed for hours, with a haven of rest in my heart. " Suddenly I saw a figure standing upnn the peak of the snow mountain — the figure of a girl clad in white, with a girdlo of roses round her waist. I knew it to be the figure of that Evangeline with whose sad story I had been made familiar. She turned towards mo, and pointed to the ocean, upon whoso eaatorn edge a golden light was rising. And in that golden light another figure appeared — the figure of Clarice. " Acr^so the aea sho came, with tho /spreading of golden beama, until sho reached nho anow-land upon which Evanfeline stood. Then, hand m hand, they ijazod at we with lender amiies, and sank

into the basin of snow, which now lay like a ruby cup in the eye of the rising sun. " I was comforted at the time by this dream. It waa as though Clarice were with me upon the Silver Isle. The sea no longer separated us. " This comforting impression was not permanent. Fancies of a gloomier nature have since oppressed me, and nearly all, strange to say, connected in some way with the mountain of snow. Sometimes Clarice seemed to reproach me for having deserted her ; but what could I do? Would I not have sacrificed my life for her 1 Oh, my dear, dear sister ! what trials were yours before your sufferings were ended by death 1 Shall 1 ever learn the history of your sad fate? Shall I ever, ever learn it % "It is but lately she appeared to me in a terrible dream. She had grown old, haggard, wrinkled, and was dragging her weary feet over a stony road, leaving behind her marks of blood. She was hungry, and parched with thirst. I ran towards her with a cup of water, calling ' Clarice ! Clarice ! ' She turned at my cry, and dashed the cup of water from my hands. ' You betrayed and deserted me ! ' she cried. *I am not dead. lam living in hopeless misery ! ' " Thank God, it was only once she appeared to me in this guise ! Were such dreams frequent they would drive me mad. " In setting down these fancies in this place I am losing the sequence of events. I must return to the time when my baby was born. " He was three months old, and I was in perfect health, when Matthew informed me that he had written a play which he i intended we should represent to our friends. He had mentioned the matter to them, and although a few of the elder people had doubts, he had argued them down, and they not only consented that the experiment should be made, but promised to be present on the occasion. " It was, after all, an him, cent experiment, and v:as the means of introducing a new and innocent kind of amusement into the Silver Isle. " During my illness Paul and Matthew had transformed a large spare room into a miniature theatre, had raised a' stage, fixed a curtain, and painted a scene in which the action of our little play was to occur. We were all anxious as well as curious concerning the result, and on the appointed evening our house was filled with visitors. The old people were grave ; the young were in a flutter of excitement. Such an entertainment had never been given upon the Silver Isle. The room was well lighted, and there were seats for more than a hundred persons. " What were the feelings of the islanders as they sat in mute expectation before the green curtain it is impossible for me to say. I know what mine were. I felt inclined to laugh and cry at the same time. "The play was a very simple affair. The characters represented were a sailor and his wife, allotted to Paul and me, and an old sailor, played by Matthew. Our baby also took part in the performance. The scene was a room in the young sailor's house near the sea coast. Happiness and contentment reigned in the humble household. The young husband waa on the eve of departure on a voyage which was expected to last eight or nine weeks. There was pleasant talk about the sea, in language really poetical, between the three of us. This was to be my husband's last voyage ; upon his return he would have enough money to buy a fishing-boat, which was to supply the future means of livelihood. . After a tender parting he left us, saying he would be with us again before baby was born. c And what is baby's name to be V asked the old sailor. Outside was heard the distant voice of my husband, singing a song of farewell. I answered him in his favourite song. This ended the first part of the play. " From the buzz of delight we heard among the audience, we augured that we were producing a pleasing effect. The second part commenced at the time my husband's ship was expected home. The old sailor and I indulged in fond anticipations, and mapped out a happy future. The old sailor left me to endeavour to pick up some news about my husband. ' I will bring him back with me,' he said. While he was absent I arranged the room in the way that would give my husband most pleasure. I had bought tobacco for him and a new pipe, and had knitted him a purse, which I placed upon the table ' in a dozen different ways, so as to make them attractive in his eyes, singing softly to myeelf as I shifted the things this way and that. The door was slowly opened, and the old sailor entered, alone. Had he heard news of my husband 1 He answered softly, yes. Then he would be here soon, or perhaps ho was hiding behind the door 1 I ran to the door and opened it. My husband was not there. 'J hen gradually the sad news was told. I should never see my husband more. His ship had been wrecked, and every soul on board lost. The curtain foil upon an outburst of passionate grief. " ' You h;\ve touched them, Margaret,' said Matthew ; ' half the house is in tears. ' " There had been another lapse of time when the curtain was drawn aside for the last part of the play. My baby was born, and I sat with him on my kp, singing of the cruel sea which had robbed him of his father. Tho old sailor could not comfort me ; charged with the happy news which was to make the play end with smiles instead of tears, he did not know

how to impart it to me, for fear the sudden shock of happiness might hurt my reason. He adopted a score of expedients which raised, the excitement of the audience to a high pitch, and at length prevailed upon me to sing the song I sang when my husband went away. I complied in a tremulous voice, and was on the point of breaking down when, upon the waving of a handkerchief by the old sailor out of the window, my husband's voice answered me. The end came soon, and we were all again happily united. " This simplest of simple stories went to the hearts of the islanders, and from that time it has been a custom with us three or four times during the year to give similar representations for the pleasure of ourselves and our friends. I was more than satisfied with the result ; we had shown ourselves in our true colours, and had won approval. f " At this time there traded to the isle a brig whose captain was anxious to supply many articles which he said would be of use to the islanders. The brig, as I understood, was supposed to belong to Mauvain, and its visits were always regarded as an event in the peaceful land. A proposition was made by the captain that he should employ a sculptor to cut a statue in marble of that Evangeline whose memory is* cherished by the islanders, and that it should be erected in the market-place aa a lasting memorial of the wonderful and terrible legend connected with the mountain of snow. He was to receive in payment a certain weight of silver extracted from a silver mine discovered by Mauvain during his residence on the isle. The proposition was accepted, and the commission was given. There existed on the isle no picture of Evangeline which would guide the sculptor to a faithful execution of his task, and the portrait and figure of a young and beautiful girl who was often at our house was drawn by an artist, and given to the captain of the brig. There was a great deal of talk and much conversation among the islanders concerning this commission, and curiosity was raised as to the manner in which ifc would be executed. When the captain, who came once in every year, was expected with the statue, I was also in expectation of a new arrival — my second child, Gabrielle. She was born, and was but three days old, when my husband informed me that the brig had come and gone, and the statue of Evangeline was erected in the marketplace. I had lost interest in it, being occupied with my baby, to the exclusion of all other subjects. It delighted me beyond measure that I had now a girl to rear and cherish. Still I adhered to my resolution not to call the child Clarice. I chose Gabrielle — a name, my husband told me, derived from that hero of God who strengthened Daniel and brought the promise to Zacharias and to the Blessed Virgin. " ' It is also,' said Paul, ' a promise of beauty, for there was once a Gabrielle, whose rare graces gave an immortal reputation to one of the greatest countries in the world. ' " But I cared more that my child should be good than beautiful. The sad reflection has occurred to my mind that beauty is a misfortune : it is most certainly a perilous and sometimes a fatal gift. " That my child Gabrielle resembles my sister Clarice may be bred by my fancy, for Gabrielle is dark, Clarice was fair. " "When I was strong enough Matthew took me to the market-place, and showed me the statue of Evangeline. I gazed at it in a kind of worship, and yet with terror and amazement. It fascinated me, and I could not remove my eyes from the beautiful and perfect work. " ' It appears,' said Matthew, ' to re- ( mind you of a woman you have seen.' " 'It does,' I replied ; 'it reminds me of my sister. Were it not impossible ' " I paused ; the wildness of the thought arrested my speech. Matthew prompted me. " ' Yes. Were it not impossible ' '•' ' I should declare that the sculptor who modelled those features had a living being before him, and that that being was Clarice.' (To be continued — Commenced in No. 1479.