Set in a Silver Sea.

Otago Witness, Issue 1502, 28 August 1880, Page 24

Set in a Silver Sea.

By B. L. FAKJEON.

Chapter XXIII. The Statue in the Market-place. , RE-OPE ST my diary. lam in a land of wonders. "Two years have elapsed since my conversation with Margaret Sylvester, when I believed I had completed the chain which surrounds the lives of Evangeline, Mar-

garet, Clarice, and Harold. But much was hidden from me which I had no expectation would ever be disclosed, I was in absolute ignorance of the circumstances and conditions of the sisters whom Harold's treachery had torn from each other's arms. I had then no intention of continuing this record ; but events have occurred, and a discovery I have made (which shall in its proper place be set down) is in its nature and possibilities bo Btartling, that I shall find relief in imparting my secrets to a companion to whom I can talk, and in whom I can confide with unreserved confidence. These white pages will not betray me. " The friendship sealed between Joseph Sylvester and myself has endured, and appears likely to endure. He is growing into manhood, and those qualities in him for which I gave him credit as a lad — such as faithfulness and determination of purpose — have developed in strength ; they are part .of hia nature. He is not too free with his tongue — a decided merit. Loquacity is ever dangerous. I have tested Joseph Sylvester, have given him tasks to perform, have walked in the woods with him, and have studied his character, aware the while that he was studying mine in his quiet way. He is not a blind follower ; he has opinions of his own. There is but one person whom he would blindly obey — Evangeline. His will is subordinate to her lightest whims. It would be a cruel test were she, in a moment of. waywardness, to call upon him for a foolhardy proof of love ; he would give it without remonstrance. He is weak only where Evangeline is concerned ; it will be well for both if she uses her power with tenderness and wisdom. "My white doves fly now between valley and mountain. Evangeline calls them her white angels. The idea was mine, and the children entered into it with delight. A pigeon-house was built on the roof of Margaret Sylvester's dwelling, and Joseph and I' had no difficulty in training the pigeons to fly to and fro. Thus the children and I are in constant communication, and many a weary hour has been beguiled by watching the pretty messengers conveymg messages of love under their wins^s to those who are dear to me. Threads of love between valley and mountain, invisible air-lines stretch*

r ing from heart to heart. # " From the top of my mountain 1 can see far over the sea, and my message sometimes runs, 'A ship is making for the Silver Isle.' The news is conveyed to the inhabitants of the isle, and in this way I am enabled to render them a small service. It occurs to me occasionally that I owe them that which I can never repay. This Silver Isle is theirs, and they have allowed me to live here in peace. That the service is rendered in the name of Mauvain does not lessen the obligation. True, they did not receive me with open arms, but I had no right to expect it. In no other part of the world could I have lived my life free and untramelled, at liberty to come and go, and surrounded by peace and plenty. I thank them for it from my heart. Churl that I am, it would be difficult for me to express my thanks in spoken words. I lack the generous impulse ; my nature has been warped. " The children call me ' the Master of the Mountain.' A little whiJe after my pigeons, had been taught their duty I received the following message, in Joseph Sylvester's handwriting :— " ' Evangeltne's love, and Gabrielle's, and Joseph's, to Ranf, their friend. Grandfather Matthew wishes to see the Master of the Mountain. He will be at its foot an hour before sunrise tomorrow.'

"At the hour named I was at the appointed place, and found Matthew Sylvester awaiting me. " He and his grandson bear a close resemblance to each other. If Joseph's good qualities are inherited from his grandfather, then is Matthew Sylvester a man to be trusted. Sincerity and honesty of purpose are depioted in his face ; it is not a mask to hide the secret thought. He and his son Paul are cunning fishermen. They have a boat for deep-sea fishing, and I often watch it from the heights when it is far out at sea. " Matthew Sylvester came] straight to the point. " ' I wish to speak with you,' he said, 'about my daughter Margaret, and her sister Clarice.' 'At Margaret Sylvester's desire ? ' I asked. " ' No,' he replied ; 'of my own prompting.' " ' I am ready to listen,' I said. " ' And to deal frankly with me ? ' "'ln what way?' " ' In open speech.' "'That is as may be,' II said. 'A man must judge for himself how far it is prudent to speak openly.' . " ' There is no danger with me,' he re- j joined. 'In what passes between us now we shall be travelling the same road — the road which leads to the happiness and peace of mind of those we love.' " 'Admitting as much,' I said, guardedly, ' even that we have the same goal in view, it may happen that we have cross purposes to serve. Then, discovering that our interests are' conflicting, we should not be slow to take advantage of words utiered in such a conversation as this. Remember, it is not of my seeking.' " ( True,' he said, with a smile of much sweetness ; ' but is it necessary always to dive beneath the surface in search o* suspiciouß motives ? ' " ' A man must be guided by hia experience ; I am guided by mine.' "'You have no reason to 'mistrust me?'

'"No more reason than I have to trust you.' "I was aware that, in adopting this tone, I was not meeting Matthew Sylvester in the spirit with which he approached me ; but Evangeline was concerned in all that concerned Margaret, and Clarice, and, although it placed me in an ungenerous light in the mind of such a man as he who stood before me, I preferred to err rather on the side of caution than of frankness. His next words put me to shame.

" ' I am unreasonable,' he said gently ; 'it was not to be expected that you should open your heart to a stranger simply for the asking. Even if I held out the hand of friendship to you, I could not expect you to accept it without questioning my motive. The fault is on my side ; if I desired your friendship I should have sought it earlier. I come to you now on behalf of my daughter Margaret, who is very dear to me, and I shall be plain and truthful with you, concealing nothing. I take it that you and I stand upon equal ground ; we have seen the world and served our time, and care but little for ourselves. We have found our species forgetful of favours, ready to vilify, eager to condemn. It is said that old age is selfish ; naturally ; but it is not as selfish as youth. The young are forgetful ; the old remember. Entranced by the light and fresh beauty of life, the young think only of themselves, of their own joys and sorrows and ambitions. They live to learn a3 we have lived to learn ; in the meantime let us who have fought and been wounded in the fight, endeavour to protect our young from unnecessary Borrow.'

" There was a singular fascination in Matthew Sylvester's manner, and I could not help being won by it. I inwardly resolved to meet him in a franker spirit ; but neither to him nor any man in the isle would I disclose the heart of my secret respecting Evangeline. He continued :

"'Those are the happiest to whom knowledge comes late ; they have more time to enjoy. Bat some taste the bitterness of life in their springtime. My

daughter Margaret was one of these. When life should have been fairest for her it was darkened by a sorrow which exists at this hour, although many years have passed since it was inflicted. This sorrow is associated with her sister Clarice, whose name you only of all the inhabitants of this isle, have uttered in her hearing. She has dwelt upon the circumstance with the tenacity of a very tenacious and constant nature, and she believes you had a reason for speaking to her about her sister.'

"' I had a reason,' I replied. ' It was partly to oonfirm a suspicion that waa in my mind. ' "'Partly,' repeated Matthew Sylvester, with a quickness which showed how deeply he himself was interested ; ' then it waß not wholly your purpose V " ' No, it was not wholly my purpose.' "'A woman who iB in the habit of brooding over a subject in which her affections are involved has strange fancies. You have been in our market place, and seen the statue there.' " 'Yes.' " *It is the statue of that Evangeline whose tragic death occurred on the mountain upon which you dwell. Margaret, when she first beheld the statue fancied it resembled her sister Clarice. But that, of course is impossible.' "I repeated his words mechanically, * That of course is impossible ;' but my thoughts belied them. " ' Is the name of the sculptor known V j I asked.

"'No,' replied Matthew Sylvester, ' and the story goes that when, at the instance of the captain of the brig who traded to this isle, the commission was given, the likeneßS of one of our fairest maids was handed to him as a model for the sculptor to work upon; and that, when the statue was delivered and set up in the market-place it was seen that the sculptor had worked from a model of his own.' " ' The story is new to me,' I said ; ' I cannot see the connection between the statue and Clarice.' " ' Does it, to your mind, bear any resemblance to Margeret's sister ?' " ' I saw her but once, and I have paid no particular attention to the statue.' " You have lived a life of adventure, I understand. You must have some sympathy with the life led by Margaret and Clarice— led, also, by myself and my son. Ah, I sometimes think of the old days with a strange yearning, hard as they were ! When you met Clarice Margaret was with her.' " ' No ; Clarice was alone. I admit that I was not truthful when I told Margaret Sylvester that I had seen her in the company of her sister. Moreover, I do not even know what kind of life the sisters led.' '"They were dancers, Bingers, performers in small comedies, wandering from village to village playing to humble folk who gave them honest welcome. While their father lived their life was a happy one, but when he died.'— Matthew Sylvester made a sudden pause, and with a quick changing of his theme asked, 'If Margaret was not with her sister when you met her, and you were not acquainted with their occupation, how do you know the girl you met was Clarice V " The question almost took me off my guard and I answered slowly, 'From evidence not to be doubted.'

" Matthew Sylvester looked at me wistfully. 'I must not press you too hardly; I have no right to demand a clearer explanation. You are aware that Clarice is dead.'

"I started, and the movement did not escape his notice. '"When did you learn this?' I asked. 'Lately?' " ' No— many years ago.' " ' Since you have been on the Silver Isle V

" ' No,' he said, ' I learnt this in the old land, before Margaret and my son were married I .' " These words opened a new chapter in the mystery which enveloped the life of Clarice. It was but a Bhort time before I, with Evangeline and Harold, set sail for the Silver Isle that I had given shelter to Clarice in my mother's hut and was witness of her grief. I was now as anxious to hear what it was in Matthew Sylvester's power to impart to me as he was to hear what I could impart to him, and at my request he related to me the story of the lives of Margaret and Clarice. It deeply moved me. He told me of the love existing between the sisters, of the passionate devotion of Margaret for'Clar* ice of their happy days while their father lived, of his dying and leaving them in the power of a man who used them cruelly, of Margaret's protection of Clarice, of the last night the sisters saw each other, and the strange impressions left upon Margaret's mind when she and Clarice fell aaleep in the room in which their master was gambling with two gentlemen (in one of whom I saw Harold as plainly as though he stood at my side), of Margaret's terror in the morning when she awoke and found her sister gone, of the pursuit of Clarice and its failure, of Margaret's agony when the news flashed upon her that she and Clarice had been betrayed, of her keeping with her master, enduring misery and want, and travelling with him in the hope that one day she would find her sister, of the gradual fading of her hope, of the meeting in the woodß of Margaiet and Matthew Sylvester, of her release from tyrrany and suffering, of the news of Clarice's death furnished for a consideration by the man who had torn the sisters from each other's 1 arms, and lastly of the marriage of Mar-

garet and Matthew's son, and their departure for the Silver Isle.

" This story, related in simple language by Matthew Sylvester, made everything dear to me ; nothing was wanting to complete the villainy of the plot. Clarice had been deliberately sold and deliberately bought, and the sisters had been taken opposite roads on false promises, and separated from each other so effectually that nothing short of a miracle could have brought them together again. My respect for Margaret was strengthened, as was my detestation for Harold, the gentleman who lived for the pleasure of the hour ; and 1 vowed inwardly that if the opportunity ever offered itself, I would avenge the wrongs of the sisters without mercy or pity. " In return for the confidence Matthew Sylvester had reposed in me I imparted to him something of my own life in the forest owned by Mauvain, of the storm, and the appeal for shelter by a lady and her servant, and of my learning the following day that the lady's name was Clarice. I recalled the conversation that took place between the servant and myself—a conversation which, if words had meaning, defined in unmistakable terms Clarice's social position. I said nothing of Evangeline, nor of Clarice's lament for the child she had lost.

" ' Describe the lady to me,' said Matthew,

" I did bo, faithfully, and his remarks left no doubt upon my mind (but truly there was room for none, all the parts of the story fitting so exactly) that the lady was indeed Clarice, Margaret's unfortunate sister.

" ' One point still remains,' said Matthew ; * the date of the meeting between you and this lady.' " I fixed the date by my arrival on the Silver Isle, and Matthew Sylvester's face became indescribably sad. " ' We were deceived,' he said ; ' Clarice lived — perhaps lives — a life of shame.' He paused before he spoke again. ' Thus do we lose our faith in goodness ! Were Margaret's faith in her sister's purity to be shaken, I can imagine no grief more terrible than hers would be. The very name of Clarice is to her an emblem of purity. ' " Then arose within me, in vindication of the unfortunate girl, the true history of her betrayal, known only to me and her and Harold, as related in her confession in the Bible, and I felt that it would be a stain upon my manhood if I did not speak in her behalf. " * Listen,' I said, ' and do not question me as to the means by which I obtained my knowledge. Clarice is innocent. What is pure is pure ; no laws formed by man, from motives of policy or convenience, can affect the immutable. There are principles of right and wrong which results cannot twist or modify by the breadth of a hair. In the eyes of Heaven (a convenient phrase to express my meaning), Clarice, when I met her, was a pure woman. That what is clear in supreme judgment is not clear in man's matters little to me, and should matter little to any human being whose mind is not the slave of convenient custom. When cunning and innocence meet, and innocence is betrayed, I know at which door lies the guilt, and if there be a higher than earthly justice, which will be adjudged the sinner and which the saint. '

" ' How shall we convey "comfort to Marguerite,' said Matthew, 'when she learns the story of her sister's shame V " ' Let her never learn it,' I replied. ' Let her rest in the belief that Clarice is dead. It is best so. Do not convey a new unhappineßS to one who has already had more than her share of suffering.'

"So it was agreed between us, and we parted. " Within a week of this interview I walked at midnight into the great mar-ket-place of the isle, and waited for the moon to rise. Not a sound disturbed the stillness ; the land was in darkness ; the islanders were at rest. It waa as though a dead world lay in the arms of an eternal night. " I stood before the statue of Evangeline unable, in the deep gloom which prevailed, to discern the features or the moulding of the limbs. I fancied I saw a figure move in the darkness. I advanced towards it, and it glided away. I believed it to be a creation of the dark clouds which moved slowly across the sky. , . " Again and again was I deceived, and I determined not to yield to the mental jugglery. In due time the moon arose, and the white statue of Evangeline stood out in the clear light, a work of transcendent beauty. The raised hand, in the act of listening, the inclined head, the smile on its lips, were life-like. Different as was the aspect under which I had seen Clarice in my mother's hut — in the life expressive of despair, in the stone expressive of gladness — I recognised the likeness. It was Clarice. Harold had done his work well. A great artist— and a villain ! " Yet in admiration I gazed upon the perfect work, representing a maid who two centuries ago had been led to death by love's betrayal. Had any other than Harold been the sculptor, I could have kissed the naked feet and worshipped the hand that shaped them. i " Suddenly I heard a voice : ' She lives ! ' "Who sp'jke 1 Spirit or mortal 1 " Mortal— and she stood by my side, a woman, with a weird smile on a face that once was beautiful, that was beautiful now, even in its ghastliness, with the , pallid light of the moon shining on it. i "She was fantastically dressed in

patches of colour; flowers were in her hair'; her eyes were blue and wandering j her hands were never still. " Had a spirit appeared to me I should have been less surprised. " ' She lives ! ' repeated the woman. ' I did not think any knew it bub I, but you are in the secret. Are you a man ? You don't look like it. When the people are about she is dead ; when they sleep she lives. See — we are alike.'

"She put out a white and bleeding foot, and seeing blood-marks on the earth, stooped and wiped them up with her dress. It may be that I gave her a pitying look, for she said, still smiling:

" ' It does not hurt. There are worse pains. My baby is dead. I will show you her grave.' " Her hand grasped mine, and without force I could not have released it.

" ' Good-night,' she said to the statue j 'I will come again.'

"Unresistingly I allowed her to lead me the way she wished to go, and on the road she talked to the trees, and the fields, and the olouds, which were now gathering and obscuring the light. We walked for fully a mile, and when it was quite dark she said : " ' Tell me. Is it a Bin to love V "'No.' I had no other answer to

give. " ' You are not a man,' she retorted, ' for you do not answer as others do. It is a sin to love, and I have loved and sinned. So they say. If my baby had lived, I should not have cared ; I should have laughed in their faces. Hush ! I hear her crying !' " The wind was wailing. A Btorm Was rising. " ' Come quickly. She is crying be* cause I have been away from her so long !'

" I had not heart to gainsay her, and she led me into a desolate valley, some distanoe from the houses of the islanders, and stopped before a little mound of earth covered with wild flowers.

'"They would not bury her with the others,' she said, kneeling by the grave. ' I was glad. I have her all to myself, Hush, darling ; Mother is with you !'

" She took no further notice of me, and I, not knowing what else to do, left her by her baby's grave, which she kissed and talked to as if it were her baby's face. "So. Even in this peaceful isle sin and shame and love,- and love's betrayal, find their way into human life. Thus will it ever be in lands where mortals live and die." (To be continued— Commenced in No. U7q),