CHAPTER II.—A DEATH TRAP.

Otago Witness, Issue 2545, 24 December 1902, Page 33 (Supplement)

CHAPTER II.— A DEATH TRAP.

It was a long wearisome journey. We travelled all day. The train was slow, as trains always are in New Zealand,

even the so-cailed expresses. But when we left the main make different stations like different flowers. But I reckon line we seemed actually creeping. I tried to bring a smile to there won't be two or three heavens any way ;if there are " Anna's grave face by telling her the story of the old market She left the sentence unfinished and the blank was sigwoman who said, " she could not take the train that day ; | nificant. she was in a hurry " ; but in vain. i This woman had brought a basket full of cakes and If I had made the journey alone or with different companions I think I should have enjoyed it, for the landscape on either side was lovely, clad in all its early freshness and verdure : the paddocks full of springing wheat and oats, the orchards white with blossom, lambs and other young creatures frisking about in the mere wantonness of youth. In' the bush wreaths of starry clematis spangled the dark trees, and sometimes we caught a flash of crimson rata, the fresh green fronds of a young fern tree, the insignificant flowers and grey green of the native fuchsia, and the close white blooms of manuka. Everywhere there was the flash of running water, the clear high note of the soaring lark, or the liquid call of the tui. Everywhere there was life, sunshine, beauty, and the promise of a rich future, and had I been alone I should have been more than content with these. But the consciousness of human antagonism, the certainty that my companions were not in sympathy with this bounteous and beauteous nature, the crushing sense of mystery, and the ever-growing premonition of danger weighed upon my spirits to such an extent that I saw without seeing, and heard without hearing, these exquisite sights and sounds. There is no happiness if the soul be not in harmony with its environment "Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage," is not more true than its converse. When I thought over my journey at a later period I wondered at my callousness and chid myself for my indifference ; but at the time the mood of my companions completely overshadowed me. Mrs Gresham was restless as ever. It is impossible to describe her conduct; she appeared to have the gift of perpetual motion. Sometimes, for a few moments, she sat opposite to Anna and me, and looking out of the window made brisk little chirrupy remarks concerning the district we were passing through. But these remarks were generally a tort et a travers, and showed such a marvellous ignorance of country life, and such a supreme contempt for agriculture and the common life of thp people, that the good woman beside her, evidently a farmer's wife and mother, sometimes smiled at her mistakes, and anon coloured red with indignation at her sneering depreciation. " One would think that we country folk were not of the same flesh and blood as yourself," she said at last, when these sneering comments had goaded her almost beyond endurance. Mrs Gresham turned her sharp little head and surveyed the speaker with a sniff of contempt. "My good woman,' she said, "no one spoke to you. It's no business of yours." " Good woman, indeed," retorted the other. " What have I done that you should call me a good woman? " " A bad one, then," replied Mrs Gresham with a snap, " I am sure I don't care," and jumping up from her seat she drifted down the long carriage like a wind-swept leaf and alighted for a few moments on the seat nearest the door which she had previously declared draughty and inconvenient. Anna looked painfully confused, and the countrywoman noticing this said, " Don't you mind, deary, it's of no consequence; the old lady is vexed and I shouldn't have spoken, but I can't abear to hear stuck up folk talk as if there was one heaven for them and another for us. In that country we shall all be equal." " And we are all equal here," said Anna, impulsively, leaning forward and touching the hard work-roughened hand. " No, deary, not here," corrected the other ; "no one knows that better than I do. It is His will to

other good things, and among them a large bottle of cream ; and as the day wore on she insisted on giving Anna some of the latter and a delicious brown scone. " It's better for you than any of those pastrycook's things, and you don't look over strong. Take it to please me."

Anna ate and was refreshed. The sympathy of this woman seemed to touch her to the heart; it was the one oasis in the desert of the journey. Mrs Bruce told us her name and destination. She was going to keep house for a widowed son, whose wife had recently died leaving him a large small family, which could not be cared, for by anyone so well as their grandmother. " He's not a. poor man, isn't Alec," said the mother, with pardonable pride ; " lie's head shepherd and manager on a station, and nothing would serve but I must come first-class, although I told him the second was good enough. ' Mother, you're a lady now, and you must travel with ladies.' That's what he said, but, of course, I know I'm not a lady; only I don't like to be treated as dirt under people's feet for all that." She told us the name of her station, and when she found it was not far from our own destination she pressed us to go and visit her. We little knew how gladly we should avail ourselves of this invitation. The day wore on ; Anna grew perfectly silent. She appeared quite worn out. Again and again Mrs Gresham altered the arrangement of the cushions and rugs with which I tried to pad the hard uncomfortable seat. More than a, dozen times sh.e made the girl move on the pretext that there was too much or too little sun, or air, or draught. Sometimes she made Anna rest on me, sometimes on herself ; and taken all round she was the most trying travelling companion that you can imagine. One thing she couldn't do, and that was leave us alone. Mr Gresham knew better than to submit himself to her pernicious attentions. He spent most of his time in the smoking carriage, but at every halt he appeared at the door or window of our compartment and subjected us to a close scrutiny as if he supposed it possible that we should jump off the train between one station and another. Sometimes he made a testy remark about the weather and the slowness of the train; often he merely glared upon us and so departed. Once, as we were nearing our destination, he said : — "In two hours we shall be at home, Anna. Aren't you glad?" Anna shuddered, and grew visibly paler, and when he taunted her with her indifference to what had always been the British idol, " hearts and homes," she flashed back upon him the quick repartee : — "If the hearts were true the home would be a paradise, ' and leaning back buried her face in the cushions. He shot an evil glance at the lovely bent head and dived into his own carriage. We reached the small siding nearest to Moana. Here a well-appointed waggonette was in waiting for us and a cart for the luggage. An hour's rapid drive brought us to the house. It was approached by a long avenue of pines of different species, and was a quaint two-storeyed residence, older and more picturesque than any I had yet seen in New Zealand. " What a pretty place," I said, impulsively. Anna roused herself and looked up. I saw a shudder pass over her. She closed her eyes and kept the lids tightly pressed down. Two maids, in irreproachable white caps and aprons, received us at the door. I had not expected anything so conventional, and was somewhat taken aback. My ideas o£ station life were largely derived from Lady Barker's unauthentic histories and the experiences of sundry fellow nurses, who had always appeared to do everything for themselves in happy-go-lucky, perpetual-picnic fashion, which evidently did not prevail at Moana. One thing I noticed — the servants were strangers ; they did not recognise their master and mistresses, and waited upon us all with equal indifference. They had apparently been engaged at some registry office and sent up just in time to receive us. The day had been hot, but the evening was cool, and the pretty house, which stood low and was buried among_