SILVER DAGGER

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 151, 1 August 1914, Page 4

SILVER DAGGER

By R; a. Ji walling e

Pj?j f , j CHAPTEK' I '&V IN WHICH MAETIN TORFREY Ij" Martin Torfrey'a lot would have been envied by most men. He owned a great ■estate- and a considerable fortune. He Jfeadpybuth and strength, t This October he set out. to crown his bliss. ,V '£;Liße every, other- young man in Kealthr Jh© was in love. Like all other IjueK'men, he was-in love with'the most Moj?oiis woman that Nature had ever wjSsfoned—■possession of her iwas all he pesdpd to make him the happiebt man w&S in his favour. If, tvfce offered himself to her with all ■s3|ie accessories that dead and gone Torsfeys Jiad accumulated for him, Marf||£*gSfTet did not accept the offer, it could be because her affections- were en||§Dj{yj|ged 'elsewhere, and that Martin Tordid not believe. ridden over to Haylands, en- |^'; u 'V<|;oa,vouring on the way to remember the y<3 pretty speeches that had been so easily rsf< /composed in his own library at the Villa ~^''JZamora, and were so difficult to recall tyl V»QW that the time for reciting them was - Whcn»he came into ':he presence of Margaret in her own 'draw-';jS-."ing- ro'om it was a very ordinary and * '*s' ' jpvery-day who blundered . a good'uleal of diffieultyinto the --.' -ia\»l<ile of his subject. } "Look here, Margaret," he said, but- ..-; ioning up his eoat, as in a fit of desper- '''* "'ate "determination, "I came* over on 'M * 'purpose this afternoon.'' „■ "} She bad her-head averted, and was gazicg into the fire.. The light of it shone '? ihrough some stray wisps of hair, and "• fci ought into his mind one of his treas- *■■' vred-tags. Ho murinurcd: — "Fa_ir is inv love when to the summer §fir*-.a-L-- air doth her locks of tangled gold un|§ltf&| bind." 'o£j?Wt ' Mr" Torfrey!'' cried Margaret. Don't interrupt, mo," said.Torfrey v for there was something manner that restored his courage, ■gisgphat I ''T meant to do' was this. I have knelt down on. the heartnjust about there, and I should,"have 'Margaret, no man is more conthan myself of his own imperiind 'unwdl'thiness. I have noBsKqiiing in the world that entitles me to , J&reatbe on the same hemisphere,-with you, who are the most beautiful and. glorious woman in the world.'." Margaret had averted her head still ~- more... ■ ' 1 '"'And 14.I 4 . continued, 'ls \- there- any hspe for the>suit of such a halting lover? His' one - recommendation, is that he loves you with 'f. all his being, and in your hands is his hope of future happiness.' I think I had it a little, more smoothly than that, but that is roughly the senseVf what I had proposed to say." §t£*3 Torfrey'a voice had sunk low, and was now a moment of looked steadily into the fire, jTorfrey at the spot on the hearth|j|rj|sftig where he should have knelt. He raised his eyes, and they met in an instant his knees were thef-Eearthrug on the very spot he Ks^Mtd''indicated, and she 7 felt her hand Pf^ijmprisnned. -\ jae '' t t i< Margaret! '' lie said, "can you ever me for being such a blundering S^f%i*' I could iot if you had really done said she. she,woiild not turn her flushed to him as she spoke: U%'&\ '"Yet, now, Margaret—now? Imagine I have all the eloquence with a lovely woman ever inspired her >}''- MfVer.: you won't imagine too'much'to -'.-express' my love, for you. Margaret, can you-love.me?" She endeavoured to release her hand. Torfrey looked where he had made white marks upon the fingers with the presnre of his-.own. ; "I am so sorry," said he. "Dear hand!" Daring greatly, he kissed it. Margaret sat quite still while he put his arms about her; and she sat quite still for a long time thereafter —till, indeed, Mr Hayland came in, fresh from the coverts, and stamped into the drawingroom, demanding Margaret and tea and a light all in one breath. Then, seeing how Margaret was engaged, he stammered apologies. "I'm afraid I've been making an ass of myself, Mr Hayland," said Torfrey. "Tut, tut! A man of your years, Torfrey! Good lord! Well, I see how it is. Hang it all —we're going to have a wedding! " "I'm glad you take it kindly, sir." "Take it kindly? Paternal blessing, ■■'.. and all that?, Why, yes, of course; delighted, my boy! Can't imagine anything more to my liking, if I must lose the girl. But we're going to'have a wedding—and I? hate weddings! Puss, bother, confusion —confound . it! —upsets everything." "I hope you'll forgive ins thi* once, sir." said Torfrey. "We wOn't.do it

again." "Eh? Well, of course. What's the good of my complaining? Fathers take a back seat in these affairs. L'm very glad, very glad indeed. Little minx, never to give me the slightest hint! it will be dull at Hay lands! but she'll brighten up that old place of yours —and it wants brightening. By the way, why don't you alter the foreign name of it? T hateforeign names! 'Torfrey of the Villa Zamora! ; I cau't endure it. Now, what about Beeehlands? You have some good beeches there. "Doji 't you think 'Torfrev of Beechlands' would be better?" "What's in a name, Mr Hayland? I've no special leaning. We'll let Meg select a new name for her new house." The old gentleman soon hit on another subject. "I hear you-have a now neighbour, Torfrey—taken that little place on the other side of the river." "Oh, yes; he arrived throe weeks ago. A Mr Radford —Henry Radford —a venerable old man. He seems a gentleman; but I know little of him. I made a call, and rather liked him, though he seemed eccentric. He is evidently wealthy —and wealth covers a multitude of eccentricities. I did not ; gather that he was a woman-hater, but • one of his peculiarities is that he keeps 'no women servants. He has three or i four men about the little place, but • he's fixed up with motors and a steam yacht quite in the style of a millionaire."

"Whew!" exclaimed Mr Hayland. "That means money. It's a "good old English name./ I'll make an excuse to call on him. How's vour sister, Torfrev?'-

Author of "Flaunting Moll," " A Sea Dog of Devon," &c. [copyright]

- "Oh, Lucy'sVyery well—in tlie best %t health and high spirits. She's looking forward to a visit from Diego. '■' "Diego?" .said Mr Hay land. "That's that young lover of hers. A very decent young fellow, but another foreign-soimding name. Hang it, why didn't the fellow get himself christened in :& decent English manner!'' '' Dad!'' cried Margaret; '' you are unreasonable.. How can you hold Mr Holmes responsible for the name that was given to him by. his godfathers and godmothers in baptism?" •"Godfathers and godmothers! They ought to be shot, if they're not dead long ago, for making such a fool df the boy. I abominate your kickshaw names." Now, think of 'Diego Holmes!' Holmes is a good old English name. Whv not John Holmes, or William Holmes?" ~

'And Mr Hayland stumped out of the room as he had stumped in. Having obtained Margaret's " Yes," Martin Torfrey stayed late in the evening with her, and then rode home, contemplating his own happiness. As' he came down to the ferry over the River; Tune, he-passed the house of his new neighbour, 3ad£ord; it was all ablaze with light..: Below in the river lay the steam yacht, white and fairylike in the moonlight. Torfrey shouted foifethe ferry, and* presently two of his own men. pulled across in a huge boat with a flat stern, which they backed on to the beach so that Torfrey's horse could walk on board.; Torfrey followed, and they pushed off. As they pulled slowly over they went almost under the stern of Mr Radford's yacht. Torfrev heard himself hailed. "Is-tittrtryou/Torfrey? Good night!" night! " he answered, looking up. His new friend was leaning over the stern railj with his* long white beard shining in the silver light.

The soft wind blew to him a word or two in a language he did not understand as his boat covered the short distance between the yacht and his own slip. He looked back* when, he landed. The yacht was outlined in light, and the windows of the cottage on the other shore were still blazing. CHAPTER 11. IN WHICH A STRANGE THING IS ; RECORDED. The Torfrey estate, with the Villa Zamora, lay on the western bank of the river Aune, almost at its mouth. The- woods sloped down to the edge of the water except, on the extreme south, where the cliffs rose to a modest height of fifty feet, overlooking the English Channel at one of the loneliest points on the coast of Devon. At a little distance from the shore was a rock-girt island of a few acres in extent, and on its highest point remained the ruins of an ancient chapel. The island faced the estuary and protected its roadstead; acting as a natural breakwater. On one side, the channel was deep enough for a ship drawing ten feet of water; on the other the channel shoaled with a sandy bottom, so that at low tide it was possible to walk across between the island and the main.

The cottage —named as curiously as Torfrey's house-—was on the opposite side 'of'the estuary, and possessed <a clearer view seaward, including the whole contour of the island. The railWay had not penetrated within a dozen miles of this secluded combe, which was reached from the nearest railway -town by a long drive over rough and hilly roads. The village of St. Maurice was at the crest of the ridge of high land a mile back from the sea.

As Torfrey rode up from the ferry to the house, he caught sight of the square tower of the church of St. Maurice, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. It spurred his thoughts forward to the day when 'he and Margaret would stand within that village sanctuary and plight their eternal vows, and Charlie Pudifin should marry them, he declared to himself.

The curate-in-charge of St. Maurice was his ancient ally, and one of his few companions in that lonely homeland, where farmers and labourers were all the population, with half-a-dozen crabbers living in cottages along the river shore, and there was |no estate of any importance between him and Haylands. Charlie Pudifin was a really good fellow, a Devon man to the tips of his fingers; if it had been a source of regret to Torfrey that his sister had not been able to choose his old friend rather than Diego. Diego was pleasant and lively, doubtless attractive to-a woman; but he seemed hardly to have the depth and earnestness that made Pudifin so fine a friend. However, it was not for Torfrey to dictate to Lucy, of whom he was rather the chum and confidant than the guardian; she had met Diego in London, they had fallen in love with each other—and that sealed the fate of Pudifin's devotion.

Torfrey went straight to the library —the glory of the Villa Zamora. It was his favourite resting-place, for lie wa"S a bookish man; there he sat by his lire to dream a little of the time when the great place Avould have a new mistress.

It was near midnight when Torfrey was disturbed by a distant sound. The night was still, with just a soft breath out of the south-west, and the Avater was calm. The house slept. Torfrey listened, starting up in his chair. Then came a loud cry out of the night. Torfrey ran into the hall, unbarred the great door, and stepped out under the porch. The moon had set, but the night was clear and light. He peered in all directions, and listened for a repetition of the cry. It came a third time —a piercing shriek now that he was beyond the walls. He thought it came from the left through the copse that bordered the park-like piece behind the kitchen gardens. He ran in that direction.

As he ran, a fluttering figure came towards him, and a servant girl whom he recognised as Lucy's maid almost fell into his arms. "O, sir! O, sir! " she cried. "What's the matter with you? Was it von screaming?" asked Torfrev. "O, sir! O, sir!" she said," "the eyes! the eyes! " The girl was trembling and gasping. He held her off at arm '« length, and saw that she was half-de-mented by fright.

"What's the matter with you?" he repeated. "What are you doing out at this time of night?"

She shuddered, but made no answer. "Come back to the house," said Torfrey. "Calm yourself, and tell me what you are afraid of." He led her into the library, gave her a glass of brandy, and watched her nves

as they lost their horror-stricken glare. She was out, she said, to say good-bye to her sweetheart, one Gannett, son of a hind, who was about to go on a journey. She left him at the small gate leading into the road at the end of the path through the copse. As she returned by the copse path, she was seized by some unaccountable terror, as if there was" somebody watching her in secret. So strong was this sense of an unseen presence that fear made her faint, and she could not say whether seconds or minutes passed before she found herself running past the Shrine in the Wood. Then she saw on each side of her shadowy forms and eyes glaring from among the bushes. She "shrieked as she ran, again and again—and then she met Mr Torfrey. Torfrey listened closely, watching her face the while. He concluded that she was telling the truth, as it appeared to her. She was probably over-wrought and hysterical, he told her, scolded her fer the indiscretion of being out in the woods at midnight, and sent her to bed. The Shrine in the Woods was asepulchral chapel, built for the reception of his remains by the Torfrey who founded the house. It was in a dense part of the woods,, and stood in a little clearing with a close shaven plot of grass around it. On summer days it was a pleasant resort, but an uncanny place at night. As Torfrey reflected upon the girl's story and constructed the picture, the idea that had obsessed her gradually took possession of his mind. He became restless and uncomfortable. At rast he determined to dispel the megrims by taking his cigar out into the grounds and walking as- far. as the Shrine aud back. He put on an overcoat and set out. As he approached the fence between the park j and the coppice, he was startled to see j two advancing towards him. These were men. He stopped and awaited them. When they saw him, they, too, stopped and drew* back into the shadow of the trees. "Who are you?" he cried; "and what are you doing here?'-' On stepped out and burst into laughter. "Torfrey, by Jove!" he said. "Charlie!" exclaimed Torfrey, recognising the curate, and going up* to him, "What freak is this? —and who's that with you?" "Ought to apologise to you, Torfrey, for wandering about your grounds by moonlight; but this is my friend Hoskings. You don't know him? No, you came down before his time. Hoskings—now at Westerport, doctoring; Torfrev, whose estate we've invaded." * ■''''" Torfrey .was not in his most genial mood. . "Hoskings," said the curate, "is staying with me for a few days. I wanted him to see that curiosity of yours over in the copse—the Shrine, you know —under the most eerie and blood-curdling conditions, so I brought him down at midnight. "<,.. Torfrey felt a little relieved. "Oh!" he said, "that explains everything..'' "Does it?." asked the curate. "Did you hear screams?" "Yes; the conditions were even more 1 bargained for." "Too bad of you, Charlie, to be prowling, about in the woods like this, frightening the humblest of your parishioners out of-their wits." Torfrey related the servant's story. '' So here are the owners of the eyes that glared and sent the girl into hysterics." "I'm sorry to upset your theorj', Torfrey. But it won't work. When we heard the screams we must have been half a mile up the hill. ; I've no doubt Hoskings could look fierce enough to frighten anybody, if he fried. But the range was impracticable. So we don 't explain all.'' "No," said Torfrey, musingly; "of course you don 't. The girl must have had the horrors. I'll walk a little way back with you, unless you'd like to bring your friend in for a smoke." ' "Not now, thanks. We'll be glad of your company as far as the road —eh, Hoskings?" His friend assented, and the three walked around by a path through the park, and said good-night at the edge of the grounds. Torfrey took the short cut back through the copse. He walked briskly along, smoking a cigar, and stopped suddenly, fanciug he heard a sound. j The fears of the maid immediately recurred to'him, and he looked nervously around, advancing more slowly. The inexplicable, nameless something, the Spirit of the Woods that., makes them at night a haunt of mystery and peoples them with ghosts, came down upon him. The vague shadows wavered, and he fancied he saw moving forms.

Once lie caught the gleam of a phosphorescent eve, and even Torfrey a man, and familiar with the place —felt a tremor. It was, he said to himself, some fungus on a tree or a sparkle of glass among the bushes. lie summoned all his courage-to defeat the nervous dread that was getting hold of him, and marched more quickly till he passed the Shrine. He could just see it in a shadowy outline. He -would soon be in the open now, and in sight of the house, and he was about to whistle for very relief when he distinctly «heard the crunching of dead wood, as though someone stepped behind the screen of bushes. Torfrey stopped dead—the noise had ceased. More affected than lie cared to admit, he at last cleared the copse, and walked quickly home, to the vividly imagined accompaniment of the servant's cry: "O, sir! The eyes, the eyes!" (To be Continued on Monday.)

BOOKINGS. August 1 to B—"The Forty Thieves." August 10 to 15—Alexander Watson. August 17 to 24—"The Argyle Case." August 29 to September s—Harry Lauder. "The Forty Thieves," which opens at the Theatre Eoyal to-night, provides something more than ordinary iri the way of spectacular pantomime* and the admixture of vaudeville provides some good turns. Barry Lupino plays Ali Baba, who in the extravaganza becomes a down-at-heel* house furnisher, who plunders the gang to a riotous ragtime accompaniment and a ceremony of many gorgeous ballets, and who, bv his sudden rise to affluence, is enabfed to live as happily ever after as his wife will permit. Miss Marie Eaton plays Abdalla, Miss Winnie Volt takes the part of Gaven, and Miss Gertie Latchford is the Rose of Persia. Mr Rupert Darrel and Mr J. B. Atholwood are also iii the cast.

The only play new to New Zealand audiences in the repertoire of the company headed by Julius Knight, which is to appear here next month, is Sardou 's ' ' Diplomacy.''

Allen Doone opens his next Australasian season in Melbourne, with the Boucicault drama, "The Colk-en Bawn.M Thus a "Bulletin" correspondent, writing from London: Mrs Brought gets a boost from T.P.'s as "the Mrs Pat-, rick Campbell of the Antipodes; it is expected' that the English publie will shortly have an opportunity of showing their appreciation of her distinguished gifts." A revival of "Mrs Tanqueray," played as a present-day tragedy, has brought out the pertinent objection that it betrays its age in the absence of motors. Paula was horribly bored in the country, whereas with a motor at command you can't be bored. The Hugh Buckler-Violet Paget Company (of the Sydney "Little Theatre") which begins its New Zealand tour at Auckland on August 24, under the direction of Beaumont Smith, will produce Pinero's "House in Order," Bernard Shaw's "Fanny's First Play,"