CHAPTER I. THE LOCKED ROOM.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 131, 5 December 1885, Page 5

CHAPTER I. THE LOCKED ROOM.

Anton Petrovttch Malissof was fortj years of age, but looked scarcely more thar live and-thirty. Tbia was not the result o any affectivtion of juvenility on his part his grave and correct countenance, slightly bald forehead, and severe style of dres; were not those of a young man, andthougl: he had applied for indefinite leave oi absence, to the great regret or tin { Ambassador (for whom ho did all the work), | it was not a youthful whini which had led him to oxchange the beautiful climate ol the feouth for that of his Russian estate, j He was weary, and Jelt an irresistible craving for rest. For rest from what ? Is it not an estabI lished axiom that secrotarios to embassies never have anything to do ? And yet Malissof's weariness was genuine, so genuine that a clever foreign physician had advised him to return to his native air. Malissof had arrived the previous evening at his beautiful seat, Malissova, and gone zo bed as soon as he alighted from his carriage. The early morning sun found itt> way through the Holland blinds and awoke him. One of his peculiar fancies had induced him to order that notning more comfortable than the old woim-eaten furniture among which he had grown up should bo provided for his reception. But two and twenty years leave their trace on inanimate objects as well as human beings, unless the objects happen to be obelisks or cathedrals. Malissof rose, seated himself on the edge of his bed, and cast a, scrutinising glance around. In compliance with his orders, a bed had been made up for him in his old nursery, which became his bedroom when he grew oldor. The canary-coloured wallpaper was just his own age ; the old fashioned design proclaimed a period when ugliness ttiuinphed in every description of paper-hanging. The chairs, toe, wore correspondingly hideous while the walnut wood table showed the numerous ha-ksof the knife with which the absentminded scholar had carved his lesson into the wood, in lieu of imprinting it on his wandering brain. The mouldy odour common to the places that have been shut up and uninhabited for a number of years pervaded the apartment, and Malissof appeared to inhale this peculiar atmosphere with pleasure. Presently ho proceeded to dress himself, and then threw the window wide open. A large branch of a lime troe prolited by this proceeding of his to thrust its tufts of unopened tlower-buds into the room. Everythingoutside was much changed. Formerly the carefully clipped lime-trees could not have taken any such liberty ; the old gardener would certainly nover have tolerated the wild flowers that now covered the lawn. "That is not turf, but hay grass," the old man would have said, but tor ten years past he had been sleeping under a little piece of turf which was never mown. The shrubs had grown enormously. A Avhitc rose-bush, measuring eight feet round, rose majestically at the end of the grounds, looking like a bridegroom's wedding gift, sprinkled with living emeralds. The poplars had bocomo quite lofty. The stream, which made a sharp curve at the bottom of the lawn, was now only visible through a few gaps in a wall of lilacs. Everything was much changed, and yet Malissof, leaning on the window-sill, felt a strange impression of familiarity, a sort of reminiscence of bygone years. For some time he gave bimselt up to the melancholy amusement of brooding over the past ; then roused himself from his reverie, completed his toilet, and went into the dining-room. Here the impressions which awaited him were rather those of his childhood than his youth ; the old timepiece, whoso resounding tick had occasionally drowned his mother's low voice as she gently reproved him for some prank ; the old leather chair in which she had so often dozed after dinner ; these familiar objects reminded him of his early years, but not of those that came after. He wandered thus through every room in tho house, and when he had come to the snd, stopped short before a locked door. The key was in his hand ; he looked at it twice, and was on the point of putting it into the lock ; but his hand fell by his side, and he turned away. " By-andby," said he to himself, " when I feel more composed." And he set forth to inspect his estate. The day pased quickly ; the barns, granaries, cattlo-dieds and stables wore sufficiently numerous to delight the idle hours of their owner after so long an absence. Evening came before ho found himself alone. After dinner he seated himself at the head of the steps in front of tho house to enjoy the fresh air. Here he remained, smoking his cigar and following the courso of the clouds which melted away in the blue vault above, till suddenly a thought occurred to him and he went indoors, and directed his steps hurriedly towards the door of the room which he had left unopened in the morning. The key turned in the lock, be pushed the door open and stoppedshortonthe threshold. The large apartment, furnished in drab, was in no way remarkable ; it was a kind of sitting room or boudoir, and all it had to show was a white marble centre-table, spme chairs and a couch against the walls, a little square piano between two windows, and an easy chair. Malissof went straight up to this chair, and heedless of the dust which lay thick on the inlaid floor, knelt down, re»ting his head on the laded piece of furniture. In a few moments he rose, and reverently kissed it, leaving two tearrf on the dust-covered chintz. His mothor had diod in this room. There she had passed tho long years of her recluse widowed life. Her image rose before his eyes, pale, languid, but always charming 5 features and age have nothing to do with the beauty of the mind. Anton Petrovitch had loved his mother with a tender, confiding, intimate affection, telling her everything, letting her into his inmost thoughts. One day, as^he was talking to her, she fell asleep, and the slumber was that from which there is no awaking. When the funeral was over, Malissof looked the door of the little room which contained the epitome of his life, and left the home of his fathera. Twenty years elapsed before he saw it again,

When ho had thoroughly tasted the bitter sweet of so many memories he rose to return to his own apartments. On the threshold of this room, he paused and hesitated ; should he close this sanctuary and only enter it in hours of sadness ? He reflected a moment, and then threw open the folding-doors. "Let light and life enter everywhere," said he to himßelf. " I have kept both my heart and my home too long closed. If there is still time, let the sun penetrate into the deepest recesses,/'