NOT LOST.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 2036, 16 September 1874, Page 3

NOT LOST.

~~ :t Let me recount to you a true lore story ; a story of love undefined— love as it was in the beginning, i 8 now, and ever shall be, world without end. It was late in the afternoon of a dull autumnal day that a group of young people came chatting down the flight of stone steps leading from the door of a cathedral church, in an old Atlantic seaport town. They were members of the choral society attached to the church, and they had evidently been there for rehearsal. Within, the great building yawned black and lonely, save in the gallery, where, orer the organ, a gas-jet spun raya of light in the gloom, and the sound of softly subdued voices broke through the stillness. The risible occupant! were two,' a man and a maiden— young, and with the cabalistic word, "lovers," gleaming, as did the handwriting of old on the wall, on their foreheads. Robert Field, the organist, was turning over some sheets of manuscript music with an unobserved air, wbile by bis side stood Hester Heathersleigh, her pretty face full of anxious interest as she watched his movements. A little cloud of uneasiness wrinkled ' her forehead now and then as she saw the rent edges of . angry clouds scud by the narrow slit of window going to the east, where the gray, sea lay tossing stormily. " Well, Robert !" ehe said at last, dropping her slim head on his shoulder; " well, Robert, what is it ?" The musician's dark, sorioua face lighted a moment, gloriously, as he turned and took the little ungloved hand in his. "I asked yon to stay, Heater, because I wished to play for you some passages from my new; piece. I shall submit it to the society at the Music Hall to-morrow evening, and I want your opinion in advance." . The youngs gi r i laughed— a little, . rippling laugh of gleeful enthusiasm. "My opinion ! Why, Robert, you know beforehand what that will be. It would be nothing but a form asking it." Robert raised the little hand tenderly to his lips. " I know that lore makes gentle critics of us all," he said,, wisely ; " but now I want you to forget who is the author of the melody, and to exercise your judgment without stint. Remember, too, that lore is the theme ; lore which, wisely or unwisely, h«pes all things, believes all things, and endures all things unto tho end." And then he turned to the organ. . He played slowly at first. It was a lonely opening, full of strange sad chords, as if a soul were waiting somewhere in shadow. Then, as brightness entered, the theme asserted itself. The wonderful tones climbed higher and higher, expressive of a great faith, of a fond, mad triumph, and bewildering joy. On and on the chords swept ; it was as if a living chain of light ran round ' the world. When he had finished there was silence for a moment between these two. The lingering echoes rolled back and forth ; till one by one they, too, escaped into stillness. Then Hester Heathersleigh Btooped, and, with quivering .lips and tear-wet eyes, reverently kissed the bowed forehead of her lover. " Oh, my darling 1" she cried, "It it so beautiful! lam so proud of you. Who taught you to play like that V A proud and satisfied smile curred Robert Field's lips as he listened. J "My lore for you taught me," he answered ; "my lore for you, which is so great, so all-absorbing; that my music seems to be put a poor expression of it." Then lifting her head he gazed for a moment with wistful tenderness iato the rose- pi ok beauty of her small, sweet face. "You think it is a triumph then, dear ? Ah, Hester, are you sure you speak for the music itself, or only out of a tender mercy j born of your lore for me ?" An indignant light brightened the pretty j riolet eyes out of the drowsy languour of youth's enchanting dreams. "Tender mercy for you," she repeated. Then her voice changed. " Ah, Robert ! if my lore can make you write like that now, then your future life shall be full of inspira tion, for I shall love you more and more the longer I know you. I shall love you more and more for ever." She wound her arm about his neck, and with tender, maiden Bweetness kissed his forehead, and kissed his wavy hair, and kissed the thin, pale hand which lay nervelessly on the yellow organ keys. And then a stillness i crept about them, a stillness more fraught with eloquent joy than any measure of golden speech could have been. While they thus stood hand in hand talking, the curtain behind them partitioning o£. the long gallery parted, and a dark face peered through. It was a man's face, handsome but cruel in that purple gloom of gathering shadow. It was no friendly face, either, that with its many changes of bate and jealous anger and furious despair seemed, while the lovers talked, to be playing a dark and stormy accompaniment to the idyl of their love. A sudden angry burst of the wind at the narrow window roused them unpleasantly to a sense of night j and the nearing storm. " Oh, the rain 1" cried Hester, with a pale face ; " how thoughtless 6t us to stay, and you hare that long, desolate walk orer the cliffs in the dark!" " Never mind !" cried Robert stoutly ; them are such light and warmth within me that I shall not heed a passing touch of wind and water. I will see you to your- door first, and then bid good night." " My cousin Conrad promised to come for me," Hester answered j " I wonder what detains him. It is too bad for me to take you all this long way out of your route." " r like it better bo," the young man Mid, gravely : "I do not like your cousin Conrad, and I am not willing to trust you to his care. Ob, my darling I" he went on earnestly, " if my music but brings me fame and fortune I caa then make you all my owa, and there

will be no more good nights, ao more partings in the storm for us." They passed down the stairs and out into the street together, unconscious of the shadow closing upon them, nearer and blacker. At the door of Hester's home they parted with a lingering good-bye. "My precious music," cried Robert, buttoning his coat closer about him ; " no harm must come to that. It represents fame and fortune, and lore and honour for thee and me my darling." Hester lifted a small wet face to peer into the gloom. "I wish you could stay." fihe said; "and oh, Robert, be careful of the cliffs— the path is so lonely and ' dangerous. I shall come early to rehearsal to«morrow, for the sake of knowing that you are safe." "Dol" heanßwered; "I shall bring you glad tidings. Success ia too near for me to miss it now. Good-night, good-nisht. my sweetheart 1" And so speaking, he passed from her into the shadow or his awaiting doom. After that night of storm, the day dawned clear and cool. At St. Paul's the Choral Society, just, then in the first flush of enthusiasm over new oratorio, gathered early. One—twothree i the great bells chimed the hours, and the singers waited impatiently for their leader. Something had detained him most likely— he would soon come ! The hour struck four,, and he had not come, and Hester Heathersleigh, with a heart heavy as lead in her bosom, fell on her knees in an agony of prayer, " Oh, my God I" she cried, reckless of who might hear her ; «he is dead. My Robert is dead 1 He has been lost in the cruel storm!" Some one, pitying, touched her arm. it was her cousin, Conrad Chftrteris. He was* looking down at her with a pale face— a face paler far than that with which he had spied upon her yesterday from behind the gallery curtain. Her piteous cry had touched eiexx, his stony heart. < "Hush 1" he whispered, "hers is news from him— from Robert ; come and hear what it is." / . :■■"■' A note had been brought by a swift-run-ning messenger, and a shudder ran rovnd the waiting circle of listeners when its contents were Made known. It was signed by * leading physician of the cityi and stated that Robert Field had been picked up that morning at the foot of the cliffs and taken home for dead. He was now, at the date of the writing, lying ia an insensible condition, and it was impossible to tell what the extent of his injuries were, or if there were any hope of bis ultimate recovery. , ' v A horror-stricken silence followed the reading of the note, broken at last by a low, sobbing cry from Hester Heatheraleigh*s white lips. •*> ° " I must go to him— ob, I must go to him 1 Who will take me? You 1 you 1" and she caught Conrad Charteris by the arm. lie shrank away from her with a gesture muck as if she had pierced him with a knife. His black eyes dilated horribly. « I ? Igo with you to see him ?" he cried ; " what are you thinking of? What do you take me for ?" Then noticing her astonished look, he made a fierce struggle for composure, but his hand shook like withered leaves. " Why do you wish to go to him V* he questioned angrily ; " he would not recognise you*— and it is no place for you I Let me take you home." ■ . She snatched op her ahawl and bound it with trembling fingers about her shoulders. "I tell you I shall go to him," she answered ;"I was to hare been his. wife, and, living or dead, my place is how by his side. You can come with me if you liko." And she flew down the steps. " ■ '. It seemed an age to her, that short time she was on the road leading to the lonely house of Robert Field's widowed mother ; and when at last, by dint of her prayers and tears, she was suffered to approach his bedside; she looked down on a very different Robert Field from the one with whom she had parted in such high hope the night before. The bruises were chiefly about the head, ''the ■physician said, gravely, and even if he Recovered it was doubtful if bis mind would ever be sound, again. Hester heard him, a,ud with a great sob fell on her knees by the bedside. . , : : ' ■ -■ Where now were the brilliant. aspirations, the' tender hopes, the gay courage and'itbuthearted faith of one short day gone by ? Lost I lost 1 Success so near to him, and yet to fail. Triumph so nearly won, and yet to pats by on the other side. " Robert, Omy Robert 1 Look up! Speak to me, or I, too, shall die !" Ah 1 bat lore remained. Lore unchanged and unfaltering. This then was left — the blessing of a love which believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things unto the end. The drawn white face on the pillow did not change at Hester's cry, but under the half-closed lids the dull eyes gleamed feebly, and the slender hand outside of the coverlet groped helplessly. Hester took his hand in hers, and then, quick as lightning, by some strange, subtle instinct, rather than by any demonstration of his, she felt that the poor stricken senses were trying to break through the darkness that enveloped them and make their unknown want understood. "Robert, Robert I what is it ?" she 'cried, " what is it that you want to make us understand ?" . The helpless movement of his lips, the helpless groping of his fingers, were enough to make one weep. Hester bent her ear to his mouth. " What is it, Robert, dear ? Tell me ; what is it you want ?" The stiffened lips strove with a terrible effort to move, and this time one word was freely articulated, '♦ Music 1" Hester looked up with a startled exclamation, "Music?" He calls for music. Do you not hear ? Where is it ? Who knows about it ? Is it lost ?" the questioned eagerly. Again that terrible attempt at speech. The dull eyes opened wide. The feeble fingers clenched themselves on Hester's hand and with a last mad effort of expiring desperate strength, he raised himself and Bhrieked, " My music 1 Find it I Save it!" and then he fell back on his pillow like one dead. — (To be continued.)