LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4906, 22 March 1894, Page 1

LITERATURE.

ALL ALONG THE RIVEH.

[by stores v. b. bbaddon.] i J.ubhor of " Lady Dudley's Secret," "Aurora Floyd," " The Cloven Foot/ « Dead Men's Shoes," &c, &c. (Copyrighted.) Chaptmj XXVII. * ' : I, %l X&&, AND GOD, CAN COffiPBSSBND IACH OTHB*." It Pwas two months after Allegra'a Wedding-day, and Martin Disney had been -warned that the closing iioux of the young life he» had watohed bo tenderly was not far 65. It might oome to-morrow j or it might not come for a week ; or the linger-ingi-flame might go flickering on, fainting and reviving in the aocket, for another month. He must hold himself prepared ■fox the worst. Death might come suddenly at the last, like a thief in the alight f or by stealthy, gradual steps, and slowest progress from life to clay. lie sat beside laola's sofa in the Roman ilodging as he had Bat beside her bed in «that long illness at Trelasco, when her wandering mind appalled him more than her bodily weakness. He watched as faithfully as he had watched then, but *this time without hope. Father Bodwell had been with her at seven o'clock upon the last three mornings, and bad administered the sacrament to her and to her husband, and to the faithful Tabitha, one with them in piety • and love. The priest thought that each celebration would be the last; but she rallied a little an the day wore on, and lived till sunset j lived through the long painful night, and another day dawned, and he found her waiting for him ia the morning, ready to greet him with her pale smile when he appeared upon the threshold of her room, after going up the staircase in saddest apprehension, dreading to hear that all was over, except the funeral service and the funeral bell. She iafiiated upon getting up and going into the drawing-room, feeble as ehe was. Tabitha was so handy and bo helpful that the fatigue of an invalid's toilet was lightened to the uttarmosfc. Tabitha and the Colonel carried her from the bedroom to the drawing-room upon her couch, and carried the couch back to the bedside in the evening. Before noon she was lying in the -sunlit salon, surrounded with flowers and photographs and books and newspapers, and all things that lighten the monotonous hours of sickness. Nor was companionship ever wanting. .Martin Dianey devoted himself to her with an unfailing patience. Upon no pretence would he leave her for more than half an hour at a time— just the space of a walk to -the Bill of Gardens, or the length of the Via de' Condotti and the Corso ; just the space of a cigar in the loggia. He read to her, he talked to her, he waited upon her. Tabitha and he were her only nurses ; for Lottchen was a young woman of profound concentration of motive, and had early taken unto herself the motto. One baby, one nurse. She conscientiously performed her duty to her infant charge; but Bhe rarely, lifted a finger to help anyone elae. ■^ it wag drawing towards the end of July ; BHfetattsthc? had been lovely hitherto— hot, hot, but not-icaupportable for affordjo dawdle and sleep HB|HHHuaidday-&ncl afternoon existence to carry them about in HHH^HHHpningß, and a carriage to moonlit gardens and H^H^^ue places. In the suburbs of the Ji^eat city, actosß the arid Campagna yonder, at Tivoli, and Fraaoati, and Albano, and Caatel Grandolfo, people had been revelling in the fulness of the summer, living 'under Jove's broad roof, with dancing and sports, and music and feasting, and rustio, innocent kisses, snatched amidst the darkness of groves whose only lamps are fire-flies— deep woods of ilex, where the nightingale sings long and late, and the grasshopper trills his good-night through the perfumed herbage. Here, in Borne, the heat was more •oppressive, and the splashing of the city's many fountains was the only relief from the glare and dazzle of the piazzas, the vivid whiteness of the great blocks of houses in the new streets and boulevards. Blinds were lowered, and shops were shut, inthe blinding noontide heat, and through the early afternoon the eternal city waß ;almosfc as silent and reposeful as the sleeping beauty — to awaken at sundown to movement, and life, and music, and singing, in lighted streets and crowded cafes. Suddenly in the dim gray of the morning, the slumberous calm of summer changed to howling wind and tropical rain —torrential rain, that fell in sheets of water and filled every gutter, and splashed from every housetop, and ran in wild •cascades from every alley on the steep hillsides. The Campagna was one vast lake, illumined with vivid flashes of lightning, and the thunder pealed and reverberated along the lofty parapeis of the ruiiiei aqueducts. The tall oypre3Eea in the Pincian Gardens bent like saplings tbefore that mighty wind, which seemed to -howl and shriek its loudest as it came tearing down from the hill to whistle and rave among the house tops in the Piezza di tipagna. "-One would think the ghost of Nero were shrieking in the midst of the tempest/ said Isola, as Bhe listened to the ■fitful Bofbbing of the wind late in the dull grey afternoon, while her husband and .Father Bodwell sat near her couch, keeping up that sad pretence of cheerfulness which love struggles to maintain upon the fiery edge of the graye — the brokenhearted make-believe of those who know that death waits at the door. "Hari," she "There comes a shrill try every now and then like the scream of a wicked spirit in pain." " Borne is full of ghosta," answered the priest, "but there ar« the Bhadows of the good and the great as well as of the wicked. Walking Alone m twilight on the Aventine, I should hardly be surprised to meet the spirit of Gregory the Great wandering aseidst the scenes of his saintly life ; nor do I ever go into the Pantheon at dusk without half expecting to see the shade of Eaff&elle. And there are others— some I knew in the flesh— Wiseman and Antonelli, Gibson, the sculptor.oonaammate artißt and gentlest of men— yes, Borne is full of the shadow* of the good and the wise. One «an afford to put up with Nero." " You don't mean me to think that you believe in gho.ts ?" asked Isola, deeply interested. It wae only five o'clock, yet the Bky was grey with the greynesa of late evening. ;Here in this land of light and sunshine {there had been all day long the brooding gloom of etoris clouds, and a sky that was -daft as winter. «'$ won't analy.se my own feelings on the isabjeft ; I will quote the words of a man »i wh«ae feet it was my happiness to sit jsametknes when I waa a lad at Oxford. C&uon Mozley has not shrunk from facing t&e great problem of spiritual life in this wotld^-of an invisible after existence upon the eatth «rhen the body is dust under tho eoi. 'ft tfce mother of our Lord now gristing?' be aaks, and answers, 'Yos. 1 believe that all fathers, mothers, sons a,%<£ daughters &?» now existing. Nature has/iM?oosed of their bodies aa far as' we i£** tfAee her work; b*ft their souls remain. Jfo I. read ia Homer, in Virgil and fa the BflHfey Teet*o:ent, Th's existence lam psrHKyjtQ believe fag, gogscioui ardagr.jyg

existence.' Canon Mozley, the man who wrote those words and much more in the same strain, was not an idle visionary. If bs could afford to believe in the presence -of the dead 'among us, why so can I. And 1 believe that Gregory the Great has whispered at the ear of many a Holy Father in the long line of his successors, and has influenced many a Cardinal's vote, and has been an in-visible power in many a council." " I like to believe in ghosts," «aid Isola, gently. " But I thank God those that I Jove are still in this life/ She held out her hand with a curiously timid gesture to her husband, who clasped it tenderly, bending 3ris lips to Mbb the pale thin fingers. Oh, Death, pity and pardon are so interwoven with thine image that neither pride nor anger has any force against thy softening influence. She had been fake. She had wronged him and dishonoured herself, cruelly* cruelly, most cruelly; but ahe had suffered and repented, and she waß passing away from him. Let the, broken Bpirit pass in peace, let the fainting soul depart in an atmosphere of love. That day wore itself out in storm and tempest, and the night came on like a fierce death-struggle ; and the wind raved and shrieked at intervals all through tho night; and again next day there were' gloom and darkness, and a sky heaped up with great lead-coloured clouds; and again the torrential rain streamed from the housetops and plashed in the streets below; a dreary day to be endured even by the healthy and the happy—a day of painful oppression for an invalid. Isola'a spirits sank to the the lowest depth, and for the first time Bince Allegra'a marriage she talked hopelessly of their separation. "If I could only see her once more before I die," she sighed. " My beloved, you Bhall see her as Boon as the railway can bring her here. Remember, it iB you who have forbidden me to send for her. You know how dearly she loves you — bow willingly she would come to you. I'll telegraph to her within half an hour/ " No, no, no," Isola protested, hurriedly. "No, we can never meet again in this world. I took my farewell of her in the church. I meant it to be farewell. I was very happy for her sake when I saw her married to the man Bhe loved. It was a selfish repining that made me ask for her just now. I would not have her summoned here for worlds. She is so happy at Venice — happy in her honeymoon dream. Tell her nothing, Martin— nothing till you can tell her that my days have ended peacefully. ■ She has borne her burden for me in the past. I want her to be free from all care about me— -but not to forget me." " She will not forget, Isola. She loves you fondly and truly." " Teß, I am sure of that. She was dearer to me than my own sister — cared for me much more than Gwendoline ever cared, though Gwen and I were always good friends. Poor frivolous Gwen ! She writes me affectionate letters, hoping she may get to Italy in the autumn, though it is impossible for her to come just now. And mother and father write to me just in the same way— mother regretting that her health won't allow her to leave Dinan; father hoping to see me in the autumn. Their letters are full of hopefulness." Her husband read to her for the greater part of the long, gloomy day. He read St Thomas a Kempis for some part of the time. The book had been on the little table by her side throughout her illness. He read two or three of Frederick Bobertaon'a sermons, and for occasionl respite from too serionß thought he read her favourite poems — Adonais, Alastor, and some of Shelley's lovely lyrics and those passages in Childe Harold which had acquired a new charm for her since she had grown familiar with Borne. " Bead to me about Venice," Bhe said, I " and let me think of Allegra and Captain Hulbert. I love to fancy them gliding along those narrow, picturesque streets in the great, graceful, ponderous gondola I know bo well. It is so nice to know of their happiness— and that — they will never be parted." So the long summer day— without the glow and glory of summer— wore on, and except for her excessive languor and feebleness there were no indications that the patient's state wa3 any worae than it had been for Borne weeks. The doctor came late in the afternoon, and felt her pulse, and talked to her a little, bub it; was easy to see that his visit was only a formula, and that he had no hope ol doing her any good. "You have such an excellent nurse, Mrs Disney, that I consider my position almost a sinecure," he said, smiling at the faithful Tabitha, who stood waiting for his instructions, and who never forgot the minutest detail. Tabitha came in from the adjoining bedroom, every now and then/ and adjusted the pillows on the Bofa, and sprinkled eaude Cologne, or fanned the invalid with a large Japanese fan; or arranged the soft silken coverlet over her feet.or brought her some small refreshment in the way of a cup of coup or jelly, and tenderly coaxed and assisted her to take it, talkiDg- juatas much or as little as seemed prudent, always careful neither to fatigue nor to excite her charge. (To be continaoJ.)