THE STORYTELLER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10440, 20 April 1912, Page 2

THE STORYTELLER.

'By ALU''LI V.\'!> >. hMln. APX':>V, iutho h of '' I'lie .*'■!:ubir.iUy" '"[h:Ho: so Next i'onr," etc) [All llic-iiTi Rj:seuvko.] "It's a pity Grotkm is such a funk, but I suppose he cannot lulp him.v.if, poor chap, that it's a case of rotten nerves." Billy Langdon stretched himself lazily in tho hammock in which he wai lying full length, and blew smoke rings into tho air, staring up into the cloudless depth*; of the midsummer sky, but his cousin, sitting in a low basket chair nt fohe side of the hammock, winced and flushed to her forehead. She was a very tall fair girl, finely made, and with a strong, beautifully moulded face, Her hair, soft as flosi silk and the warm rich hue of corn, fell in thick waves on each side of her brow: her eyes were a deep blue, approaching violet, and those people were right who saw a likeness in Cecilia Arnold to the fair and radiant Goddess 1 Prosorpine. Cecilia was second cousin to Billy Langdon, and staying with his people at their fine house on the river for the first time, a little puzzled and perplexed by the gay doings that went on nt The Chestnuts, for Cecilia had led Biich a quiet life hitherto, being the eldest daughter of a Somersetshire vicar, a girl bora and bred on the Mendips. Billy himself was a continual surprise to her, for Cecilia had never meh a budd'ng stockbroker before, and this young man took her breath away sometimes. He was so satisfied with all he said and did. so convinced that ho knew far more than his father or any o~f his elders, and yet for all his youthful egotism an amusing and invigorating oompanion, and much beloved by hin mother and sisters. Cecilia had been warned—almost within the first hour of her arrival at The Oheatnuts—that her cousin was a terrible flirt and confirmed lady killer, and advised not to take Billy seriously. Not that there was the least danger of her doing so, for the- big young man with the dark moustache and unmistakable city manner, did not impress Cecilia at all, and when Billy—trie to ' the talis told about him—attemptpd to flirt with his handsome cousin, Cecilia showed him plainly enough that she did not want him constantly at her elbo '.V. She might not hare been so ready to snub Bi'ly—for at tho ago of nineteen a girl takeß very happily to attention from the opposite sex—if Cecilia had not been keenly attracted by tho looks stk! manner of a young roan staying at The Chestnuts—a certain Anthony G etton. But as it was, youno; Gretton appealed most strongly to the girl from tho Mendips; he was just the fairy prince of her dreams. Ct cilia knew little Anthony

Gretton, however,. be;ond the bare fa-t that he was an orphan, and that Billy's 1 father was his guardian She was vaguely aware that he (vas wealthy, • and a fine property somewhere up in York hire, but the fact of Anthony's riches had not impressed Cecilia particularly. Tt was his persona'ity that appealed to her, the look ©f race and breeding that distinguished him, his cultured voice, his pleasant ways; also, he was invariably kind to an'mals and this counted for a great deal, Cecila. herself being devoted to the dumb creation, their warm champion. ■"Anthony was also exceedingly good looking, or, at any rate, Cecilia thought so. He was slim and dark, with a thin, somewhat pensive face lit with glowing eyes, and h ; s lens: hand? • were quite as beautiful in their sh.-ip > as the hnnds Vandyke and Velasqu:>z loved to paint; nor was his manner particularly modern, he possessed something of the distinguished courtesy of the school—he was deferential to women and old men—his talk polished and easy. And nw J( Billy "Langton—Gretton'a •xact opposite in, every way—had actually spoken of his as a "funk!" Small wonder that Cecilia flushed indignantly, " Why do yon talk about Mr Gretton like that and call him a—a coward P Have you any reason for making suoh a statementP" ~ "Rather," Billy answered, cheerfully and readily. "We don't talk" of ,it of the family, you know, but my little brother, Archie, fell into the river last summer and was nearly drowned. The poor little beggar had only just begun to learn how to swim, and Gretton, who can swim quite decently, stood shivering ten the bank, afraid to plunge in to Archie's rescue. There were a few nasty reeds about, and perhaps he thought the little beggar would cling round his neck and jfc*,j>ede his movements. It was a bit pwwardly, though—wasn't it P" "Yes," Cedlia concurred, slowly, her face sobering strangely, for it was so hard to think of Anthony Gretton as a coward. "Who saved ArchieP" she added. "That was my little job." Billy Btniled self-com£lacently. "I was playing tennis on the lawn, but, hearing a Jot of screaming and shrieking, I got to the river bank just in time." " And what explanation did Mr Gretton make?" Cecilia Interrupted. • She had risen from her low seat, and was standing up tall and pale by the side of the hammock, her eyes fixed on the flowing Thames, her breast ri6ing and falling hurriedly. " What explanation could he make?" , Billy retorted. "The mater declares that he's to he more pitied than bram- ": '"• ecL, though, for his lack of nerve, and she tried to account for it by reminding us that his father met with a frightful accident out hunting, and was carried home a mangled corpse, and—and Gretton was born that night—his mother dying, poor woman. But I don't see myself that this excuses Gretton's cowardice, and he really is an awful ■ funk. He doesn't ride because he's nervous of being thrown, and he's afraid to venture out if it thundeTs—he is simply terrified of lightning; he dislikes the dark, and is as jumpy as a cat sometimes. But when you know him better you'll find this out for yourself." Cecilia made no answer, merely . moved abruptly away from the hammock and walked back to the house, turning her steps to the cool, quiet library, for she judged that the room < would he vacant, and she dearly longed to he alone. She _ wanted to think over what shehad just been told, and she wondered if Billy would have spoken quite so freely if he had guessed. or even dimly suspected, that she loved the man whom he had just branded as a coward; for Cecilia knew that she' had lost her heart to Anthony Gretton, and she had every reason to believe that Gretton cared for her. The library was vacant, just as Cocilia had hoped it would be, and she settled herself down somewhat forlornly on the wide window seat, her proud neck drooping, her eyes troubled. "A coward," she muttered, brokenly. "I have fallen in love with a i&ownrd, and I thought Anthony as brave as any knight of romance. I never guessed—never suspected—that he would stand by and watch a child drown. I pictured him as brave as a lion." Big tears filled her eyes and splashed down her cheeks, and just at this minnte Anthony Gretton entered tho library, and a wave of fierce, angrv relentment swelled up in Cecilia's heart «? she looked_ at him, for she ,«nw this fairv prince in a new light—the word "toward" was branded in lnr."e let- • fc»rs across his forehead—the word of teproacb and phame. Something of the mingled sorrow and

EHORT SERIAL.

,•'!".■ -r t-'-t Cr I'l hit was revealed in ;-, ' . v , ;. ' -. ■-. f; ~, :;!:)>iced at her ;.. ; r.[-',-, . ',';■■. . I' !,: {'<" niTcd to up- !•/■■ ■';:■! i',' !;. * >„,!.', «1. this glorious '.. ,'■;,'. .'-.. : ~ , uuo already meant all ij: > ,;0;..i .„ !>»:'. thi.ugh lie had only l.;-,iu i:,M- tor a i:ho:-t week or two; the

c j 1 to whom li" intended to propose vl.rv.vor he i-ot a fitting opportunity. " What is the mntUT, Mi™ Arnold < He addressed Cecilia with a tender diffidence. i; You look worried ; have you had bad news ot any sort?" . "Vc". " she answered, shortly, furious with herself because her heart beat so wildly owing to the mere fact ot Grettb's presence. "I hare just heard something that has distr.'-sed me extremely—pained me more than words can well express." ~ lie moved towards her swiftly, his eyes aglow with sympathy, and then, just because the young man realised that Cecilia was in soTe trouble of some sort, and he wanted badly to console and comfort her, he threw his arms around her stiff, unbending young body. "My darling," he whispered. "Tell mc what the trouble is. I love you so, Cecilia—l want to marry you She drew back hastily, all the quicker perhaps, because the longing was strong on her to rest her head upon Anthony Grotton's shoulder, and forget that he was that miserable creature, a poltroon, for she yearned for his kiss, she ached to be snatched up in his embrace. Her hot ardent youth was fighting a hard battle with lior j?ride, but pride finally conquered. " I don't want to marry you.' The words seemed to be forced from her, uttered almost against her will. " I—l couldn't marry a coward." She repented her cruel speech as soon as the words had passed her lips, but words once spoken can never be recalled.

Gretton recoiled as if an asp had stung him, and his dark, handsome face grew livid, his hands twitched convulsively. " Oh, they have been telling you how I stood by on the bank and watched poor little Archie struggle in the water. How I was too great a coward to jump in and try to save him." " Yes—l—l hoped the tale was a lie." The tears were streaming fast down Cecilia's face, but (iretton stood as if turned to stone, and the heavens themselves appeared to fall in with the gloom of the moment, for from afar came the faint rumbling of distant thunder, and the sun went in behind a heavy cloud. " What they told you was the truth. But Cecilia, oh! dear Cecilia, make some allowance for me, for I have been a coward since the hour of my birth. I was born a coward —the fear of death—the dread of death—stamped on my very soul. My mother, leaning happih' out of a window, saw my father's dead body being carried home on a shutter—the father who had ridden away so gaily a few hours before—and small wonder that she died that very night, and that her child inherited jarred nerves. Why, the dark terrifies mo sometimes —the mere black night. But with you I should get- stronger—braver—the d»ar comfort of your presence would "lake a new man of me flfter a time, Cecilia. I know .it would." He clutched with feverish fingers at her gown, but she rose swiftly to her feet, struggling against the pitiful impulse that moved her to press her fresh young lips to a coward's brow and press a cmvard's face to her breast, for all her driams of a hero "sans peur et sans reproche " had been rudely shattered, and Cecilia was far too young and to understand that cowardieais a disease an unhappy mental condition.

" I couldn't marry a man who wasn't brave," she protested. "I should hate to feel ashamed of ray husband—it—.it would break my heart, I think-"

" But, Cecilia, I could conquer ray cowardly instincts—l know I could—my love for you would help mo to do so—my great love." He pleaded earnestly, his pale, strained face on a level with her face, and Cecilia looked at him doubtfully. A second later and she would have been in his arms, but just at the critical moment a sudden flash of lightning darting through the room caused Gretton to flinch and waver; half involuntrily he put up his hand to guard his eyes—and this though the lightning was miles away as yet, the storm hardly begun. Cecilia laughed scornfully, laughed because she would otherwise have wept, for, oh, the pity of it—the pity—that a strong younc man of twenty-three should have leas nerve than a green girl. " Why, you're afraid of a mere flash of lightning," she cried. "You wouldn't dare to go out for a walk with me now that a storm is coming up, I suppose? Your nerves wouldn't stand it." " Try me," he answered, grimly, setting his teeth. "Where you eo I'll follow."

" All right. Cecilia took a flving schoolgirl leap out of the low window, just escaping alighting on a bed of sweet-scented white stocks, and. true to his word, Anthony Gretton jumped out after her. Then they both stood on the gravel path, looking young and foolish, heavy rain-drops beginning to patter down, the distant roar of thunder getting louder.' Cecilia Razed up somewhat defiantly at the sullen skies. There were signs that one of the severe thtmderftorms that follow the course of the Thames vallev wpr on its wav; but she was determined to put Anthonv to the test. They would start for a country walk just as if no storm was rolling up, and no angry dun-hued clouds were sweeping in fleet confusion across the sky. And if thev eot soaked to the skin what would that matter? A man's courage was at stake—a coward had been nut on his mettle!

"We will walk straight across the •fields to Holyport village and baok again. I dare sav -we shall get wet. You're not afraid?" "Of a wetting—no !" He spoke in low, curiously restrained tones, then glanwd ut> in his turn at the sky, and a flash of forked lightning leaping between two black clouds made him start ju=tt as if he had received an electric shock, and his eves dilated, just as the eyes of animals dilate in moments of nervous excitement or terror.

"We will Co,out throned) the kitchen warden, T think." Cecilia turned to her companion, two brisrht spots of colour burning on her pale cheeks, her lips quivering. , "I am in your hands." He was cnlrn_ hut quite unrep.nonsive, and Cecilia wondered somewhat nervously if he would hate her afterwards for what she was doing. But she- would not draw hack.

They walked through the kitchen crarden, two pals, troubled youner tures. tbo sensitive, nervous youth and tho tail fair girl; r.nd an old gardener diTsrhic nwav at potatoes glanced somewhat curiously at the younsr couple, gazed up nt the lowering skies, and erj.-it solemnlv unon his spade, and called out to Cecilia. "There's o-oing to be a pretty bnd storm, miss," he ventured. "T shouldn't walk too far, or you'll get caught in it"

""Wo don't care," she retorted, rWtli asstirn"'! l<?htness of manner. " Neither Mr Oetton nor mvself is afraid of n little thunder and lightning, I hone.''The shook his *viso old bend, rfimernberine; the prayer in the Litnnv .apininst storm and tempest. "There win; a lad struck Cookham way—come this time last year—struck dead he wur. sheltering beneath a big oak tre<\ Lightning ain't to be laughed at 'vi«'ie. The poor trees an' the d'lTnVi beasts eonld tell you that."

He bent over his potatoes again and Cecilia hurried on, casting a furtive look at her companion. But she was amazed by tho resolution she read in

Gretton's countenance. The expression of shrinking nervousness had vanished. He resembled a soldier ready to charge at the cannon mouth, and certainly heaven's artillery wa3 thundering overhead. The stonn was coming up with a vengeance, sweeping along at a terrific pace, carrying the sound of cracking bough with it, hurling leaves along, blowing up great clouds of yellow dur.t.

"It is getting dark—almost as dark as night." Cecilia paused irresolutely. She and Gretton had gained the fields by now, and had already crossed a wide meadow, and the girl noticed that some cows were tearing about wildly—a pretty sure sign that the storm would be severe—and she wanted Anthony to suggest that they should turn back— a. suggestion she would willingly have adopted. Young Gretton did nothing of the sort, however.

" I thought we were going to walk to Holy port," he observed, coldly; and after that Cecelia could say no more, but a violent peal of thunder made her shiver nervously. She felt afraid of the gathering storm, even though she saw no good reason for her fear—it was as if she had caught the contagion of terror from Gretton.

They walked breathlessly across two wide meadows. The air was stifling hot and unduly oppressive, and everything was strangely quiet. It was the lull that usually heralds in a severe storm.

.Rain fell freely—great soaking drops, as big as half crowns—and the skies looked very angry, and Cecilia's heart began to beat violently. She wished she had never suggested this foolish walk to Anthony, for they were both as wet as possible, and tho lightning was forked and menacing. "Mr Gretton—are you very cross with me?" She stole a timid glance at her companion. " Let us take shelter in one of these farm buildings at the bottom of this meadow; iVs foolish to go on walking in this downpour." She pointed to a big barn right at the end of the green field, and Gretton nodded his head silently. His face was very pale, and he winced as each forked flash of lightning shot across the frowning skies, otherwise he gave no sign of nervousness. A frightful flash suddenly illuminated the heavens—a blue flash—followed a few seconds later on by a terrific roar of thunder—thunder that literally shook the field and made Cecilia clutch at young Gretton's arm. " Oh, let's run to the barn, pleaseplease let us run. I never thought we were going to have such a bad storm; the lightning is quite close." "It will be all right, dear; don't worry."

Gretton took Cecilia hj the hand, and she forgot that he was a coward, and clung tightly to his fingers; and so, hand in hand, they raced across the meadow together hurrying as fast as they could towards the great barn. Another forked flash caused Cecilia to blink her eyes, and she was- vaguely conscious that Anthony's hand shook violently; but the thunderclap that followed swiftly on the flash wa*s sufficiently alarming to make Cecilia long for the safety of the barn, and she drew a deep breath of relief when at last she and Anthony Gretton found themselves inside it—a drenched, bedraggled couple, soaked to the skin.

The rain was pelting down, the lightning excessively vivid, the thunder deafening, and Cecilia commenced to wring her skirt out—like a wet rag—taking up her position as far from the 'window as possible. Jgjit .Anthony, curiously enough, elect* watch the progress of the storm through the wido barn window, and all at once he started and attercd an exclamation. "What is the matter?" Cecilia asked. She was feeling nervous and jumpy for the first time in her life, and it was not a pleasant feoling also Bhe was conscious that something wa3 about to happen.

"Some children coming back from school are taking refuge under a big clump of trees towards the left of the meadow—a dangerous rofugo during a storm like this.

Young Gretton spoke slowly, ard he moistened hi 3 dry lips with hia tongue —he looked ghastly. Cecilia moved toward the window. It was very dark, but she could see a little group of school children cowering together under the shelter afforded by some pollard oaks, and she recognised—just as Anthony did—tho danger the children ran of being struck by lightning.

'Poor mites! They ought not to stand there. Couldn't we call out to them to make a bolt for the barn? Thoy mightn't come, though 1" She glanced irresolutely at Gretton. There was comparative safety in the barn, and he waa a coward—no use asking him to go out and bring the children in—ho would simply refuse. But how about going herself? Cecilia moved towards the door, but before she could reach it Anthony Gretton had pressed past her and gained it first.

" No, you are not going out to bring those children in," he said slowly. This is a man's job—mine." is very near," she muttered huskily. " Are you not nervousP"

Simply terrified," he answered, with a grave and curious simplicity, but Im going all the same; and, Cecilia dear, you mustn't try to etop me."

Cecilia recognised the note of masculine supremacy, and stood meekly aside, for it is one of the rules of the world *hat' women and children have to allow their menfolk to fend for them. But her heart was in her mouth as Gretton left the barn, with that pale white look on his face that young soldiers so often have when first troinir into action, and Rhe thought of the lnd struck at Cookham last year—cut down 'ike green grass. She moved restlessly towards the barn window, but a flash of zigzag fire made her cover her eyes with her hands, and., as Cecilia listened to the roar of t"he thunder and tho steady swish of the rp'i she knew that she loved Anthony Gretton with all her henrt and ."'•ul She let her hands droo to her sides. and (r-TZ"d out of the window at last, nnd she rsw to her immense relief thn+ A.nthonv hrd rninpd the cropp of eh ; '- dror *nd was tnlkinsr to them earnesflv —ov*''l n ntly ■ trying to persuade thf> 15++1« Tieonlo +t> lpave fTie dangerous Rh ß l*»r of the trees and make a hold ni" for if 9i«r(i« the o*">n. TVp children demurred, however, til' Anthony suddenly s+ooned down "nd fmfl<<Mv>d tip f.be yonncrest, smallest eV'i'd in his fi-ms, find at + n-is flip nf-Tinr« round Mm. nnd c i"iernl move heorin. TSiit intt a.? ("Vr 1 " 1 '" was ennrrrr>fn'ntino' herself ov ■?• th?" n hall of fi r e anrtf>nr<*d to frill as ? + irovi frr>Tn nfffiven— into +^" n r +i-« tnlln e t oak t*re—a hl.iz<"'nn!!ii nlnnd. hrr fole" r~>;.T--l'n<r wt+Ti a /'""foriMKr ner>l of it,,*„rl nr otu-1 +l,o n?+''--' /.n»s of +V dnrod nnf ,it>. At lnc+ clip .Jl, + r, iVS-M+n roI?/.f f>ntl W nTi* «•"„, nricvi.i+Tird uti+o,">l,'vl—t<t''li»nr of 'l'i"!n» "'n. rnrrr-.'rifr o ff sir in nrrv'c. nnrl «-Hli

of the oak trees, tlio fireball had literally cleft the tree asunder from apex to base—just a bare second after Anthony had persuaded the children not to shelter any longer under its boughs, and the whole party had escaped death by a miracle. Cecilia turned faint, but she had just sufficient strength to totter to the door of the barn, and she stood there till Anthony came up. She noticed that he shook from head to foot, and that his face was the hue of chalk, also that ho could hardly walk straight.

He" smiled at Cecilia—an infinitely pathetic smile—as though asking her to excuse such pitiful weakness. " Once a coward—arways a coward," he muttered. " I thought I could master my foolish nerves, but I can't—l can't. My nerves master me."

" A coward," she answered, softly. "No, a hero—my hero." He gazed at her in dumb amaze, hardly able to realise that Cecilia meant what she said, any more than he understood that there arc different kinds of courage, as of cowardice. "Anthony!" She raised her pale face to his, and forgetting the presence of the wondering children, forgetting everything except that ho had won his heart's desire, Anthony bent down and kissed the tall, fair girl who had called him by a new name—that of a hero. And he swore to himself that he would bo worthy of this namo in the future, realising that, however great a coward a man may be at heart, it is his actions he is judged by—his deeds.

They clung together—the two young lovers—and the storm went drifting by. and the children chattered noisily at the top of their voices, discussing the cleft oak, scorched and scarred by the flame from heaven; but a grateful frajrrancs rose up from fields washed fresh by rain, birds began to sing, the sun flashed out, and suddenly a rainbow showed itself on the _ distant horizon—the rainbow of promise.