Romance of Maoriland.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1888, 16 April 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

Romance of Maoril and.

By Atha Westbury.

She is certainly beautiful, nv..re absolutely beautiful than he had believed her at first. The dark, rich hair, which waves a little at the temples ; the pencilled eyebrow, the noble modelling of tho mouth and chin might satisfy the most exacting critic. Tuere is mind in that youiig face.

" I was so pleased to heir irom Mr. Warne. tbat you are the Mr. Lyndhurst," she said, somewhat slowly. " the author whose books have given us so much pleasure.''

Tlie novelist pausas, surprise depicted on every feature of his face.

" I wa3 not aware that my poor effusions had travelled so far," he responds, quietly. '" lam proud to think that our nnt podean ideas are worthy of peraual, however."

"Fame like truth, will have place," Bhe answered gaily. "By the way, do you know a certain Colonel Liugrove of Mount Tapea V"

" Know him ! Why the colonel is one of my most intimate friends !"' cries the other.

"He is also my uncle," replies Maud Carlington. "For some years ye have had our regular monthly mail from the Mount."

" With all its New Zealand gossip, newspapers, magazines, etc," interrupted Alton, laughing.

"Truly so. Mamma, who is a tremendous reader, devours a box full of literature every mail. I know she is not fond of novels generally, but she read your Fcmdale Some twice over, and was bo delighted with ie that I, being a woman, and having a woman's reigning viee — curiosity — must needs peruse it, as a matter of course. "

" Ah ! if vanity had sway with me, I should be tempted to say that the pervailing malady of women had smitten me, Miss Carlington/' he answered, banterlngly. " Men are always curious to Jknow — I mean especially literary men — reception the airy creations of their may have at the hands of those who read and attempt to anatomise them."

Shetunvß a shy, upward glance at him, half serious, half arch.

" I cannot lay claim to any subtle dissection in the matter of fiction," she says, quietly. "Your story Is not like the majority of tl:« books which I have read."

" Why, pray ¥'

•' Because the characters appear so real and life-like. Men and women who have suffered and sinned, and the sinning nnd the suffering, with its brief alternate gleam of sunshine, are so virid, that when you have reached the end of it all, you lay down the work and wonder whether this can be purely imagination."

Alton Lyndhurst opens wide his eyes in astonishment. Were it not for the glad, girlish expression on her young, fresh face he would accept her words as greatest flattery.

I did not know that young ladies of the present day — with their schools, their village poor, their house keeping, gardening, church going, operas and what not — had time to study modern romance," he answers, after a long "pause.

"Perhaps it ia because of one's numerous duties that a quiet hour's reading" is all the more enjoyable," she responds.

"Ah, Miss Carlington, you live only to do good to others. My ambition is but to win a shred of fame for myself. How

sorry a business mine, in comparison," he says, with a deep sigh.

No surer, straighter way to a woman's heart than self depreciation. Maud Carlington turns a look at his thoughtful face.

From that moment she is interested in him.

"Fame ha 3 baen, and ever will be the noblest ambition of man, 1 ' she responds, with jiisfc the faintost tinge of a blush rising to her face. " Who would be gre:it amongst the mass save those who had aspired to fame ?"

" True, j'efc there ia no higher name than Grace Darliug's among Englishmen. This lady owe 3 her renown to her heroic acts, not to genius. Came," said he with a bitter laugh, " you were praising my book just now. Would you like to have written it V

" Nay,'' sli9 answer 3, raising her candid eyes to hi*. "To have written such a book, I must have suQaved — must have kno vn the agony and tlis throes of some groat sorrow. Providence has given me a happy hfo among goo 1 people. I would not have your genius at the cost of your

experience

Alton liyndhurst laughs outright.

" To be a good delineator of human nature, ono mu3t know the worst side of it ? ' he asks, evasively.

"A punter m.l3 1 : first receive the impression of his picture, eve, his brush translate it on the canvas. Ifc is just the sams in letters as in art," she answers.

" Then you do leave a margin for imagination ?"

" Yes, but I ever bear in mi. id the old adage that • truth is stranger thnn fie - tion.' Your work of pure imagery is as a body without a soul, a Limp without light."

"lam amizsd, Mis 3 C.irlington,'' he says, with a smile. "Da you believe Tennyaon really felt the depths of sorrow depicted in his wierd "In Memoriam."

"Why not? 1 ' she asks, with a frank look full upon his face. "Who shall measurp. the petulant grief even of a child. The reason why I love to read tlie poet Liuerate is because I feel better and braver after it, for he rai3B3 the whole tone of one's being. I believe the greatest aid to Tennyson's genius has been his sympathetic suffering with mankind."

Alton sighs, and is silent. Iv abstracted mood he follows his fair companion wherever she may load.

They go slowly downward iuto a verdant hollow where the ruins of an old temple — lichen darkened with mosses ami ferns hides its mouldered stones. By the ruined column they cross a, rustic bridge, and stray far along the bank of tlie watercourse — yellow with rushes, waterlilies, and a profusion of forget-me-noLa, pink and blue.

Here they talk of many things, of books, of pictures, eminent men, beautiful women, and lastly of Miud Curlington herself.

She is an only child, the lasb of a race who own Heath Grange, an old place away down in the West Riding of Yorkshire — half monastery, half castle. The great Gothic pile is like a royal palace, shut in by dense forest lands t which shelter in their recesses the dun deer, and the grey herons by its pools. Around its ancient walls, the rents made by the pelronels of the Ironsides are still visible. Befors the Plautageneis the Carlington3 of Heath Grange held high office in the State. In the olden days the Grange had born the storm, and basked in the sunshine of the ever-revolving wheel of fortune. Hi^h nobles had made it the audience place for kings. One of its rooms had held the captive queei — Mary Stuart, Ifc had been the favoribe haunt of Court beauties where they liad read the last bon mot of my Lord Rochester.

The late descendant o£ the old Norman family, Cecil Carlington was a colonel of the Lancers, and the best swordsman in the British army. He perished in Suinde, at tho head of his regiment, while Maud was only an infant in long

clothes.

The old Grange had been deeply mortgaged e'er Colonel Carlington's time, and was now to pass away for ever into the hands of strangers.

" And the old house will see you no more," says the novelist. " No more !" echoes the girl, with a far off look in her dark eyes. "From henceforth New Zealand is to be our home. My mother has given a promise to join her brother at Mount Tapea."

"Do you go at once," asks Alton Lyndhurst.

"ftotyfit! My unole will joiu us at Naples. We are journeying thither to await him," she responds.

They are interrupted by another bevy of the party, who join them, and the whole make their way to the place appointed as the rendezvous.

By the time they havehad another refresher of tea it is quite dark— but up comes the round, full moon, as the Prince had depicted, to light them home.

The walk 13 delightful. The old gables of Del Grade appear in view much too Boon for some of them. " Good night, Mr. Lyndhurst." " Good night, Miss Carlington."

And so ended a day which had been all too delightful and vva3 destined to be fraught with undreamed-of results to more than one of the party.

The novelist is tired, but he does not retire to rest. Tlie morning found him musing — poudering yefc.

He will see her again— M md, of the rose garden— with her clear cut face, not proud, but sweet. He can fancy such a face growing hardened with pride — growing fixed as marble were her mind outraged, the strong sense of right assailed, or the contempt for meanness once aroused within her. He has been with her but half a dozen short hours — nay, jiot so much. Yet the knowledge of her character has crowded into his utmost heart, to be there rooted, as if he had known her all his life." JTSj J