THE STORYTELLER

Waikato Times, Volume 97, Issue 15272, 23 June 1923, Page 12 (Supplement)

THE STORYTELLER

By KATHARINE TYNAN.

Author of “ Oh What a Plague is *>' Love,” She Walks in Beauty,” ■ '■■■■ “Peggy, the Daughter, “The Handsome Brandons,” etc. CHAPTER XI. .-'The doctor, coming in for his morning visit, had been very cheerful about Hester’s feet. With care they would be all right in a few days. He 1 touched the bandage round about her • cheek and neck gently, and said, as ■ ■"though she were a child. “This may come off, it was a mere precautionary measure, and we need not spoil our beauty any longer than we can help.” “I am not going to be hideous for life?” ashed Hester, looking up at him with immense relief. .“Bless my soul, no. There was ‘just the slightest scorch. But even a slight scorch may mean paifl, ana you have quite enough to bear already with those poor little feet.” Hester was. kept.in bed all that day, sometimes sleeping, in the intervals of sleep and meals receiving visitors. The St Austells came to say au revoir They were going south next morning. • Simon Mallory came in and patted her cheek, telling her she had done bravely,'and that the fire was well in hand. The rain had come down with tropical violence, and the moors were saturated: No fear of the fire - spreading ■that way any longer, thank God. He » said it reverently, and Hester remem■bered that on the authority of the Judge Simon always carried a Bible . iwherever he travelled. An odd mixture, Simon'Mallory. He went oil with his kind and weary air, leaving Hester full of affection and sympathy for him: he was a man well .'-.loved by his friends, inn. With the lunch came Louise. .a “All the men are out,” she said, 'i'Und the women are bored stiff. 1 !: don't see myself wasting my lime-on them. I said I’d have my lunch up here. Hogg yulS-see to it that I gel a good lunch. I make up for what my tips lack by uncommon civility to the servants. Some people think ■ ■they can treat them like dogs—as long as they tip them well. I, having the W.,wisdom of the serpent or the poor relation, know that they are human . beings, like anyone else. It makes j,a deal of difference in ,a hpuse if the servants like you. They like me inhere, except Celeste, who thinks -Nancy gives me too many things which . ought to be her perquisites—greedy ■’ tt pig.” It was quite true. The servants did like. Miss Maxwell, who never economised in being pleasant. Hester bad a delicate Invalid’s tray. Miss Maxwell’s tray was, on the contrary, heaped' with rich food, supplemented by all manner of creamy delicacies and delicious fruit. “Fortunately, I haven’t to consider my figure yet,” she said.-'complacently. “1 may have to by-and-bye, as Simon warns me. Simon’s wit is rather on the ooarse side-; but he’s an amusing devil when he’s not In a rage. i haven't seen him yet." “Then you’ve made up your mind to stay?” j “I’ve had a profitable and pleasant morning unpacking all my things and putting them back neatly in their places. Don’t; you think that the drawers and wardrobes in a house like this are a joy? I-Of course, you don’t! You haven’t to share a wardrobe with two sisters, and, what is worse, a glass. There is an incessant row about the glass. W 6 all want it together." “I should love to have a sister,” said Hester, trifling with a chicken’s wing. “You can adopt me if you like,” Miss Maxwell said, cheerfully. Then she added a bit of information. “Teddy’s bolted. He worked like ten men at putting out the fire. When “"it was well under he came back here —at a most uncomfortable hour in the ' morning—took his baggage, and went. 'Afraid of Simon, I suppose. Men are such cowards about disagreeable things. It was rotten luck his not getting that match out when he ’thought he did! He shouldn’ be such 'a fool. The moor’s no place for playing with matches.” As she said it she narrowed her eyes in a way habitual to her, and looked sharply at Hester. “Oh, but,” sa-d Hester, “it wasn’t , his match. It was your cigarette, ' You remember that you flung it away when you were struggling over the match?” ; “It’s a lie!” said Miss Maxwell, with a fury that almost overwhelmed Hester,' who made a movement on her pillows as though she drew back from the violence, “There!” said Louise, contemptuously, “I'm not going to hit you. Only ■ —you see, if you talk about the cigarette and the struggle for the match you may do me a lot of harm. I don’t believe it was the cigarette; but if you said it was people might believe you. It was the match he threw pway. I’ve people being burnt to death by throwing a match carelessly. Teddy’s £one, so he won’t suffer. If Simon’s really angry he’s quite capable of telling me to go. 1 hate Simon. And I really want to stay here now. I want it immensely, jlon’t be mean, Hetty.” Her voice and her expression were Wheedling. Seeing that Hester did #ot speak, she went on. ' . “I want to try my luck with Malvern. I never stayed in a house with him before. It would mean such a lot to zne if I could bring if off. Don’t peach.” Hester only moved uneasily, and ' looked away. “You’re a bad sport,” burst out Miss Maxwell. "You don’t know what it ts to be pinched all your life—never to get a chance like other girls. It would be sucli luck to be practically the only girl of the party, for I don’t think you attract men, although you’re pretty —not. men like Malvern, at least. I really believe that if I was "Lady Malvern I might live up to him. ' It is so demoralising having always to , fight for your own hand.” ,7 Again her tune changed. "If I were you I’d stay in bed for 0 week,” she said. "The doctor ssflfi

that in cases of burns erysipelas was to be feared.”

“He told me I might get up tomorrow!” cried Hester, ill piteous protest. “I hate to be in bed. He said I could be carried downstairs, so as not to use my feet.” "That old man will say anything a patient wishes. I know him of old. Besides, you look rather dreadful with your skin withered up like that. If I were you I should keep, to the decent seclusion of my bedroom till that was all right.”

“I don’t like this bedroom,” said Hester, fretfully. “I’m sure I shant’t sleep in it. There was something like an earthquake last night. It shook the bod violently. I am sure it did, only i was too sleepy to come quite awake." ' “Earthquake!” repeated Miss Maxwell, laying down the spoon with which she was conveying strawberries and'cream to her mouth. “It was the Black Dog of Ardmorchy. He has a most disagreeable habit of coming from under that bed. It is all in an old book which Simon keeps under lock and key. They say he comes as a death-warning. All nonsense, of course; hut Simon simply won’t have it talked about. He is very angry if anyone refers to it, and that, I think, proves that he has some belief in it. He’s really as superstitious as they make them."

The next mining Hester was not quite so well as the doctor had hoped, lie found her a little feverish, and she confessed that she had not slept well. The shock must have been greater than he had thought. He prescribed another day in bed, and a quiet day. Lady Anne thought that Miss Maxwell had run in and out rather much during the previous day: she was so anxious about Hester, with whom she had struck up a great friendship. Mallory was grimly diverted by the spectacle of Louises in a particularly beautiful teagown, being sweet and womanly and intellectual and charming to Malvern, who wore rather a disappointed air. The evening of the second day Simon gave a word of warning to the young lady, who amused him without disedifying or shocking him; it was not in Simon Mallory to be either. “Like Malvern, dearie?” he asked.

Louise blushed, cast down her eyes, and owned that she liked Malvern — highly pleased at Simon calling her "dearie” once more since it showed the storm had blown over. “It’s waste of time,” he said, with what Louise called his canaille manner. “He’s in love with the Ponsonby child." The greenish light came into Miss Maxwell’s tfdde eyes. “I don’t believe it,” she said, rudely. “You needn't,” he answered unruffled.

• “Who are these Ponionbys?” she asked, with a certain insolence. “I heard Mrs Mayhew and Lady Sandes talking about them the other day. They said nobody knew.”

“I should ask Mrs Ponsonby, or perhaps Hester.” “You advise me to?” / “Certainly.’ 1 She was turning away furiously, when he laid a constraining hand un her arm.

“Como in here," he said, drawing her unwilling into the room in which he did business, a plain, solid room, with very little indication of anything but the business side of his character. He set a chair for her with a courtesy which seldom forsook him except in speech. Miss Maxwell’s heart sank. Se it had not blown over after all.

“I want you to tell me,” he said, “exactly how the moor was fired. I have had no chance to ask you before.”

“It was Teddy,” she said, poking straight at him. “He flung away a match, and it caught. He thought he had stamped it out; but after we liad turned to go home we found the moor was on fire.”

“You are sure it was Teddy?'” “Why, of course. You didn’t think it was me?” A smile crossed his face, which was in shadow, so that she did not see it.

“I thought you were very probably ragging, as usual.” "Oh, wo shouldn't be so silly—playing with fire on a dry moor. Give me credit for some common sense.” “I fear I was rather harsh with Carruthers. He worked like a man to put-out the lire, despits his eyeglass. He has left Ardmurchy in disgrace, seemingly. I shall write and .ask him to come back." “He won’t come,” Miss Maxwell said, pettishly. “I wouldn’t ask him, if I were you. You frightened the life out of him, poor devil.” “I shall ask him.” She shrugegd her shoulders. “May I go? Have you said all you wanted?” “Only one thing more. You must not repeat what you have said about Mrs Ponsonby and her daughter. , 1 must exact respect for my guests. And-—I should let Malvern alone; it is only wasting time.” lie held the door open for her to pass out. When it had swung to between them she turned and shook tier hand as at an invisibkle enemy. She even spat, as though she were really a cat. CHAPTER XII. On the fourth day after the fire Hester, who had been puzzling her doctor by refusing to get well, suddenly wept on her pillow when her mother was with her. She 'had run down rapidly in the four days, and showed only a shadow of her white and rose rlimpldd beauty. The doctor had suggested her mother’s removing her at once from Ardmurchy. Ho was hardly aware, good man, of the fact that it was Miss Maxwell who had suggested it, lying in wait for him in the corridor with a fluttering eagerness for good news of her friend.

“She has taken a grue at the place, doctor,” she said. “She. should go away from the scene of such a terrifying experience.” The doctor thought the young lady vr'”'? Intelligent, a 3 well as very good-

hearted, and adopted the suggestion as liis own.

But is was the suggestion of leaving that made Hester break down. “I don’t want to go .mamma,” she said. “It is only that lam frightened. I tried to lough at it —It seems so silly; but when I am alone at nigh! and in darkness my courage goes.” Then it all came out. Night after night the Black Dog, or something, had moved under ttio bed with the peacock hangings lifting Ihe solid bed before lying down again. There was a horrible legend attached to the Black Dog, which Louise Maxwell had ljintcd at, refusing to tell outright till some future date when Hester no longer slept in the room. “But, my darling—why did you not speak before?" asked the bewildered woman. "Surely you could iuive told me. You know I am rather nervous myself, so I should understand your fears and not think them foolish." “Louise said that Mr Mallory would be so angry, lie hates the Black Dog to be spoken about. He thinks it is so silly, and be has never forgiven someone who told the story of the bed being lifted. Of course, mamma, the Dog docs not come to everyone.” She glanced fearfully about the room, as though something might bo listening. “lie comes for a Warning—of death," she said, in a choked whisper and with dilated eyes. "Louise has slept here and and never been disturbed. The Dog comes for a warning. If you were to give up something very dear and precious to you, you might live aftor all. But is one to give up?” “It is the most incredible nonsense," said Mrs Ponsonby, firmly and sensibly. The Judge had declared her a sensible woman, and be was right. “I’m going to run that dog to earth. I shall sleep here to-night. We needn’t say anything about it. There will be abundant room for two in tills bed. I shall, come up here when I am ready for the night.” “Perhaps yon won’t feel it; perhaps he won’t come when you hero,” said Hester, fearfully. “Oh, indeed, I shouldn’t like you to feel it, darling. If the warning is for one of us let it be for me I"

Mrs Ponsonby laughed, a oheerful gentle laugh, which . somehow reassured the over-wrought girl. “Whatever you feel I shall feel,” she said. “I am a light sleeper, and we are going to get at the bottom of this thing. It sounds like a practical joke. Did you ever hear of a selfrespecting ghost manifesting itself by shaking a bed?” “The light goes out when it happens,’ said Hester, in an awed whisp--1

“ I shall tell Emma to sit with you after dinner till I come," Mrs Ponsonby said. “You know Emma is shy of the servants’ hall here, with ’all the smart servants, she being a simple country woman. She will love to sit here and sew and keep you company, and she can brush my hair when 1 come up.”" But when Mrs Ponsonby arrived about eleven o’clock, having slipped away from the* bridge table,; she found Louise Maxwell instead of the placid Emma, and the patient was lying on the pillow with dilated eyes and two very bright spots on her cheeks.'

She dismissed Miss Maxwell in a way very unlike her usual gentleness; anci the young lady went from the room with a disdainful toss of her head.

“Oh, mamma, I’m sorry, Poor Louise 1” "What has she been saying to you?" "Only the kind of things girls tell each other. Need I say mamma?" ‘•‘You must tell me.” “It is about Lord Malvern. She thinks he cares for her. and she is very happy. They are both going to stay at a house In Yorkshire, and have arranged to leave on the same day, so that they may travel together.”

“H’ml” Mrs Ponsonby said, with something very unlike her usual sweetness. “She has been trying all her wiles on that poou young man, and she has not succeeded in the very least. It is obvious to everyone, ami 1 think Mr Mallory is much annoyed about it.”

“Oil 1” said Hester, ‘T could not bear Mr Mallory to be annoyed With me. ‘ Are you sure, mamma?" “By the way, child, I have discovered from Emma that Lord Malvern has sent you flowers every day, beautiful flowers that he must have got from London, for they do not grow here.”

“I never had thorn,” Hester said, her colour coming in a flood. “Because Miss Maxwell Intercepted them. She told Emma that the doctor had forbidden flowers in your room, but that she would just show them to you and say who had sent them before taking them away. Her maid tells Emma that she has beautiful flowers in her room. I know she has been wearing some wonderful flowers."

“I hope he would not be vexed,” said Hester. “If the flowers were for me he would not like to think I gave them away, perhaps. Louise never told me. I don’t think it would have done me any harm to have them'. 1 should have loved them.” “I am sure it would not,” Mrs Ponsonby agreed. “But now, go to sleep, child. I will see about getting you downstairs to-morrow, and you must sleep in my dressing-room, under my own wing. I shall speak to Lady Anne about it."

Hester fell asleep in the happy security of her mother’s companionship, with the weariness of one who has had several bad nights. She was soundly asleep before her mother had laid her head on the pillow beside her. The lights were all out but one, and that was hidden by the bed curtains. The night was very still — not a sound hut the soft crooning of wild pigeons in a coppice near the house. As Mrs Ponsonby settled herself to sleep the clock struck twelve.

She was awakened by Hester clinging closely to her, in a paroxysm of terror. The bed lifted as though a big animal tried to gel up, and the light had gone out. She sat up and switched it on again. Then, with a powerful flashlight which she had brought upstairs with her, she looked below the bed.

It was very near the ground; but she could see to the valance at the olher side. There was notiiing—positively nothing. She herself was a little shaken by the inexplicable happening; but she would not pretend'it. “There is nothing, darling, nothing,” she said. She flashed her light into the bathroom. There was notiiing there either. Outside there was moonlight, and the moan of the wild pigeons. As she turned off her tight the clock in the stable-yard struck two strokes, and somewhere in the house she heard a sound that might have been a door shutting violently. (To be continued next Saturday.)