THE STORY.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 24, 14 June 1890, Page 5

THE STORY.

FIRST PERIOD. CHAPTER I. THE SOUR FRENCH WINE. "While the line to be taken by the new railway Culm and Everill, was still under discussion the engineer caused some difference of opinion among the moneyed men who were the first Directors of the Company, by asking if they proposed to include among their Stations the little old town of HoneyFor years past, commerce had declined, and population had decreased in this ancient and curious place. Painters knew it well, and prized its medieval houses as a mine of valuable material for their art. Persons of cultivated tastes, who were interested in church architecture of the fourteenth •century, sometimes pleased and flattered the Rector by subscribing to his fund for the restoration of the tower, and the removal of the accumulated rubbish of hundreds of years from the crypt. Small speculators, not otherwise in a state •of settled themselves in the town, and tried the desperate experiment of opening a shop ; sj>ent their little capital, put up the shutters and dieappeared. The old market-place still showed its list of market-laws, issued by the Mayor and Corporation in the prosperous bygone times ; and every week there were fewer and fewei people to obey the laws. The great empty enclosure harked more cheerful, when there was no market held, and when the boys of the town played in the deserted place. In the last warehouse left in a state of repair, the crane was generally idle ; the windows were mostly shut up : and a solitary man represented languishing trade, idling at a haltopened door. The muddy river rose and fell with the distant tide. At rare intervals a collier discharged its cargo on the mouldering quay, or an empty barge took in a load of hay. One bold house advertised, in a dirty window, apartments to let. There was a lawyer in the town, who had ■no occasion to keep a clerk ; and there was a doctor who hoped to sell his practice for anything that it would fetch. The directors of the new railway, after a stormy meeting, decided on offering (by means of a Station) a last chanee of revival to the dying town. The town hail not vitality enough left to be grateful ; the railway stimulant produced no effect. Of all his colleagues in Great Britain and Ireland, the station-master at Honey-buzzard was the idlest man —and this, as he said to the unemployed porter, through no want •of energy on his own part. Late on a rainy autumn afternoon, the slow train left one traveller at the Station. He got out of a fiist-class carriage, he ■carried an umbrella and a travelling bag ; and he asked his way to the best inn. The station-master and the porter compared notes. One of them said : * Evidently a gentleman.’ The other adder! : ‘ What can he possibly want here ?’ The stranger twice lost his way in the tortuous old streets of the town before he reached the inn. On giving his orders, it -appeared that he wanted three things : a private room, something to eat, and, while the dinner was being cooked, materials for writing a letter. Answering her daughter's questions downstairs, the landlady descrilied her guest as a nice-looking man dressed in deep mourning. ‘ Young, my dear, with beautiful dark brown hair, and a "rand beard, and a sweet sorrowful look. Ah, his eyes would tell anybody that his black ■clothes are not a mere* sham. 'Whether married or single, of course I can’t say. But I noticed the name on his travelling bag. A distinguished name, in my opinion —Hugh Mountjoy. I wonder what he’ll ■order to drink when he has his dinner ’ What a mercy it will be if we can get rid -of another bottle of the sour French wine !’ The bell in the private room rang at that moment ; and the landlady’s daughter, it is needless to say, took the opportunity of forming her own opinion of Mr Hugli Mountjoy. She returned with a letter in her hand, consumed by a vain longing for the advantages of gentle birth. * Ah, mother, if I was a young lady of the higher classes, I know whose wife I should like to Ire !’ Not ; particularly interested in sentimental aspirations, the landlady asketf to see Mr Mountjoy’s letter. The messenger who delivered it was to wait for an answer. It was addressed to : ‘ Miss Henley, •care of Clarence Vimpany, Esquire, Honey buzzard.’ Vrged by an excited imagination, the daughter longed to see Miss Henley. The mother was at a loss to understand why Mr Mountjoy should have troubled to write the letter at all. If he knows the young lady who is staying at the doctor’s house,’ she said, ‘why doesn’t he call on Miss Henlev?’ She handed the letter back to her daughter. ‘ There I "let the ostler take it ; he’s got nothing to do.’ ‘ No, mother. The ostler’s dirty hands mustn’t touch it—111 take the letter myself. Perhaps I may see Miss Henley.’ Such was the impression which Mr Hugh Mountjoy had innocently produced on a sensitive young ]>erson, condemned by destiny to the l>arren sphere of action afforded by a country inn ! The landlady herself took the dinner upstairs—a first course of mutton chops and jiotatoes ; cooked to a degree of imperfection only attained in an English kitchen. The sour French wine was still on the good woman’s mind. * M hat would you choose to drink, sir’’ she asked. Mr Mountjoy seemed to feel no interest in what he might have to drink. ‘We have some French wine, sir.’ * Thank you ima’am ; that will do.’

XX hen the bell rang again, and the time came to produce the second course of cheese and celery, the landlady allowed the waiter to take her place. Her experience of the farmers who frequented the inn, and who hail in some few cases been induced to taste the wine, warned her to anticiimte an outbreak of just anger from Mr Mountjoy. He, like the others, would probably ask what she ‘ meant by jaiisoning him with such stuff as that.’ On the return of the waiter, she put the question : • Did the gentleman complain of the French wine?’ ‘ He wants to see you about it, ma’am.’ The landlady turned pale. The expression of Mr Mountjoy's indignation was evidently reserved for the mistress of the house. * Did he swear,’ site asked, ‘ when he tasted it !’ * Lord bless you, ma'am, no ! Drank it out of a tumbler, and—if you will lielieve me—actually seemed to like it.’ The landlady recovered her colour. Gratitude to Providence for having sent a customer to the inn. who could drink sour wine without discovering it, was the uppermost feeling in her ample bosom as she entered the private room. Mr Mountjoy justified her anticipations. He was simple enough—with his tumbler before him, and the wine as it w ere under his nose—to begin with an apology. * I am sorry to trouble you, ma'am. May I ask where you got this wine ?’ ‘ The wine, sir, was one of my late hnsband's bad debts.

It was all he could get from a Frenchman that owed him money. ’ ‘ It s worth money, ma'am. ’ * Indeed, sir ?’ ‘ Yes, indeed. This is some of the finest and purest elaret that I have tasted for many a Ion" day past.’ An alarming suspicion disturlied the serenity of the landlady’s mind. XX'as this extraordinary opinion of the wine sincere? Or was it Mr Mountjoy's wicked design to entrap her into praising her claret, and then to imply that she was a eheat by declaring what he really thought of it ? She took refuge in a cautious reply : * X'ou are the first gentleman, sir, who has not found fault with it.’ ‘ In that case, perhaps you would like to get rid of the wine ?’ Mr Mountjoy suggested. The landlady was still cautious. ‘ XX’ho will buy it of me, sir ?’ * I will. How much do you charge for it by the Isittle ?’ It was, by this time, clear that he was not mischievous—only a little crazy. The worldly-wise hostess t<s>k advantage of that circumstance to double the price. XX'ithout hesitation, she said : ‘ Five shillings a Isrttle, sir.’ Often, too often, the irony of circumstances brings together, on this earthly scene, the opposite types of vice and virtue. A lying landlady and a guest incapable of deceit were looking at each other across a narrow table ; equally

unconscious of the immeasurable moral gulf that lay between them. Influence*! bv honourable feeling, innacent Hugh Mountjoy lashed the landlady's greed foi money to the full-gallop of human cupidity. ‘ I don t think you are aware of the value of your wine,' he said. • I have claret in my cellar which is not so good as this, ami which costs more than you have asked. It is onlyfair to offer you aeven-and-sixpence a bottle.' When an eccentric traveller is asked to pay a price, ami delilierately raises that price against himself,' where is the sensible woman—esjiecially if she hap|>ens to be a widow eonducting an unprofitable business—w ho would hesitate to improve the opportunity ? The greedy landlady raised her terms. ‘On reflection, sir, I think I ought to have ten shillings a bottle, if you please.' • The wine may be worth it.' Mountjoy answered <piietlv : ‘ but it is more than I can afford to pay. No, ma'am : I will leave you to find some lover of good claret with a longer purse than mine.’ It was in this man's character, w hen he said No. to mean No. Mr Mountjoy's hostess perceived that her crazy customer was not to l>e trifled with. She lowered her term's again with the headlong hurry of terror. ‘ You shall have it, Sir, at your own price,' said this entirely shameless ami perfectly respectable woman. The bargain having lieen closed under these circumstances, the landlady's daughter knocked at the door. ‘ 1 took your letter myself, sir,’ she said modestly ; ‘and here is the answer.' (She had seen Miss Henley, and did not think much of her.) Mountjoy offered the expression of his thanks, in words never to be forgotten by a sensitive young ]ierson, ami opened his letter. It was short enough to lie read in a moment: but it was evidently a favourable reply. He took his hat in a hurry, and asked to l>e shown the way to Mr Vimpany's house. ITO HE COXTIXCED.)