CHAPTER I.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, 1 December 1900, Page 185

CHAPTER I.

[SOLK SKIUAI, RKJHI'S.]

A. FIRST ANTAGONISM

fT was a wild night, and the great valley that lay between a curving sweep of mountains was torn by the

wind. Fitful moon gleams shone in patches on the swollen river that roared between its rocky barriers, and the only man on the road looked anxiously ahead for a friendly light. He knew there ought to be a township near, but when the dense cloudrifts obscured the moon, the landscape was blotted out, and the dull thunder of the river was the only guide.

In his search for new worlds, Howard Grey had tramped many miles of the famous West Coast, carrying his swag like a " sundowner," camping by lonely river-sides, or in deserted huts, where there were no wayside inns or hospitable farmhouses to receive him. Sometimes he had taken coach, sometimes ridden through the heart of the mining country. He had seen all sorts of odd nook and corner townships, built among " tailings " on the verg^ of forests and the banks of streams. He had heai'd strange stories, with which his brain was busy for future use ; and a new passionate hope surged up in his heart, that by one of them he might yet make himself more than heard. He had escaped from city routine and fatigue, to flee the ghost that was pursuing him — the ghost of failure. To the world he was clever, talented ; the word he hungered for was genius, and he scorned himself that he had missed it. The kingdom of heaven meant to him kingdom over his fellow men, not partial, but absolute ; to dictate thought, to sway, move, Vol. lI.— No. 15.— 14.

rule. For tins ho had suffered, sacrificed and toiled ; for the ecstasy, the intoxication of triumph he would willingly give all else. And ho had only achieved. In bitterest contempt ho viewed his achievement. He had piled it up, irrain by grain, with a patience defying ail obstacles; difficulties, instead of damping his zeal, had but roused in him an obstinate determination that gave to his face a look of power, and to his manner a cool self-possession which was mistaken for mastery. in his own pitiless criticism of himself he did not hit upon his real lack of dominion — lack of the poet soul with its exuberant sympathies and fruitful imaginations — he had looked everywhere for inspiration save in himself, and a deep inner conviction had taken possession of him that the first burst of intellectual enthusiasm, which had stirred him to vigorous effort, had spent itself. He was oppressed with a sense of mediocrity. He had plunged into new scenes, and snatched at physical oxorciso as a distraction, and falling in with a wild, romantic phase of life, pursued it with the deliberate tenacity of purpose characteristic of him. The wind was momentarily growing colder ; the masses of cloud, banked like great rocks, lowered, and presently Howard Grey felt the tingling of snow in his face. Each minute it grew thicker, and the night darkened about him ominously. There was but one thing to do, to press on, and descending, and still descending into the heart of the valley, at last the twinkling of a light gladdened him — but on the other side of the river ! After long search he had all but abandoned

hope of a crossing when, from the opposite bank, a faiut " coo-ec " reached his ears. He listened intently. It was no mistake ; again came the welcome cry, and putting his hand to his mouth, Howard made answer. He was startled by what could not have been an echo behind him — " Coo-ec !"

He turned quickly, and dimly outlined was the figure of a man. For a moment neither spoke.

" Are you looking for the bridge ?" asked a singularly cultured voice, in which there lurked an accent of fretful weariness.

"I thought there should be a bridge somewhere about."

"It is lower down," answered the first speaker, with more eagerness of tone. " This way," he added, and Howard felt a hand upon his arm leading him to the bank at the edge of the stream. They pushed through some bush, then Howard saw the dim outline of the bridge.

"Take care," said his guide, still leading him. "It is little broader than a plank with a handrail on one side only : a false step, and — listen !"

The water tore beneath them with a dull roar. Hero and there, whei'e a rift in the clouds let through a gleam of light it picked out the white foam.

For a moment the narrow bridge on which they stood appeared a raft being whirled on the turbulent stream. In a sudden giddiness it seemed to Howard Grey that he fell, and was being swept away.

" Steady !"

He felt a hand under his arm. The illusion passed.

" Here we are !" said the young man, still directing Howard's steps, as they ascended the bank on the opposite side of the river, and the stranger saw that the light, which had guided him, was a lamp swinging in a cottage porch. It cast a long streak of brightness over the snow, and shone on a slight, girlish figure standing directly under its rays.

"Welcome to The Wliare. This is my sister, Caroline Osmond. My name is Frank Osmond."

" And mme — Howard Grey." "The novelist?"

Both brother and sister had spoken, but the two words had been uttered in exactly opposite tones ; by the young man eagerly, by the young girl indifferently.

The room into which Howard was ushered was furnished with extreme simplicity, but the chintz-covered couches and chairs, and the blazing fire on the hearth had a look of comfort. There was an absence of the tawdry cottage decorations that marked its occupants from the usual dwellers in a remote country place. Ingeniously constructed bookcases filled every nook — book shelves ran ronnd the walls. History, philosophy, science, and all the best in poetry and fiction had found its way to this isolated retreat.

During the supper that was presently served, Howard Grey studied the young man and woman with half-fascinated attention. Frank Osmond at moments looked little more than a boy of twenty-one or two, except for strange deep lines that were cut into brow and cheek. His features were cleai'-cut and refined. There was an expression of keen interest at times in the large brown eyes, which at moments would cloud and dim — or else it was the effect of the glasses he wore, his observer concluded. He seemed to have fastened on to his new acquaintance with eagerness and a pleasure he did not conceal.

" Lucky for me I was returning from the township just then — it is two miles further up the valley — or I should have missed you!"

" The luck is mine," responded Howard, " but for your opportune arrival the chances are I should have been out still in the

anow."

Frank Osmond led him on- to talk of his long tramp, and while he talked, first of one subject and then of another, his mind was busy with conjecture — for what reason were Frank and Caroline Osmond buried alive in this wilderness ?

The young man interrupted with occasional quick flashes of thought, eager

reminiscences, oi' an outburst of almost passionate interest in a gi'eat name or strong deed — then that sudden, strauge selfwithdrawal after expansion, as though some deep-rooted sorrow or limitation had re-asserted itself. Had the promise of a brilliant development been cut short, or were these outbursts mei*e detached ideas which the young man lacked the mental energy to construct into definite formation ? After one of his eager utterances his voice trailed off into weariness, his thin figure stooped as with deep dejection, and the light died from his eyes, which looked sightlessly in front of him. A nervous plucking movement at the cloth drew Howai'd's attention to his hands. They were wasted almost to transparency, but cramped and disfigured as if with rough work. In a moment or two Frank Osmond had aged ten years ; every line was cut deep in cheek and brow, and the grey that was sprinkled in the dark hair added to the

illusion

A hasty movement of Caroline's from the table drew attention to herself. While an old serving woman cleared the table she directed Howard to note how fast the snow was falling. He moved to the window where she stood, and listened to what she was saying about the river.

" You have seen it only in a time of flood aud under a pall of cloud, but it has its gentler moods ; there are times, indeed, when it dwindles away almost to a channel. It is not always tempestuous ; the valley is very beautiful in summer. We call it " Matamata-harakeke," which means in Maori " the tips of flax leaves."

She spoke with a qniet precision, which was pleasant, yet which Howard found irritating. There was a slow deliberateness, almost a hesitancy in her choice of words, as though she feared either to take from or add to the exact meaning she intended to

convey. " Reserved, conservative," summed up Howard mentally, " and self-contained," he added.

The attitude of her slight body as she

stood beside him, straight and upright, conveyed an impression of strength. Sho lacked entirely lior brother's litful enthusiasm and impetuosity, also, his incoherence. She had the same delieato cast of feature, but her hair, which was lino and abundant, and which she wore severely drawn from her forehead and coiled at the back of her head, was several shades lighter than his. Her eyes were her chief beauty — her only beauty, Howard thought — and were large and grey, capable of iutinito expression, but she had a manner of casting them down, and had so sat during the meal, listently intontly, or wrapt in some thought of her own. Her voice, which Howard thought should match the expression of her eyes, was low and toneless, as though, while she spoke, she had no desire to impress upon her listener anything she said. She talked with knowledgo of her subject, which was just now the comprehensive and descriptive meanings of the Maori names of mountains and rivers. She must have given the subject a good deal of study, must also have seen many of the places referred to, but her conversation was entirely impersonal. She showed about as much consciousness of herself or her listener, as though she talked

in her sleep

Sensitive at all times to impressions, Howard Gray felt that while Frank Osmond had welcomed him almost an a friend — had hospitality permitted — she would have resented his presence as an intrusion on tho seclusion which he felt to bo chosen in preference to any other mode of life.. He disliked that kind of woman, who had all her observations made, her ideas prelixed, emotions allotted, and conclusions assorted independently of her companion. It showed a narrowness that admitted no growth.

Frank Osmond had recovered from his fit of abstraction, and tho coversation becarao general as they sat round the fire, or rather the young man led it back to literature, asking Howard Grey's opinion of this or that work of modern fiction ; his knowledge of the writers, the methods of their work, and the conditions under which it was

written, a subject lie seemed particularly interested in, and from which he would not let his guest escape. At length a particular book came under discussion, and Caroline, dissenting from Howard's opinion, crossed the small room with the noiseless movement 8 of a woman accustomed to tread in soft places, took the volume from its shelf, and commenced to read aloud, at first in a low monotonous tone, then her voice underwent remarkable inflections, investing every sentence with meaning. The reading done, she took it all to pieces with critical anatomy. Her unerring insight was a revelation, not only of her critical faculty, but her knowledge of life. She spoke still in her precise, half - hesitating manner ; but the girl had thought — or had she lived ? Howai'd found himself wondering, whether underlying the calm surface, was there a rich warm temperament with potentialities of passion ? The subtle contradictions of her manner drew his attention somewhat from her analysis, but it was a clever manipulation, and left him personally sore by her almost fierce scorn of " cheap effect." It was a rather vehement protest. Was it brain, or feeling ? Mechanical construction or conviction ? A silence fell on the little room when she ceased speaking. She had created an atmosphere that left Howard tingling ; that she could do it annoyed him. She seemed to have turned on an electric light to his tinsel. Because her manner was so totally devoid of self-consciousness or consciousness of him, personally he acquitted her of affectation. She was in earnest, and unwillingly, reluctantly ho found himself justifying his own methods of work, the more because she had emphasized his own racking fear that it was evanescent, did he defend his position hotly. " After all, the writer is but a caterer to the public taste, and must seize the passing moment if he is to seize anything at all — anything that interests him for an hour, he must make interesting to his reader — with fundamental truth the novelist has nothiug

whatever to do. To present his conception dramatically is his business." " But if nothing in particular is true to an artist, how can he make 'nothing' particularly true to his readers ?" "To create an illusion it is not necessary for the conjuror to be under the spell." She looked at him suddenly. " To place the senses under the illusion is not to convince — ' all possible cleverness in expression is of no use to him who has nothing to express — ' " she replied in a low dull tone, in which at the moment Howard Grey fancied he detected a shade of sarcasm. " It is not only the mission of literature to delude ; delusion is the sum and substance of life, pain and pleasure in one. To be wise is to know what we have to meet," he went on in the slow unimpassioned way of speaking he had when angry, and which frequently deluded those who did not know him well into the belief that his remarks were impersonal. " And success means using every atom of material that comes your way with a definite object in view — self. The disposition that is contented or contending — in other words weak, commonly called self - sacrificing —is the biggest deception among deceptions, because selfdeceived. It swallows the hook baited by the angler, whose expressed or unexpressed desire is to fill his own bag " He laughed a short mirthless laugh. " There's a good deal of maudlin sentiment rife about the victims of life, in nine cases out of ten a victim is a fool, and in the tenth a pose of ultra egoism — in every case an infliction and an irritation " Through his half-closed eyes he saw the girl's thin lips compress and the clasped hands tremble. " Moral qualities no more rule the individual than they rule the world. We are dupes of our own emotions as well as of each other. Self-assertion is the common

instinct

" As a man thinketh co is he."

The interruption came from Caroline in a voice so musical that Howard looked at her in surprise, but tone and eyes were for her

brother, about whose mouth were lines of pain. "As a man seemefch so he is — to the world, Miss Osmond. Seem clever, seem honest, and he will be taken at his own valuation. Fashion affects honour : appearances make a man — who cares or knows anything about his good intentions ? If a man puts his knife into his mouth at table, it offends none the less because he has a good heart. The shoddy dressed with a little silk is in more demand than the genuine article — it's cheaper." "It is not," contradicted Caroline; "it wears out sooner, and disgraces its wearer by its rags. Cant cannot long pass muster for religion, trickery for business, compliments for friendship, bluster for courage, without being found out and despised. Her manner was perfectly courteous, but it conveyed resentment. " The world despises nothing but failure. Get branded as a failure, and you're a dog for odd bones. Pity can be insolent, Miss Osmond, charity as cruel as the grave. Come be fair, what woman among you metes out exactly the same measure to the man who has failed as to him who has his world at his feet ?" The speaker had grown earnest in spite of himself. An extraordinary eagerness had come into his face. Caroline, through her unnatural repose, conveyed to him deep agitation. " Failure is not always evidence of weakness, Mr. Grey, nor success of strength." Her eyes sent a secret message to her brother, which Howard did not catch. He pursued his theme. "We are accountable to use every advantage, to ourselves first, and the world afterwards. If we fail we are a burden and a disgrace." At that moment Howard caught sight of Frank Osmond's face ; for a moment or two he had been addressing himself exclusively to Caroline. He experienced a shock. Again that trance - like expression, the yielding of every muscle, the restless, plucking movement of the fingers, the heavy, sightless stare.

Howard perceived ho had stumbled across something critical, aud blundered in his speech. Caroline's faoo was perfectly colourless. There was a long moment of awkward silence, then the girl moved to her brother's side, and with infinite gontloness laid her hand upon his as though exhorting him to remembrance and courage. lie roused instantly, and turned his eyes upon her, tragic in their despair and haggard misery. " My brother has been ill," she explained in a scarcely audible tone. "He is scarcely strong enough for excitement of any kind — even of conversation." Howard felt himself dismissed, and rose involuntarily. In the little room allotted to him for the night he ruminated as he smoked as to what had entered their conversation to have this effect on the lad. His spirits rose and fell like a barometer to praise and blamo. He felt unspoken disapprobation in Caroline's manner, ar.d lie brooded unhappily over the little scene. What was it that was tormenting and torturing the lad — over what was the girl keeping guard ? Madness ? A shudder chilled Howard's blood. No sane or practical man, unless there Was a binding obligation upon him, would at the outset of life retire from the world. The cause seemed more physical than pecuniary. The depression of the house affected him personally, and the admiration aud adulation that he had earned had in this hour more of mockery in it than honour. He remembered his first expression when in hopeful enthusiasm labour was not toil — tho long nights at his desk chronicled in his remembrance but by daydawns. But always he fell short, always missed, till little by little he had let his ideal go, and presented life to his readers, at the best as an amusing game ; stirred its mud puddles, mocked its follies, and lashed at inconstancies pitilessly, caring nothing for reality, so that bin presentment was finished in form. He had a misgiving that there was something perilously true about insincerities disappointing in the end.

The storm had ceased, and looking through the window Howard saw that the moon was shining brightly. It was still early, and finding it impossible to sleep, he let himself out quietly, and made his way to the river. Except for its voice the silence was almost awful in its intensity ; it could be felt to reach away through forest and over mountain, weighting the air with its profundity. In the silver light of the moon the water glinted and gleamed between its bush-clad banks, and drawn irresistibly nearer he was to see the slight cloaked figure of Caroline standing at the river's edge looking across it seemed to the opposite shore. Her wistful waiting figure gave a touch of pathetic human meaning to the desolate beauty of the scene, and with compunction stirring in him for his late antagonism, he felt an impulse to make amends. While he was undecided whether to retire or go forward she turned and saw him. He instantly threw away his cigar, and uncovering his head went forward. She took his presence there as she had taken it the whole evening-- quite without animation. While he talked she stood watching the river, looking very shadowry and frail among the grim surroundings. But she stood independently of support, every muscle tense, as though her whole nature was braced to defiance. In the midst of his talk she turned, and with a gesture unintelligible to him, and an expression in her eyes that haunted him many an after day, she said : "Mr. Grey, I think you ought to know " She paused, her voice husky, "my brother was imprisoned for forgery !" There was an instant's silence. Howard felt as though he had been struck on the head and stunned. Then he met the penetrating, passionate gaze. He took Caroline's hand. lt Unjustly !" he declared. She seemed to be surprised into a moment's fovgetfulness by the unexpected sympathy and championship. But only for

a moment. The next she withdrew her fingers from his. " No—justly !"