THE WICKED WOODS OF TOBEREEVIL.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 40, 29 January 1886, Page 7

THE WICKED WOODS OF TOBEREEVIL.

BY ROSA MULHOLLAND, AUTHOEOP "THE WILD BIBDB OF KILLKBVT," BTO.

CHAPTBB XXXVIII.

The gray early dawn came creeping over the scene ; frown after frown dropped from the trees, and groups and masses of unknown something threw off their sombre mystery, and became broken down fences, clumps of ragged hedge, pieces of ruined wall, or bushfts of unsightly shape 1 The bogs showed their dreariness, the river threw up a steel-like ray, and the marshes gave forth pale glimmers of beautiful hues ; a gray look of awe was on the face of the waking world, as if the coming of a new day had been a fearful and unexpected boon. The dull shoulder of the mansion rose above some bristling trees ; and there was a great roar in the air coming from the distance. May noticed it without thinking of it. for every one knew ot the grumbling of the woods ; but the trees of Tobereevil had never made such a sound as this before.

She told herself that she had much better go home, yet she could not bear to turn till she had seen first walked round the mansion to sec that the fastenings were all untouched, and that no wandering footsteps, save her own, were about the place. There was a dreadful fascination for her in the nearness of the stern gray wall ; she could not turn her eyes away, and began walking quickly towards them.

She bad been there bnt once before, and did not quite know her way among the vagrant bushes and straggling trees to the front of the house. She found herself at the back, and walked round many sides and gables, noticing with relief how well the windows were barred, and thanking God for the miser's caution, which was good for Bomethirg at last. " When the back is so well guarded," thought she, "it is not likely that the front will be neglected. The door will be locked and bolted." Then May came stealing round the last corner of the hou«e. But the hall door was lying open ! A cry of anguish ro^e in her heart ; bat the sound of it did not come through her lips ; she drew near the open door hoveringly, as a blessed spirit might approach the mouth of hell, seeking for some lost one, sorely afraid to enter, yet impelled by the love that is stronger than death. She could not but go in ; her feet carried her across the hall, moved by the same fascination which had drawn them towards the treeß. Away to the right was the door through which Paul had passed with Simon on the day when tbey had first met as uncle and nephew, when Paul had concluded to share the miser's interests and to touch the miser's gold. That door led, as she knew, to Simon's sitting room ; and it also lay open. A second hreshold was crossed — she advanced a few steps, and did not need to go farther. Simon was sitting in his chair ; his head lay back so that the face was almost hidden, his arm hanging over the chair, the long skeleton fingers nearly touching the ground. The old man was a corpse, his breast covered with blood, and blood lying round about him on the floor.

This was a bad spectacle on which May and the cold dawn looked in through door and window. A terrible cry — of more than fear, of more than horror — rent open May's lips, and made the house echo as it had never before echoed, even to the cries of the lamenting winds. Simon did not stir, nor was anything startled within the cursed v»alla except those echoes. May tried to fly, with some vague idea about saving some one spinning round and round in her dizzy head ; but though the spirit might will, the body would not obe>, and she fell on the floor of the hideous chamber. For a long tim. she lay there 6ilent, motionless, dead — like a second victim to whatever hatred had spilt an old men's blood on the floor by her s de. While the long spell of siknee lasted the light grew clear in the roof ; and the dreadful sight it looked upon became more fully revealed in all its detsils. It was a gray colourless morning; the sun had not yet risen and yet there was a bright red glow on the ground outside, and creeping like a gliding round the window frames. It shone in through tie panes, and danced with fearful frolic over the awful figure in the chair, glancing on May, and dyeing her white dress, while the feeling of life returned gradually into her body, At the risk of bringing madness w'th it, consciousness came creeping back to her.

She wakened to life again, struggling with a pain at her heart, which seemed trying to crush it, that she might have death and peace ; but her healthful youth would not have it so, and out of her struggle came recollection, and with it the strong will and eelfforgetting impulse which had already carried her so far in this adventuie. She rose to her feet, and staggering, indeed, and still half-stunned, coveiing eyes with her hands, that she might not again behold the sight that had nearly killed her, she fled back across the ball, and out of the house.

Then Bhe found herself wrapped in the glare of the burning woods ; hissing and roaring, the fire rolled towards her over the heads ofjthe nearer trees, which were not yet drawn into the furnace, though it shone right behind them. Clouds of i-moke blotted the heavens, and were luridly pierced by flames which seemed to escape with every groan from the hearts of the perishing trees. Now that it had get the mastery over the woods, the fire spread with a terrible rapidity, licking up root and branch, devouring oak and beech and chestnut, wrapping away in its embraces stt-lwait truuks and writhing boughs, and opening up such a raging abjss between heaven and earth, that it seemed as if the spirits of fire had been let loose out of their kingdom, and the world having been given up to them, the last day had begun.

May stepped out from the shadow of the grim house into a scorching atmosphere that made her eyes grow dim, and her breath seemed to bum. Hlt dresif, her flesh, htr hair grew hot so that she felt aa if already wrapped in the flame?, while the fire half encircled her at the distance of about a hundred yards. With still the one idea of Paul's madness possessing her, the thought flashed through her

mind that the new horror must be in aome way owing to it— that be himself was eyen now buried in yonder furnace. " Paul, Paul 1" she shrieked in a high Bhrill note tbat pierced the smoke clouds, and reached farther than the bellowing of the trees ; and, bereft of all reason, she rushed frantically towards the flames. A few wild steps, and her feet stopped again. What was that ? Oh I what was it 1 Not the roaring of the trees, nor the hissing of the flames ; nor the groaning of the newly attacked giants, whoa* bodies were girdled by fire— not like to any of these was the sound that made her stop. It was Paul's voice calling to her. " May, May I* it cried, in a loud and ringing voice ; and it was not coming from the fire, though, if it had summoned her from thence, the would have obeyed it. It was coming from behind her, from the side where lay fields and meadows, and the river cooling the land. " May.May I" This time the voice sounded nearer to her. Paul was not far away, he could see her, and was calling to her ; and it was not the voice of a murderer nor that of a madman, but the clear, honest voice «f Paul Finiston in his senses. May knew it of old ; it was a sound sweet and unhoped for, and each echo of it pierced her brain with perilous joy. The revulsion of feeling was so sudden tbat it almost robbed her a second time of her senses ; and, at site wheeled around to obey the call, she doubted her own sanity, and moaned aloud piteoualy in the agony of uncertainty. Was she, too, mad, and did she imagine happy sounds which could be heard no more on earth 7 She began running towards the direction from which the sound had reached her. When the hot mist that had obscured her eyes cleared away a little, and allowed her to see, she perceived Paul com* ing to meet her, walking rapidly, pushing his way through the bushes from that side of the wood not as yet approached by the firs. It seemed a? if be had descended from the mountain. He was quickly at her side, and threw a protecting arm around her. " You are gome to faint," he cried. " What can have brought you out here alone ?" May shuddered, and shrank from him. " Simon is dead I" she said. " Simon is murdered I" Paul ctarted. " Simon murdered I" he Baid awe-struck. "What do jou mean ? How do you know ?" " I mean— l know— O God, Paul. 0 God J tell me you did not do it." "I ?" Paul drew back and looked at her with horror. " Forgive me, forgive me i I think my senses have left me. O Heaven, whit I have suffered 1 Oh this terrible night !" "My dai ling, calm yourself ! You are dißtracted by the sight of this extraordinary fire. It has frightened you out of your sleep. It is very strange and awful, but can be traced, I do not doubt to some simple cause — the great beat of the weather, or some sparks from the fires on the mountain. You were raving just now that Simon had been murdered ; the fire has not reached the house, and he shall certainly be saved. I was hastening to look after him when I caught sight of your white dress." May looke 1 in his tacj with a puzzled, wistful gaze. " Piul 1" she said, " are you sure you are in your right senses ?" " I think I am," he said. " I feel like a sane man. lam more in my right senses at least than you are !" Still she looked at him wonderingly and fearfully. " Do you remember last night 1" she said. "Yes," ne answered, smiling, and willing to humour her. "I do remember last uight ; should you like to hear an account of it t I wakened with the moonlight, where you allowed me tj fall asleep on the sofa, in your parlour. I could not go to sleep again, and turned out to enjoy the night, and to think over a crowd of things which came into my head. I got up into the bills and soon saw that the woods were burning, I watched them for some time, knowing that there was nothing for it but to lut them burn themselves to death — " May shuddered. " And then 1 suddenly thought about Simon, and was hurrying down to save him, when, as I say, I caught sight of you." May listened, still looking at him with that pale, unsatisfied gaee. " But' before all that?' she urged him. "Do you remember what happened in the evening, and yesterday, and the day before ?" •'Of course I do," be eaid. "On the day before yesterday I escorted Miss Arcbbold to Camlougb, and returned lo Monasterlea yesterday evening. I came home late, and very tired, and was allowed to s'esp upon your sofa. How this cuno to be is the only thing lam not perfectly clear about. But why d> jou question me like this ? and what does it signify ?" May looked half relieved, yet still teirified. •' Paul," she said, ".it was April when you went to Camlough with K<tthpnne Archbold ; and now it is July." " May, you have been dreaming !" he cried. " Oh, Paul, it is you who have been out of your senses. You went to Camlongh ; you became ill, and lost your mind, and they kept yon there. I went and stole you away that you might be cured. While you were gone, Simon ill-used the people and then they were in distress. Last night they told you this ; and, in your madness, you threatened to murder Simon. I soothed the idea out of your mind, ard you fell asleep. Afterwards, when you awoke, I beard you quit the house, and followed you in terror lest the idea of doing harm might still be working in your mind. I found Simon's door open ; and, O God, Paul ! he lying murdered in bis chair ! I thought you had do-ie it in your madness. Forgive me, Paul ! I thought it was in your madness." Paul had become deadly pale. "Is this all true ?" he said. "Am I dreaming, or are you ?" " Neither, ne ther— we are both too wide aw*kp. Ii is all true that I have said ; but yoa did not murder Siaun, Paul ! Your senses had returned to you when you wakei ed out of your sleep ? You know what you have been doing all the time since you left the house?" (To be continued.)