The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 9 October 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE DAWNING OF THE DAY The ordeal was over. Miss Celia O’Rourke had given her answer, and Mr. Jeremiah Costigan was supremely happy. Although his habitation was situate at least two miles from that of his lady fair, he did not ride home that night. He might have done so could he have found a car six blocks long and three hundred feet high, but one of lesser dimensions would have been intolerably cramping. He was closer to pure insanity that night than ever before or since. . He wanted to rush through the streets shouting his triumph to the listening heavens. When a passing policeman wished him good evening he had all he could do to refrain from thumping the officer’s broad back and yelling the news in his ear. The fire-escape on an apartment building suggested the brilliant possibility of scaling the wall and thrusting in his head" at each window to announce his formal engagement. Not feeling entirely certain as to the advisability of these schemes, Mr, Costigan merely marched along like a conqueror, whistling fortissimo ‘ The Dawning of the Day.’ When he reached his room he made no attempt to sleep, but sat, half undressed, staring out of the window at the moon, now high in the sky. In her chamber, across the city, I think Miss Celia O’Rourke was asking the Mother of God to bless her lover.

When the hews transpired, as it did almost immediately, for Jerry, of course, had to communicate it under pledge of absolute secrecy to his chum, Billy Peters, and Billy, equally, of course, at once informed a fairly large circle of friends, many amusing comments were made. The ladies were inclined to give Miss O’Rourke credit for skilful angling, as it was suspected that other lines had been baited for Mr. Costigan’s allurement. Many of them ‘ couldn’t see what he saw in her. Celia was a dear, but, after all, there was not much to her.’ The men as a rule were most congratulatory toward Jerry, only Billy Peters holding the opinion that ‘there wasn’t much to Miss O’Rourke. However, Billy was practically a misogynist, and even he refrained from confiding his views to his friend. Only when Celia left to spend the summer in Europe did Billy directly indicate his thoughts on the subject of the betrothal. ' ‘She doesn’t care as she should,’ he announced, ‘or she wouldn’t be chasing off this way with a lot of rotten rich friends,’ and Jerry’s fiery defence of his ladythat the trip was the opportunity of a lifetime that they were to be married in the fall, and that Billy could go to thunder in any event failed to impress the sceptic. ‘ She’ll see some foreigner she likes better,’ he muttered prophetically, and turned to the file case through which he was searching. ’ Jerry, still grinning foolishly, took up his hat preparatory to departing for another part of the great factory wherein he and his chum labored. He reached the door, and as he swung it open there smote on his ears a shattering, rending roar that made the huge building tremble. He ran out, half stunned, and saw what had befallen. The factory buildings formed a vast rectangle, and every doorway was swarming with men and women seeking the open air. Two hundred yards away 'one end of the dye house, where the highly combustible dyes were stored, had been smashed in as if by the hand of a Titan. Smoke and flame were bursting out of the heap that had been roof and walls a moment before. Forty or fifty people were running from it with the fear of death upon them. Jerry rushed to meet them. He was in charge of that department. These people were in his care. His presence helped to restore order, and before the chief officers of the factory had reached the spot he had learned the horrifying news that a portion of the dye had exploded and that t\yo women and a man were imprisoned in the doomed building. They might he dead or not; no one knew. ‘ We’ll have to be quick,’ said Jerry, quite calmly, and as if a rescue were a matter of course. ‘For God’s sake, Mr. Costigan,.don’t try it!’ cried one of the men. ‘ The rest of the stuff might go any minute.’ That’s all the more reason for hurry,’ answered Jerry. ’ ‘ Come on, fellows.’ A handful of men followed him out of' the ruck to the very door of the dye-house, and then hung back. The fire was making savage headway; it seemed certain death to go in. But it never occurred to Jerry not to goOnly Jerry himself knows what happened when the smoke hid him from view, what passed in that groping search that was a race with death. But every employee of the factory knows and can tell how Jerry dragged two unconscious but living forms to safety; how he broke away from the men who sought to hold him. and went in for a third time; how the second explosion came; how, as if by some miracle, he came stumbling out of the ruins with a woman in his arms, and how; when they laid him down on the grass, they saw that the blast had spared his life indeed, but had torn the light of day forever from his eyes, v, / When the first wild rush of agony and horror had passed, Jerry’s thoughts turned instantly to Celia, across the sea in distant Rome; to Celia, betrothed not to a stalwart, vigorous man, but to a maimed and blinded wreck. And when he began to realise that, the physical pain seemed slight beside the torment of the spiritual struggle he faced. For he resolved that

Celia, should not suffer such a burden. . It would have been his pride to protect and help her through life. She should never be obliged to take up the. task of protecting ■ and caring for so helpless a thing as he was now. He would recover, they told him, from all his injuries save one, but that one insured his helplessness. He would not let Celia share that or make dismal her own life in an effort to lighten his. Though it cost him everything, he must release her from the engagement. It was the only thing to do. Somehow the finest and noblest course of action always appeared to Jerry in the lowly guise of ‘ the only thing to do.’ Nevertheless several days went by before he put his plan into execution. He wanted to be quite sure of himself, sure that he could write without seeming to plead for pity. He composed several letters before he finally commanded Billy, who sat with him every evening, to take pen and paper and begin. - ■ ‘Are you all ready, Bill—Miss Peters asked Jerry, with a puperb attempt at facetiousness. Stop it!’ gnarled Billy.-’ What do you think I’m made of ?’ , i ; ... s Good stuff, old pal/ said Jerry, feeling for his friend s hand in the still unaccustomed darkness. / This is the letter (Mr. Costigan’s voice never so much as quavered as the words came evenly from his lips, but the beads of sweat started out on his forehead, and Billy’s handwriting would have disgraced a three-year-old) : - ‘ Dearest Celia (ran the letter): c ‘I have met with an accident. There was an explosion at the factory, and I got in the way of it. As a result, my sight has been destroyed. I will be blind all my life. (‘ Don’t put that last sentence down,’ said Jerry, ‘it sounds whiney!’— but Billy disobediently wrote it in.) Of course this means that our engagement must be broken off. Now I know, sweetheart, that you will pity me, and perhaps you will think I am wrong about our engagement, , but you must trust me. to know best about it. I love you far too dearly to be willing to let you sacrifice yourself, so we’ll just be friends hereafter. I know this will be a hard letter for you to read. I do not need to tel! you how hard it was to write, but some things can’t be helpedcan they? • j You must not think of shortening your trip. I don’t look my best just now, but by September I hope to be as beautiful as of yore. This is my first attempt at letter writing by proxy and Billy says I must quit. He is taking care of me. v. If you don t mind, I’d like to have you keep your ring, 1 Good-bye, dear little friend. God bless and keep you always, and comfort you—and me. ‘Always your loving JERRY.’ Billy was sorely tempted to add a surreptitious postscript, ’ but refrained. ‘lf she’s' the real thing, she wont need it,’ he sagely assured himself; ‘and if she isn t, why it’s good riddance.’ . Presently the nurse entered and drove Billy away, saw to Jerry’s a ban dag e s, rearranged his pillows, and made him as comfortable as possible for the night When he was sure that he was alone Mr. Costigan had to set his teeth hard that no moan might escape him. He stretched out his empty arms in the darkness. There was no one to come to them there never would be any one He had given Celia- her freedom : that was over. Perhaps af.er a time lie would become inured to • that agony, perhaps his faith would give him strength to bear it. / Three weeks must elapse before he could look for a reply. To Jerry, in the prison of the dark, they seemed, as they dragged themselves past his bed, like an eternity. In a, fortnight he was able to make a first essay in walking about with the aid of a nurse and a cane. It seemed very strange to Mr. Costigan, in the prime of his young manhood, to tap his way along so sightlessly ; to sit by the window and feel the sunlight on his face and yet hot see it. He must get used to .stranger things than that, lie realised—life without Celia, for one.

.He had 7 many .visitors, ’Billy was indefatigable in his attentions, and even the general manager of the factory, deigned to call. • ; : , "■ ' ‘ You - must hurry and get about, Costigan/ said the latter worthy, a puffy individual of whom. Jerry held no high opinion. We need you back at the shop.’ Jerry smiled grimly: Oh, I mean it,’ continued the other, conscious of Jerry’s scepticism. ‘We .can’t afford to let you go. We’ve all agreed that nobody but you can advise us on some , points. And there’s a hundred shares of .stock to your credit on our books. We paid 12 per cent, last year. There’s no thanks about it. It’s strictly business, and the puffy one, in a frenzy of embarrassment, hurriedly took his departure. Two letters came from Celia, but they had evidently been written before the arrival of his, so Jerry did not open them. He made Billy put them away. He would have them read to him some day when they would not so tear his .wound. Then the time came when he might look for the awaited answer, and Jerry took- to counting the visits of the postman. But- no letter with a European post* mark. arrived. Billy’s worst suspicions were soon confirmed. , 7 ?' ft ' : ‘ She never cared for him—-or anybody else. She thought he was a good catch, and now she assumes he isn t. At that, she might have the decency to write.’ Such was the general tenor of Mr. Peter’s -comrunnings. If Jerry had any such thoughts, he kept them resolutely suppressed. Probably he never doubted her loyalty. He invented a hundred reason's, more for Billy’s benefit than his own, why the answer might have been delayed, but as the three weeks became four ho came to believe in them less.and less. Perhaps she had thought it was better not to write he finally reasoned, or perhaps she had found it too cruelly hard. He did not want her to write if it hurt her too much to do so, yet had she known how he longed for even a word, surely she would have sent some message. But no word came. / - Jerry sat at his favorite post by the window with the morning sunlight on his scarred face. He had been blind a month, a month of horror and grief, lightened by the indomitable power of the faith that was his, the faith that rose undaunted to strengthen and sustain. him in his trial. Through it he was learning to bear his burden without flinching. This morning he was humming a tune, the old Irish .song he had whistled so joyously on the night he first knew Celia : loved him. Fragments of the words came back to him, and he fitted them into the melody; ‘ I left the town, and wandered on Through fields all green and gay, v. And whom should I meet but my Colleen-dhas By the. dawning of the day.’ * He was far from self-pity, but he could not help thinking that he could never see the dawning, that his Colleen-dhas was lost to him forever. He hummed the sweet old tune over and over, as if there were a kind of comfort in its simple cadences: ‘And whom should I meet but my Colleen-dhas— ’ The door behind him opened and closed very softly, and then, as he turned, somebody’s arms were round his neck, somebody’s voice spoke in his ear. ‘Jerry! Oh, Jerry!’ ‘Celia!’ he choked, stricken with wonder. Celia did not heed his exclamation. ‘ Jerry, I took the first boat. Didn’t you get my letter? Or my cablegram? Oh, my dear! My dear!’ Celia had determined to be very brave indeed for his sake, but the tears would force themselves into eyes and voice despite" her. And Jerry, caught unawares, rallied his strength during their swift mutual explanations to battle for honor’s - sake and Celia’s. She was making his duty terribly • hard as she told of the letters he never received, of her wild rush across three thousand miles to reach him. ‘ And how dared you suggest breaking our engagement V stormed ‘the girl who didn’t care.

‘ Why, sweetheart, it’s the only thing to do,’ replied Jerry. ‘ I can’t have you tied down to a helpless, blind- ’ ’ p y ■>. .-vr- ~ : 'Suppose I choose to be tied down?’ cried Celia, with great spirit. ‘ A gentleman has no right to break an engagement. It’s the lady’s privilege!’ ‘But, dearest girl, be reasonable!’ * Don’t you know, sir,’ retorted Celia, choking back the tears, ‘ that when a man tells a woman to be serious it simply makes her furious? Reasonable, .indeed!- I’m going to stay right here with you and put my arms around you, so that people may know that we are- ’ ‘ Listen, sweetheart,’ he interrupted, ‘ it’s not just that I’m. helpless. It’s,because —you see, I know what blindness looks likel know I’m repellant physically— I know ’ ' - ■ He got no further. Celia’s hands bent his head forward, and on his seared eyelids he felt the soft warmth of her lips in tenderest caress. Such was her [answer, T . ■ ~ I : Speechless, beaten, Ihe drew her close, and Celia, with her victory won, sobbed out her sympathy and love. ‘ Oh, Jerry,’ she asked, / is it very dreadful —the dark :/ She felt his ’ arm tremble about her, but his voice rang with triumph, as if the dawning of the day had come at last. - v ‘ There’s no such thing as the dark!’ he whispered. Extension.