The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 4 March 1915, Page 3

The Storyteller

IN THE WOODS OF CASTLEDERG Netta Hardacr© was admitted on all sides to be far and away the prettiest girl in Middleton., v With her lustrous dark hair, her creamy, softly-tinted skin, her fin© features, flashing teeth, and a pair of big brown eyes expressive of every mood of softness or sadness, of gaiety and tenderness, she was a girl who almost at the very first sight of her won not only admiration, but love from all beholders. She might so easily have been spoiled, too, by all this so easily-won admiration and homage, to say nothing of her position as the only child and heiress of Sir Victor Hardacre. Yet she was not in the least degree. There was never a girl who spent less time before the looking-glass, and people who knew her best often wondered if she had any knowledge or realisation of her wonderful beauty and charm. Though allowed by her adoring father a more than generous dress allowance, she hardly spent a thought upon chiffons, and would, from her utter disregard for such trivial matters, have proved the despair of her dressmaker and milliner were it not that fortunately she wore every' garment with such an air as made it always seem the most fitting and becoming possible. In almost everything, indeed, she was as simple and as lovely and as lovable as a child. Had she not been she might reasonably have felt vex-y discontented as well as very, very lonely amidst all the wild beauty and solitude of her stately home at Castlederg. Standing high on a hill, surrounded on almost three whole sides by a thick belt of woodland, lordly chestnuts and sycamores, silvery-barked beeches, and gracefully-drooping birch trees, its many wide windows looked down on a broad expanse of picturesque but hardly-inhabited country stretching far away to the hills and the deep, wide waters of the' Atlantic. A stately and beautiful home it was, with its high terraced walks and gently-sloping gardens, its apple and cherry orchards, its hazel copse, and the deep darkness of the woods behind that at sunset were lit upas by a living fire with the glowing red rays shining through of the sun setting low in the west. Yet very, very lonely it could be, especially in the long evenings of midsummer, when the only sound that broke the stillness of the evening was the noisy, monotonous cawing of the rooks in the trees overhead. Neither Netta nor her father, however, were-cons-scious of the least desire to leave it, save for a short while each autumn, when they went for a holiday together to Paris or to Rome, to Brussels or Berlin,, or some other Continental town in which they might gratify their craving for the artistic and the old-world and beautiful. For the rest they were perfectly content at home, for Sir Victor was, first of all, a good landlord and a country gentleman, and when he was not enjoying himself out with the hounds or down by the river and lake with his rod or his gun he found equal if not greater pleasure in improving the conditions of his tenants, or in planting or pruning the lawns and many copses and shrubberies about his own beloved old home. Both he and Netta were inveterate readers also, and between books and music, and flower and landscape painting, and the care of her garden though there were many gardeners at Castlederg, its beautiful young mistress took a very active part as well as -a special personal interest in everything that had already made the place such a wonder-world to visitors and sightseersthe girl, on her part, never found time to feel lonely. Though there was so little youthful society about the place, she always had her father. And the two had been all in all to each other for so longever since the time when Netta was only three years old, and her beautiful young mother was carried home from an accident in the hunt-

ing field, never to open her sweet eyes on this sad old ■world again. ' . 0 . . '• It was because of that, and of how her mother had died, that Netta always felt a little unhappy in the autumn of the year. For though the woods were very beautiful, with their branches all orange and gold and the beech, trees sending down shower after shower of copper-colored leaves on the vivid green turf of lawns whereon the pampas grass waved in the breeze tall white heads like the funeral plumes of a hearse, there seemed always a vague sadness and mournfulness in the air. Her father was obviously restless and uneasy and depressed, and she could not help sharing at least some of his depression, though she busied herself more than everere the winter should step in and prevent her—in the planting of bulbs and the putting in of cuttings and various other odds and ends of outdoor work in her own special walled-in garden, where the chrysanthemums these autumns days made a riot of gorgeous life and color beneath the dying splendor of the woods. Once that autumnal anniversary time of decay and death had passed over, her father’s sadness disappeared too, and Netta’s heart began to lift relievedly with his own. And after that the months of winter seemed to fly, so short were the days, and so pleasant the long nights of reading and recreation together in the cheery glow of lamp and firelight. As I have said, Netta had little society of her own age, and hardly any of her own sex beyond that of old Madame Ducros, who had been her governess, and (being a widow and childless and without friends) found still a welcome shelter and annuity under the kindly roof of Castlederg. But she had hardly felt the need of any society at least, not until after Godfrey Sutherland had gone away. She was not sure, even then, that any other society but his would have been much of a help and a solace to her. As long as she had Godfrey, and her father, and the kind old Madame, and her garden, and the poor and needy of the neighborhood to visit and be good to, how could she be lonely ? Those evenings when Godfrey used to come to dinner —-for though almost penniless, and with his estates, moreover, heavily mortgaged, there was no one in the neighborhood to whom her father extended a more hearty and generous welcome —staying afterwards to talk by the fireside or play a quiet game of whist with Madame and her father and herself—seemed periods of ideal joy and happiness and contentment now that Godfrey had gone. What had they quarrelled about? It was hard to sayand indeed the word ‘ quarrel ’ seemed much too strong a word to apply to the estrangement that had gradually come between them. It began like the cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, in a slight feeling of jealousy on Netta’s own part. But there had never been even the shadow of jealousy or misunderstanding between them until Estelle Dumont, a school friend of Godfrey’s sister, had come to stay with them at Castle Grange. They had always made Godfrey so welcome at Castlederg, for in spite of his poverty Sir Victor, Netta s father, liked him incomparably more than any other young man he knew. He was so rich himself that he could well afford to overlook such a small fault as poverty in an otherwise charming and deserving young fellow, and Godfrey was so big and handsome and cheery and kindly—and Netta, as well as her father, had perhaps dreamed dreams. Dreams were all they were ever destined to be, apparently, for with the coming of Estelle Dumont to his home, Netta and her father began to see jess and less of their former frequent visitor. Perhaps it hadn’t been altogether Godfrey’s fault, she tried to think sometimes, for she herself had never been able to get on very well with Godfrey’s only sister, Julia, who seemed to her a very vain and frivolous person, supremely irritating, too, from her want of tact and her cocksure and opinionated self-assertiveness. She had tried to like her and be nice to her for Godfrey’s sake; but Julia Sutherland had so plainly shown her contempt for the dullness and dreariness of

Castlederg her first visit having unfortunately coincided with Sir Victor’s autumnal period ■of mourning-* and depression— that, as she was fond of telling her brother and her friend Estelle ■ ‘ wild horses would not drag her to that house of gloom again for any consideration.’ Neither did Netta care very much for Julia’s French schoolmate and companion, —perhaps as a result of her chatterbox hostess’s constant declarations against the deadly dullness of Castlederg and its occupants— to hold herself distant and aloof from them in a degree highly uncomplimentary. Of course, it was perhaps inevitable that Godfrey should devote a great deal of time these days to his domineering and insistent sister and her pretty little French friend—who, as well as being pretty, was by all accounts a great heiress also, and the daughter of a big Parisian banker. Well, Netta was an heiress, too, but perhaps a very dull and unattractive one (at least so she thought herself), as compared with the bright and vivacious little Parisienne, Estelle Dumont. At anyrate', during the latter’s stay with them at Castle Grange, Godfrey did not spend one evening now for the half dozen he used to spend with the quieter and more home-loving folk at Castlederg. There was always some excuse or other— dinner-party at Lord Vane’s, a bridge-drive at Lady Verner’s, a motor expedition up to Dublin or to Cork, for shopping and a theatre or two. Altogether his time seemed now greatly occupied, and his attention almost entirely devoted to his sister and her friend. All this time Netta herself grew colder and colder to him— is, on the few occasions on which he now vouchsafed to visit them. Once or twice, indeed, so sore was she made by his defection, she refused to see him at all on the plea of having a headache. . And if it came to poor Netta soon as a considerable shock, it was not altogether so much of a surprise to be told by some of her neighbors, with a commiserating smile, that he had just started for Paris with his sister and fiancee ‘ for the wedding.’ ‘ And you hadn’t even heard of it, my dear?’ on© of the least kind and tactful of them had added, with uplifted brows, when poor Netta had not been able to conceal her surprise, if not actual dismay, at the news. Ah, well, that little dream was all over ! She had been weighed in the balance with the other heiress and found Wanting. Perhaps she had no real right to feel hurt or sore, but she did. She had liked Godfrey so much, and he might at least have told her—have given her, or her father, his friend— little hint of what was afoot. Ah, well ! her father at least wanted her, and loved her ! For a time—a short little foolish space of time—she blushed hotly now to think of it— she had wondered and fretted a little as to what her father would think, what his feelings would be did another —-one other man—dare ask to take her from him. Poor father! he would have been lonely, more sad and lonely than ever,' no doubt. And now he need not —need never, never be ! There was at least some comfort— nay, a great big plenteous store of comfort and satisfaction in that thought. Her foolish, short-lived dream was over and gone, dead and buried for ever in her heart. And she must be content, would be content to stay with her father for all the time he should find need of her—that is to say, for the whole length of his days. She would have him, and dear old Madame, and her books, and her music, and her flowers—last, not least, her poor friends and neighbors, to think of and love and serve. But she would not have Godfrey— woman would have whole claim on him now. And smile and chatter and put on a brave front as best she could, the thought still smote and stabbed her like a very sword-thrust in her heart. And 'now the last of the red autumn leaves had fallen and been swept up and garnered by the gardener and his men to make leaf-mould for the blossoms of next year. The trees stood tall and brown and bare, the stars twinkled frostily, and a cold-looking crescent

’•-v.- - - _ • ", ; , . • moon lay low above the woods in a dark blue velvet and unclouded sky. In two. or three days Christmas would be at hand, and, as usual at this season, Netta’s mind and hands were busy together with, seasonable thoughts and preparations concerned with the poor proteges and the great and Kingly festival that was coming so near. - Various hampers and parcels had already been deposited by her own or the servants’ hands at the different poor cottages about the place. Yet, somehow, in spite of ail her endeavors to the contrary, Netta felt far less cheery and ‘ Christmassy ’ this year than she had ever felt before. Though her heart was just as warm towards her poor neighbors as it had always been, she felt somehow a far less inclination to meet them and talk to them than she used to do. No matter how she tried to shake it off, a weary feeling of sadness and depression still weighed on her young heart, changing her former cheery-bright, radiant looks and merry laughter into the veriest pale ghost of a smile. The fact was, she began to dread meeting people talking to them. ‘How thin you are grown, Miss Netta, darlint!’ one after another would say. ‘And where are all the fine bright roses gone from your pretty cheeks ? And isn’t this wonderful news we hear of the wedding at Castle Grange ?’ So that often these days, instead of taking her Christmas parcels around to the recipients herself, she preferred to send them by one of the servants, for no other reason than thisto escape comments and questions on her own altered appearance and Godfrey Sutherland’s wedding. There was one person, however, whom she must not fail to go and see this year, or any other year that the dear old body might, happily, remain in the land of the living. For old Mrs. Dempsey, the dearest, sweetest old creature for many a mile around, was already well beyond the allotted span in years and could not be with them much "longer. And, let Netta’s Christmastide benefactions to her be ever so great, the girl knew well that unless they were accompanied or followed by a visit from herself all her dainty gifts and goodies were like to taste as so much ashes and dead sea fruit in old Mrs. Dempsey’s mouth. And now it was already Christmas Eve, with the frosty moon shining coldly in the sky, and a great bank of dark grey clouds rising swiftly above the distant hills and rolling down from the west, with a promise of snow before nightfall. ‘ My dear child, surely you are not going out at this hour of the evening, 'and alone?’ asked old Madame Dumont in dismay, as Netta suddenly stood before her, looking a picture of brightness and beauty in her becoming seal toque and furs, into which she had tucked a glowing bunch of holly berries and their leaves. ‘ Yes, dearie, I am — have to,’ said Netta gaily. ‘ I had almost forgotten poor dear old Mrs. Dempsey.’ ‘ But, my dear, you sent her a most extravagant hamper of good things only yesterday,’ protested Madame, reprovingly. ‘ Yes, I know. But she’d be quite disappointed if I did not go to sec her myself as well. The poor old thing is so lonely —especially now that her only son and grandson are both gone to the war. And there’s so little time now, as to-morrow is Christmas Day. But I shan’t be long, as I’ll take the short cut through the woods.’ ‘Through the woods!’ Madame Dumont almost shrieked in horror. * And at such a late houralmost dark !’ ‘ There’ll be a moon presently; ’ Netta began. ‘ But, dear child, supposing you were to meet with some mishap—an evil tramp, or a wicked bull, or — or anything of that sort!’ warned Madame, interrupting. ‘ Or some fierce kind of a rabbit, or a dangerous squirrel, or a man-eating white owl, that might swoop down and pick my eyes out.’ laughed Netta. Why, you dear, silly, nervous old thing, you have been warning me against the dangers of those woods every time I went into them for primroses or daffodils since I was a child, and nothing has ever occurred to frighten me yet;’ . f : . '

‘ Oh, but, my dear,’ said old Madame .Dumont, shaking her head ominously as she peered over her spectacles at the girl, ‘ it’s a long lane that has no turning. If you must go, do take one of the maids with you, I beg of you / ‘y !/:>.: ■;/ r , j-£- ‘ Mrs. Dempsey wouldn’t find a word to say to me if I did,’ laughed Netta,-and ran off to save further discussion., •. :• !■ '• j?. She knew the path through the woods of Castledefg so well that she did not feel in the least degree nervous or afraid. And after about a" quarter of an hour’s rapid walking she emerged safely from the long,\ dark, winding, and leaf-strewn path, and crossed the stile that led into a narrow boreen, half-way" down which nestled Mrs. Dempsey’s neat little whitewashed and straw-thatched cabin, its windows shining bright. Just as she did so she suddenly fell back with a little cry, for a large dog had suddenly bounded towards her, and with almost equal suddenness the figure of a man with a gun on his shoulder embodied itself out of the gathering darkness and mist. He had almost passed her by before she knew who it was; but he, on his side, had been quicker to see and recognise her. ‘ Hello, Netta, is it you really ? And I just happened to be thinking of you at this very minute ! But where are you off to, all alone, at this hour of the evening, too?’ spoke Godfrey Sutherland’s well-remem-bered voice out of the darkness, in tones almost of rebuke. I’m going down to see Mrs. Dempsey,’ she an-, swered him coldly, after the first startled feeling of surprise had passed. She could not feel anything else but cold to him just yet — cold and proud, and bitterly hurt by his recent attitude and actions. Doubtless, ho had just come home to spend Christmas with his bride, who, together with himself, would delight in flaunting their new-found happiness in her face. And ho and she-had been such, friends—so much more than ordinary friends —but a little while ago ! How could she feel anything else but sore and resentful, and how hard she would find it to hide it, however much she might try ! ‘ Mayn’t I come with you ?’ he asked, apparently undaunted by the chilliness of her tones; ‘lt is very late for you to be out alone.’ ‘ Oh, I am quite used to it,’ she replied, with a kind of mirthless, half-frozen little laugh. ‘ln fact, I should much prefer to be alone, if I may say so.’ 1 Oh in that case,’ he murmured, falling back and lifting his hat, evidently stung by her marked air of aloofness and hauteur, ‘ I must not think of intruding.’ And in a moment he had vanished into the darkness. . Netta stumbled on a little blindly. Hardly had she advanced a dozen paces, however, when Godfrey’s dog ‘ Bran ’ came bounding noisily after her. * Away, Bran, away !’ she commanded him irritably, as he trotted along by her side, shoving his cold, wet nose ingratiatingly now and again into her warmlygloved hand. But Bran absolutely refused to leave her. He was still close to her heels when she entered Mrs. Dempsey’s cottage, and all that she or the old woman could say or do seemed powerless to alter his determination of remaining close by Netta’s side. ‘ Well, maybe it’s for luck, Miss Netta, avourneen,’ the old woman said, after they had.had their little chat, and the girl stood up at last to go. ‘ I often heard tell that it was a powerful lucky thing for a dog to follow a body like that. And to tell you nothing but the truth, Miss Netta, I’m glad you have his company for protection, for it’s not safe for a young thing like you to be out on the dark, lonesome road. And if I were you, Miss Netta, honey, I’d not be going home through the woods to-night. The moon is gone behind the clouds, and it’s grown terrible dark. And I heard tell there was a couple of very ill-looking tramps goin’ round here within the last day or two. y They say'Mrs. Gregory’s little house was broken into ,and robbed last night, and a boy of the Malones was - stopped; on. the road, too, and all his bits of money taken from him.

‘ Don’t tell me anything more, Mrs. Dempsey, dear,’ laughed Netta, a trifle uneasily, ‘or Pll be afraid to go home at all, even with Bran. Why, it has grown dark!’ as she stepped from Mrs. Dempsey’s brightly lit kitchen into the blackness of the mid-winter night. She shivered a little. Something had surely unnerved —perhaps it was that unexpected meeting with Godfrey but a little while before. Had she been foolish to refuse his offer of an escort after all? She said good-bye to her old friend and hurried off in the darkness, which, after a few moments, when the moon had drifted again through the clouds, did not seem quite so dreadfully black and impenetrable. Reassured by the now very welcome company of Bran, her courage soon began to return; she determined that after all she might venture to go back through the woods, since the way by the road would be almost a full mile longer. She crossed the stile, therefore, into the wood, and made her way along—more through life-long familiarity with the path than through any sure clearness of vision —till she got about half way through. Once or twice she had an eerie, frightened kind of feeling that someone was following her at some distance behind. But she could see nothing, and became satisfied after a time that it was again only a case of ' nerves,’ and that the footsteps she thought she heard at a distance behind her were only the rustling of the wind through the leaves. Besides, Bran was with her, and if there should be anybody about But at that moment the dog gave a deep, low growl and leaped quickly in front of her. At the same instant someone struck a match, and poor Netta had a momentary and most terrifying vision of two grinning evil-looking faces that leered at her out of the darkness. ‘ Hand over your purse, my pretty, and we won’t trouble you any further,’ said the one nearest to her. ‘ But I haven’t a purse—l brought out no money with me,’ faltered Netta, falling back in terror from the malevolent looking faces that mercifully disappeared from her gaze for a moment as the match flickered suddenly out. ‘ We’ll soon find out, Missie, whether you have or not,’ snarled one of them, laying a hand roughly on her shoulder. Netta gave a scream, and as she did so Bran, who had all this time been bristling and growling, suddenly flew at the fellow’s throat. Then a sound of footsteps came racing swiftly behind her, and in a moment Godfrey’s voicethe most welcome sound she had ever heard, she thoughtshouted angrily at her way-layers : 1 What do you mean, you hounds? How dare you molest a lady like this. Dare lay another hand on her and I’ll shoot the both of you dead !’ Indeed he already had the gun poised, ready to fire. But the two miscreants cowered miserably before him. ‘ Don’t shoot us, sir,’ they cried, ‘ and for God’s sake will you call this damned dog of yours off. Sure we had no intention of frightening the young lady—we only asked her for a copper or two.’ Godfrey looked from one to the other in disgust, then back again at Netta’s frightened face. Something in its look of appeal brought him to a sudden decision. ‘Be off with you, you pair of the greatest scoundrels unhung,’ he cried, ‘ and be thankful that either of you escape with a whole skin. You will not, however, escape the clutches of the law so easily, I feel sure,’ and he expedited the departure of each with a kick, well directed and unerringly aimed. As soon as they had slunk out of sight and hearing, he turned to Netta with arms outstretched, in an attitude of protecting tenderness. ‘ Netta, you poor little frightened girleen,’ he said softly. But instead of coming towards him, she laid her cheek against the silvery bark of a beech tree and began to cry silently and piteously.

Don t cry, dear,’, he pleaded. ! I: can guess how frightened you felt, but you know you should have let me come. I felt it wasn’t safe for you to be out so late alone, especially when these stories of house-break-ing and highway robbery in the neighborhood. But at least I am glad' you had Bran.’ asked with a look of sudden enlightenment. The moon had come out from behind the clouds, and all at once Netta s tears ceased. Yes, it was all I,could do when you wouldn’t let his master come also. And then—l tried to keep as close behind you in the wood as I could without frightemng you, though I felt a good deal angry with you a 16 1 You might have accepted ™ escort,’ reproachfully. J ’ ‘But why should I? I meant to stay quite a good while at Mrs. Dempsey’s, and then— your—your wile might have been wondering at your long absence.’ My wife, Netta! My wife!’ he cried in dumbfounded amazement, and laughed half-incredulously. t i j 3 ' Sl f q u enecl. ‘Aren’t you married by this? I heard you had gone to Paris with Julia and your fiancee for the wedding.’ J He looked puzzled a moment, then laughed, yet more loudly and boyishly than before. . With Julia and her fiancee, you must have heard —and misunderstood,’ he explained. ‘You should know, of course, that Julia was engaged to Henri Dumont, Estelle’s only brother, for the last year and aHalt, and they were married a fortnight ago in London a /y happy as well as a wealthy marriage it will prove for my sister, I hope and believe. That was why we were so much taken up with Estelle, and Henri too when he came. I’m glad the wedding is happily over] lor it was a great tie and a bit of a bore having to show them around so much, and Julia made sure to keep my nose to the grinding stone. She always did.’ You must be very lonely for her, I’m sure,’ ventured Netta, who was now walking home quite cheerfully and undismayed beside her big, manly escort, who had tucked her arm possessively through his. Lonely for Julia?’ he asked, with a look amused and comically doubtful. ‘Well, I’d hardly call it lonely, exactly, though the house does seem so quiet and still and peaceful without her hustling and managing ways. But I have been feeling very lonely for somebody else,’ he said earnestly, and in the pale moonlight filtering down through the leafless trees she knew that his eyes were tenderly seeking her own. ‘ You know whom I mean, little Netta,’ he went on. And, oh,’ sadly, ‘if only I were not such a pauperif I only dared speak to your father ’ Netta’s heart all at once began to quiver with a strange, unhoped-for happiness. Papa has plenty of money,’ she said, tremulously, almost in a whisper, ‘ and if you only knew how fond he is of you ’ Is he, dear? And are you?’ he whispered back, softly. ‘What do you think?’ asked Netta, with her shyest and most adorable smile. And then, just as she had laid her sweet face a while ago against the bark of a silvery birch, she now laid her cheek against his—but this time not to weep. — Nora Tynan-O’Mahony, in the Weekly Freeman.