THE STORYTELLER

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 14, 15 April 1925, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER

"That all comes of independent young ladies driving about alone," said the countess that evening to her niece, giving vent to her. anger and bitterness, by telling her everything from beginning to end. She felt it was impossible that it should now remain a secret to her, and she showed her the paragraph which -had appeared in the newspaper. In doing so, she was far too miserable to spare her niece's feelings, especially as she now thought everything was lost. The young girl listened quietly to what the countess said, and then read the odious paragraph. ..■;■; "Of course there is not more truth in this than there was in Nora's elopement," she then said; for, as we know, Lily never gave up an idea she had once taken hold of, and never lost the confidence she had once placed in a person. "Neither Nora nor Curt would have behaved so. Some one has written that who had a particular reason for hating them. Curt must, of course, be made aware of this, so as. to be able to refute it." "God bless your obstinate little head," thought the countess to herself, irritated at the simple way in which Lily tried to explain so complicated a thing. Of course, \ Countess Degenthal knew the world better than Lily, and knew that everything was. possible, and foresaw the consequences ■ attendant on' the possibility. , But for the first time in her life she found no answer to her self-made question, "What is to be done?" For the first time, too, Lily asked herself what she could do, moved as she was : by pride and love. She thought over it during many an hour. Curt, then, had loved Nora! that was the reason why he had been so unhappy, so ill, and had remained so long away from home. . . But there is something so congenial to a young girl's, heart in a deep and unhappy love, that the fact did not in the least make her dislike Curt. Nora : was so beautiful, so good, that she could quite understand Ourt's love arid dirt's sorrow; she understood it all the \ better as her good sense made; her add—"Of course, he can't majry the poor girl; that's quite out of the question. I am so sorry for him, for, of course, he must have suffered deeply' and that is the reason why he is gone away." She pondered during a long time over the means of comforting him, and of so far mending matters that. he should not remain a long time away, or, perhaps, what would be still more dreadful, fly once more altogether from home. Suddenly a bright idea crossed her mind,she would consult the chaplain; he would certainly be able to do some good. He knew Curt as well as Nora, knew everything that had happened to both, and also knew that'

NORA, ; "'.:' Translated from , the : ; German by Pbinoebb Lihohxbnstmn ;. (Published .by arrangement with Burns, Oates, Washbonrne, Ltd.) CHAPTER XXll—(Continued)

Curt had only been once with her. to Vienna, and that consequently there was no truth in the odious calumny made by the newspapers. With the instinct of a loving heart, she guessed that he had only sought solitude in order not to be seen and observed after this dreadful catastrophe ; "I would have done exactly the same," thought Lily, and rejoiced in her confidence that she was not the person lie had dreaded to meet. .■■,...'.. "He was on the point of telling me everything; of course, that was what he meant, and I can perfectly enter into his feelings." Yes, she understood, him perfectly, this might easily be deducted from the simple and almost child-like letter she now wrote the chaplain, and in which she showed at every line how firmly she believed in Curt, how anxious she was about his welfare, and how truly she loved him. She enclosed the calumnious paragraph, and begged the chaplain to do all that was possible in order to spare her poor cousin further unpleasantness, and to make everything as bearable as possible to him, so that he should not fall ill again. Like a tidy little body as she was, she also enclosed the letters which had come lately for Curt, thinking the while there might be something in them which the chaplain should know. As soon as the letter was gone, Lily felt once more at peace; the only thing winch still troubled her a little was the fear Curt would go away again and remain a long time away. She had guessed rightly: like the poor wounded stag which flies into its wellsnown thicket and hides itself from all eyes, Curt wished to live out his pain in the solitude of his old home. He was forced to go through the capital, and for a moment he had hesitated and thought he would, perhaps, inquire into the matter there. But the news seemed too certain to be doubted, and Nora was fpo. well known for any mistake to have been made. It would 1 be worse than all to hear the affair spoken of by other people; and then, why should he doubt it? Had he not seen the man, had he not heard her say that it was too late? She had confessed it, and his passion had refused to believe it. What; he had mistaken for' love and faith, was only hitter contrition and the few remaining sparks of her former self; ;"I have received my explanation quickly enough," he thought with a bitter smile, and he went on his way without stopping in the capital. I, '■ : o\'H \ ■■'] ..- - The household at the castle were extremely; surprised ;by the unexpected arrival of the young count. It had been proposed that lie, should be received ? with great pomp and great rejoicings, l this young-master of theirs, when he should return home after such a long absence, and after having gone through

so dangerous an illness: The countess, prol bably in order to excite no suspicion, had , written home that he was perfectly recovered; and now the people shrugged their 'shoulders, and said to one another, "Is that what the countess calls being perfectly recovered?" Pale, grave, quiet, and exhausted, he could hardly draw■ his limbs after him, and he, usually so friendly and so cordial, hardly gave a nod to his old attendants. J He. had completely lost his friendliness and , ease of manner, and when his agents appeared before him he only addressed them a few short, cold, and indifferent words. Even to the chaplain he. did not open his heart, and only faintly alluded to his dislike for festivities, as if that were the cause which had made him arrive so unexpectedly. The chaplain, who had no notion of what had taken place, thought he was fighting out some inward combat, and left him alone. jYes, alone! Shut up in his room as a recluse in his cell, he remained alone; alone, too; did he ride about over the country, or cross his woods on foot; always alone. Those who saw him shook their heads, and the old servants prophesied evil, from the change which had come over their bright and joyous young master. Even the chaplain began to think such conduct inexplicable, until at last, Lily's letter cleared up the mystery. He disbelieved the contents of the paragraph as firmly as Lily had disbelieved them, but. yet ho was deeply, moved by it, knowing the world as he did, and knowing how long it .would be before all trace of the calumny would be washed away. - . The .chaplain now determined to break the ' iee. He went to Curt, and'found him in his roqm standing by the window, his hand pressed upon his forehead, and' looking out dreamily upon the green trees, and upon the blue skies,;.looking at them, but not seeing them. ? The chaplain gave him at once the letters which had come for him. Ourt looked at them rapidly, and threw them all aside, with the exception of one which bore Dahnow's handwriting. He then looked up questioningly at the chaplain,, for he saw that he had something more for him. The latter handed him : the newspaper together with Lily's letter, "which he considered would do the most towards , soothing him. • * a Ourt read the paragraph, and then all the pent-up anger of the foregoing days broke out with a violence and a rage, until that moment unknown to his sweet temperament. He crushed up the paper passionately, and throwing it, with gnashing. teeth, away from him, he burst out into a loud, laugh. "Serves me right! Who touches pitch shall be defiled. In my folly I took rotten ■wood for bright stone,, and. now I have my j reward. Serves me right, I say!B I chose to have to do with canaille, and now lam treated as such myself. And all that for the sake of a pair of dreamy eyes! Why don't r&ou laughs at me,' chaplain? '$ Laugh at me,' «o, as the whole world will. You .don't even bi iknow what I was on the point of doing! I ".was on the point of marrying that crea- i' ture! Why don't you laugh, chaplain? But h you were ~ also mistaken; you also . spoke ; of,■,„•■

your undiminished esteem for her. Ah, ah!" and he laughed again., "Curt," answered the chaplain gravely, ''will you tell me how much truth 5 there is in the assertion that you once more approached her? As for the rest, of course, Nora is as innocent of it all as you yourself are." ■ .•:■' ■' ; '<y ••■-?.- *> "Innocent? Yes, indeed, she looks so immensely innocent that I did not believe her own words; she was at all events sincere enough to* tell me that it was too late." ■ "You saw her, then?" ; "Yes, I saw., her!" said Curt peevishly. "I went to her after Lily had called upon her. I wished to silence my conscience, and to. free myself from the reproach of having condemned her unheard. I wanted; to save her if it were possible, and would even now have risked everything for her, so pure and so noble I thought her. Oh, my God.! fool that I was! I loved her so intensely!"' The words broke forth from him in his deep despair. ;.. : "['.. -... "And you met that man there?" asked the chaplain in his quiet way. "Then, probably, the paragraph has been inspired' by low hatred and by irritated jealousy. Toil me, Curt, how it all came about." Curt told him in a few disjointed words. "She, told you that it was too late? She promised you an explanation, and yet pressed you to go away? Those are, indeed, strange words. .Oh, what can have induced this poor girl for the second time to take so dreadful a step?" - "Appearance, comedy, show!" cried Curt bitterly. "She has played her part well from the very beginning. Oh! my mother was fearfully right when she prophesied that education would only make her more fit to lead an intrigue." "Don't be as reckless in your hatred as you were in your love," said the chaplain severely. "It is extremely difficult to us to form a right judgment in this case; and often when we.believe our opinions, the most founded, they are the least sp\"C;f l2f ; The chaplain durst not say any more, he would not awaken the old love which, /after ■all, had not died away yet, nor ; would he add to the anger which he considered unjust. "Read your cousin's letter," he said after a few minutes of reflection, "we will talk the matter over later on, and see what had better be done to put an end to such Tow scandal." "My position in society is completely lost," cried Curt, breaking out again. "It is pleasant to no one to lose ground anywhere," he said, "and although one may not prize certain. things very highly, it is all the same disagreeable to Jose them." Curt knew his circle verf well, and he knew what an effect the story would produce upon it. "My poor mother!" he added, picturing to himself her, wounded pride, and feeling full of contrition for having • brought himself ! into such a position by not having followed her advice. v . :0-{|S Nl- - chaplain tried to soothe him. "After all, these are only calumnies, and fi you are quite innocent. Don't go to the capital ■for, some time —your delicate health is ; a ji

sufficient reason for keeping away—and then the gossip .will be forgotten, 'as all such gossip is. Meanwhile,' I will take the necessary steps for arriving at the particulars of the case, and will see that the untruths contained in the paragraph are. denied. I am • quite sure that i that man whom ' you met at Nora's is, also '■■■' the writer of the paragraph., .'.Poor, poor girl!" and the chap•lain heaved a sigh, thinking of how her life had been ruined; and how, being laid | out, as. it were, for happiness, there had ; grown in it nothing but sorrow and misery. Yes, indeed, God's ways were unfathomable. , But lie reckoned upon Nora's high character and upon the pure motive which had | first led her to enter upon that dreadful 'career. Such a sacrifice as she had made j could not have been made by an ignoble .woman. He believed there must be some ; misunderstanding, although, indeed, the ■ facts seemed crushing. "It is strange," he thought, "to mark how all her life is con- , stantly and mysteriously to be crossed by some dreadful misfortune. But her mo- ■ ther's last prayer was not that she should ■ be; happy here below, but that she should be saved hereafter. Whatever the road may be, she will be saved, so please it God. His flowers can bloom anywhere." Curt had remained a prey to the greatest agitation, but perhaps this was preferable to the dreadful doubts and uncertainties of the foregoing days. He had had a vague presentiment that after all he might be mistaken as he had once been, or at least as he had thought he had been; nor could he rid himself of the remembrance of the love and of the innocence which had seemed to enamate from Nora's whole person. But now he was quite certain, he was indignant too, and he would give full play to his ; indignation. He took up Lily's letter, and the simple and loving words which he'there read touched him deeply. "Good, faithful, little creature!" he exclaimed, moved at the remembrance that he had given her nothing, and that she I.ad given him all; : whilst the other one had onlv returned as he thought, "and ill-usage, .for the whole life he had wished to lay at her feet. Again he repeated: "Good/ faithful little creature," and looked again almost 'tenderly:;at the somewhat stiff and unpractised handwriting. It was pleasant to think, of her. now. There was something which rested him about the simple and everyday sort of r life she . led—something soothing: in circumstances which had' nothing complicated about them, and in a life which flowed tranquilly along as a gentle stream. .. -,, ~^,,f t ~-.,'■ £\/f That other girl's life was so entangled, so torn about from side to side, and, like a torrent passing over stones and dust and'' mud, it drew through the mud all those who wished to follow it in its restless and unhallowed career. Lilv's > peaceful path had something, inexpressibly 'attractive for. him.., There are hours of total I weariness in/ which \ the common beaten track pleases us more , than _ the most enchanting wilderness.. '. ! Weary—yes, "that ! was the word— was| weary of the inward■ combat which had lasted so-long; he was weary of all these ex-

citing feelings which had beaten him" about the waves of the sea, and placed him «sjnetimes on the heights of happiness and til?n y again precipitated him into the deepest - depths of misery. He longed for the port; he longed to have his life settled down where there would be perhaps no new hopes, but also ho disenchantments. He seized mechanically hold of Dahnow's letter, which, to his surprise, bore a North German stamp. "These lines," he wrote, "will, I hope, .serve to excuse my having broken my promise, and not gone to Gohlitz, after Countess Lily and you having so kindly invited me. Please be my interpreter with your amiable cousin, and accept yourself my regrets—although,' to tell the truth, I suppose that you will not have missed me much. Unless I am greatly mistaken, you are both in that pleasant state of mind which makes one give up visits very resignedly. Pray, allow me, as the oldest friend you have, to wish you joy beforehand. The moment in which a man makes up his mind as to where and how his real happiness lies, is one in which one may sincerely congratulate him. You seem both of you to be quite settled on that point. I sincerely rejoice at your decision, for nothing is more sad than when a man cannot make up his mind to bury his grief or to accept his happiness. In the expectation, therefore, of soon hearing the good news from yourselfl remain, your affectionate old friend, ;""■':! "Dahnow." This letter completed the current of dirt's thoughts. ■'•-How sweet was the love of which he could not doubt, and which had thought of him

constantly and always! It was pleasant, too, just now to think of so easy a success, for he was quite sure that, whatever the world might say, she would not hesitate for a moment. And then a man can never quite forget the matter-of-fact side of a question, and he knew that his engagement to Lily would be the most simple answer to all the gossip. "Good, faithful, little creature," he said once more; and if it was not love, it was at any rate gratitude, which beat in his heart at the thought. And yet it was another formthey were other eyes — arose before him as he lay. tossing about on his pillow that night. But Dahnow's words came to him as a charm —"Nothing is more sad than when a man cannot make up his mind to bury his grief or 'to accept his happiness." Well, he would do both now! But he had not a notion that as Dahnow had written those words they had been extremely painful to him to write. "I can't go and sec him making up to another, that's quite above me; and now I'll be hanged if I don't try and find out what's become of that other girl." The, day after his conversation with Curt, the chaplain was very much astonished at receiving from the young count a note, which consisted of these few words: "I start today for Gbhlitz. Perhaps I shall go abroad afterwards, but I shall make up my mind about that whilst at Gbhlitz. Anyhow, you will hear from me in a few days. Pray for me. "D." (To be continued.)