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f '——————————————— 40 „ From the Fall till Spring I By CLIVE R. FENN (Author of The White Flag," &c.) There was the prospect just ahead of a chcery baud clasp, and the thought of the welcome awaiting him just there in advance through the night, atoned in some measure to Charteris for the long and rather tedious journey from town it was a slow journey, jest before the annual summer holiday, and there was a late start, while at Portsmouth, where the boat for the Island was to be taken, the traffic was slightly disorganised owing to a Royal visit. It was charming though to be at last passing over the strip of sea lighted up by the moon. lie ought to have arrived in time for dinner instead it would be ten o'clock by the time he saw the Russells, ere he would see Sybil again. But there was the Island, with the lights of Hyde twinkling gaily as though with a con- sciousness of the happy instinct of life down there in the sunny south. There was a murmur of voices on deek words caught his exr, such Words as, We will go there certainly." The water lapped at the bows there were the curious dark fantastic shapes of the night around—such a wonderful summer night, soft and warm. It was magnificent to live just for that one moment in that wonderful nocturnal panorama, with the ideas which came. One could hear the heart-beat of the world. There was a train ride on the other side sleepy children were opposite, and the handles of toy spades protruded from the rack. The carriages were stiff, straight, uncomfortable but it .vas pleasant to ride in them all the same, for he was going to see her, and there were picture above tbe rack of hotels, of sra. fronts, oil suggesting the most brilliant features of life, its early summer mornings, its thoughts which uc so far away that they bring despair. In the town there was a short walk to the house where they were staying. It was long after ten o'clock, hut everything was delightful. despite the fatigue of the long journey hre was the scent of the sea people were lounging on the esplanade, by garden walls. So glad to sec you His host was smoking a cigar on the ver- andah, rcclining in a lounge chair. It was a {Saturday night—a Saturday night of peacc, or calmness, with the suggestion, the hope ahead, of a Sunday morning oi" perfect brilliancy with the sound of church bells coming through the glamoured blue haze. Aud how is Mrs Russell—and Sybil 7" They are inside. Co in and speak." Charteris entered, ami emotion was keen. It was merely to glance at her again. Some- times a pleasure is so keen that there comes a dread, a tremor of doubt. The only securitv might be in death. Rut the telegram he had had that morning, that summons, Coma end spend a few and to obey which he had quitted all the work of an errant poll- ti cia?i—that message seemed to hold out a hope, j Would she single him out after all ? It was dangerous to entertain such a. hope, because the aftermath, the possible sensation of disillusionment afterwards in the event of disappointment would be worse than deatu. And the old S::W;B would bring tears, and the return to the great city. to the dust. the horror, the eternity of labour—that would bring grief. She was a very beautiful girl, aud as her en- tered th'- room she rose from the piano where she had been playing a lively air. Good evening," lie said, in a voice he tricu to render calm. Good evening. Paul," she said, holding out her hand. We weren't half sure that- you would com" Why. when the telegram came he could hardly contain himself for And as he glanced at her, at her be-iutiful bf?nrG' her wonderful eyes, he felt how impossible It was. She would never accept him. He was not worthy to he glanced at by her,/and a ear came of life itself in which it was possible to suffer so much. He felt as though he was the eery edge of the world. He saw her agam on one Sunday afternoon in the garUen < garden on the river. She was saying. the carnations were better this summer- e was carrying a Japanese sunshade they. sat down 011 a rustic scat ou a terrace, whICh overlooked the river: he would have have kissed her hand, but instead came a com- monplace remark her hair was loosened by the wind. But she held the secret oi all pos- sible happiness for him. You had a long journey down;" said Mrs Russell, over supper. the train w;:s three hours la-to. Sybil sat down at the piajio and played again. I am so tired, Oll know," she said. I will talk to-morrow." Mr Russell cam in. and sat down just inside the French windows and talked politics. whiLst Charteris Wf nt back in idea to all the old times of beilliane" to the ma,c:n:iiccnt old days, to the scenes whore he had seen her. She .W.7.8 tlwa-vs the central figure. To be only ft friend like that was to be ever on the threshold of a. tragedv. Sometimes it wr.s to suffer too ex- tremely. There was the river one can j min- ing, a i'ew boats on if, the hush ot the m hour, and then later in the day a ho.iday gala craft passing and a huge steamer cio -u. with pleasure seekers making its wavmajes i ally down to the great Metropolis. Mando 1 were being played on board- Througn havoc of the emotions in that vast wilderness of the memory, there was only one central figure. He had longed for the times when he shouicl see her again. In the night times, with thca strange cries, the sound of a railway engine whistling weird and sad, there :ame b:1.ck agam the shadow of some old idea. She was standing ou an emerald lawn which was dotted ivn-li flower beds, ou a brilliant morning in *vV*e' with the scented air seeming to pulsate with a music coming from the country of dreams. And again in Paris she was there in the spriog.. Paris, the capital of romance, of brilliancy, ot tears—a capital which suggested so much more than could be grasped, whether teen in all the charming environment of early summer, or in some rainy autumn time with the Champs lllysees deserted, the coloured placards wet and torn, the cafes under the trees deserted, the glory departed till the spring. And forming so curious a contrast to that afternoon in the gar- den was the scene of departure for an ocean voyage. All That coming and going, that dash and bustle And she would be for months away Day after day. It was in those times of'waiting that death seemed like a good, a true friend, a refu", There was one rescue from suffering, one resource. There were after- noons when there seemed to be nothing else beyond that one thought, days when work, the sometime panacea, failed. "as there nothing he could do for her to show what he felt ? He had seen that garden in summer and in winter, when the river was brilliant and when it was sad. There was that day when her little sisters had accompanied him to a spectacle, ODe of the shows of the world. Yet it was selfish to want so much. to long tor something which, like the stars, was so far away. But there was that afternoon in the garden- She had said. You "an cornc round the garden with me if you like." The gardener was arranging pink geraniums in a large new green vaso the hose was lying on the grass, spluttering and in the aviary un- der the verandah the little yellow birds chirped and sang. and sang. She was going away—to Ireland, the land of cromlechs, of romance, of old traditions buried away in remote green fastnesses. Save us from our memories and we may yet. be men. Sup- pose she forgot all about him Suppose the dream was to end there for cler 0 You should have a better opinion of your- self," she had said. But the next morning she would be gone earlyby the express from a great terminus, and then out to the north-west across the sea. How clear it all was IIow all the past came back in a momentary hash, that memory ivhieh was so infinitely plea.-vaut. and' xrt :0, memory which 'lou-ht.tears. She was stand- ing at entrauce to a greenhou e, with the) sunlight- on a multi-coloured sunshade and on her hair a strand oi hair had broken loose and floated in the wind. Yes, ag-;iln, if he were never to see her again, it there was tin hope, there still was death, that-comfortable end, that end to the saddest despair. It there were never to be that announcement that Miss Svbjl iS:ma Russell was engaged to him. Than "her soft voice, her graceful form, there was nothing more. 0 You a re strangely silent to-night," she said. V:u»iv>g round from the piano. The piece she had just- played was a German melolv called, Vollcrnes Gluck" {" Lost lin ppiness.') Am I ?" he said. It was dusk in the room, and his face could T<ot be seen. Charteris ha.s had i long" journey," said Mr Russell. He is tired." I Oh, not at all. Do play that piece again." Did you like it ?" Extremely." When she said Good-night," it was on the verandah he had strolled out onto the balcony alone. She shook hands like an old comrade. Good-night." "What a beautiful night • he said, and be glanced down there into the street., where people still lingered a tune came up. Out there was the sea in the faint I'ght. grey and Mysterious, die sea which hid carried her the winter before to the Tropics. Sybil,' exclaimed, just as she was going, Would not you listen to me I am getting on. I am working hard. I would die for you." Oll, you talk nonsense," she exclaimcd, lightly. But I; would." How absurd :Paul.y«r;do make me laugh." I remember everything you have said." I am sorry that you have such a gjod memory." Vnu are offended f" Not at all." U was I u a.s trr-mjf T take a liberty. 1 bww. Init think of i.u or cry dav, every honr. wvrry rninuie." I XTRRRZ tor I uu not worth •k. Then she was gone. Ah, that night! What thoughts came down there in that silence where every sound seemed mysterious, instinct with a wonderful, an eerie charm. In the morning they walked to church over. ? hill and across fields in which grasshoppers chirrupped. On the other side of the corn fields where the golden sheaves were stacked could be seen the blue waters-of the bay. Russell was a good friend, his every action instigated by chhalrous motives. May be it was well that he had the key of the world. Very pleasant was that service in that iar-auav countryside church. By contrast with the vivid white sunlight without, it was almost dark m the edifice, for the stained glass windows showing calm grave-looking saints were in heavy colours. They were calm; it might have been thought to look at them that they were never perturbed, that they could always gaze at the world steadily and long. rr.„T,„ They sauntered slowly back home. There was a wonderful hum of summer in the air, a magic glow, and all around there were enchant- ''ball I carry vour book ?" he said, and vourn he went'on, addr essing a younger sister. Oh, thanks. She put up her sunshade. Wo are going to Cowes to-morrow, said Mr Russell. By coach, father she asked. Yos; it. will be a lovely ride." There was nothing which could possibly have exceeded the charm of that day. \Vhat, c3uld the rest signify, the town, the theatres, the vestiges of the old despairs ?" At tea time as they were sitting on the ver- andah, after an afternoon walk. a messenger came up from the station with a letter. It had been sent on hv Charteris's man. He opened it and found an enclosure, a letter from a firm of lawyers, apprising him that a wealthy relative in Australia had died, leaving him every tiling- He handed the letter to Russel without a word. Money could not do evcrvthing, although he had imagined at one time that it could He felt elated, but then there returned the oid sensation of misery. Thev stopped at about one o clock on the following dav, and had tea at an old-iashioned hostelry, after a stay of a few hours at Lowes where "the scene was resplendcnt, m the ex- treme nigger minstrels were singing the very latest songs in front of the chief hotel people were strolling about in yachting costumes; in the brilliant sunshine everything was idealised, dazzling. A: foreign prince drove by m a landau, with outriders. rio IKS seen IP the crowd where fortune-tellers and necrom, incers were hard at work, were many celebrated people, a diplomatist, a famQus poii r^m- hut Charteris was only thinking of her all the tune, mid of t-ticit one idon.. Perhaps, with that money, I coulu get into Parliament, and then she might have me. En route home, Sybil declared her intent,on of leaving the coach and going back the short distance that remained across the fields. You can come too u you like, Paul, she said^n^ coming," exclaimed Claire, her Charteris jumped down with alacrity, and assisted the two girls to descend. Farewells were waved, and as the (ouch roHcd on, the three companions set off across the fields. There were stiles to be crossed, and at one of them Sybil gave a cry of pain. Charteris, who had just helped her sister over, turned ill alarm, to see Sjbil stooping down to examine her foot; she" was leaning back against the stile. You are hurt he exclaimed anxiously, going up to her. So," be said quickly I could not ei ag- gerate when you are concened-" But on that occasion, as on others, she laughed it off she could not 1 cgard it serious- ly so it seemed and as he had doue in the old days five years before at Emhurjt, when they had been boy and girl together, so now he loved her more each day. And the thought that nothing he could do would conceivably change matters embittered life. He was not good enough he had never achieved anything— never-never done anything more than the crowd —perhaps that was why she held hm in good- scorn. It. would be somebody else who would win the victory—somebody who had no old re- membrances of those days now so far away—the spring time at Emhurst, the hewn ash stumps round which bluebells bloomed in March. Always would he be with him in mind, in all the days, all the seasons but the dream would be all. A couple of days later he maxie a last attempt. Might there not be any hope he pleaded. I would wait for years." How can I, JEViul she said, and she touched his arm. You know," she Avent on, and there he thought, a ring of sympathy in her vroice we can be friends." Yet nothing more." Because we have been friends and all that it does not seem to me certain that we should he happy together always. Vt on't you be satis- fied, Paul ?" I must be" he said. Sybil, I haven't pained you ?" No." You never could t.hink of me ?" "Never," she said firmly, and at that mo- ment-that moment of intense grief—it seemed to him that she had never looked more grace- ful, more beautiful, in her life. Forgive me," he said brokenly. I ought not to have troubled you. My only excuse is that I have loved you all my life. I have been clnmsy it is foolish, it is ungallant. I-ask you to forget." Again there was only one remark. I am very sorry." What have I done, then ?" "Nothing that I know of." I am not disgraced No, no, no, Paul it is not that. I can't help it, really. Wccan be good friends, can we not? You are notgoing to do anything des- perate 1 There was a shade of the mocking spirit in her tone. He shook his head, You don't know," Be said; it is a tragedy to tlle." 13 And then shortly afteiwards he feigned an important erg-igeni"nt. and left. It. is better," h said 4. good-bye," and when Russell with the best of intentions and I the most perfect good-nature tried to detain him, he met the hospitable insistence with a shake of the head, an avowal that he must go. There wa-< nothing else to be done, nothing, and the law of the world was to bow and depart. He went back to London to his chambers, to the old round, the round which seemed so purposeless now„now that there was no hope. It was all rather strange, the return, the ride through a night country, past a hundred countrv«ides, the crowded brilliant terminus, the cab, the wet glistening streets, the strange U'gs^d on arrival he sat down and thought — looking out of the open wiudow into the great ritv whose murmur was getting softer further „How would it he with the years ? Strange lights seemed to fall into the large mirror at the far end of the room. and in it he thought that he saw her, radiantly beauti- ful. fair spring in a countryside. His reflections were strangely broken into, hv the so lnd of music coming from the other side of the quadrangle there were lights in a window, and a piano was being played In a hours the city would bo waking up once' more, people stirring, new thoughts conii-itr the rattle of harness m mews, the re- sumption of the old routine. It wis odd to glance out at that mysterious nano-ima, to see in it all that there was, the srointr and the coming, the arrivals at hotels, of t i"i who had seen the sunrise in other lands the sound of church bells, the thought oi the mouutiii" and of impressive scenes in dim lit Cathedrals• liut beside? all that, there was oue country- i. „ was remembered as clearly as *a s< i*n' in a ballroom amidst the brilliant" lights, or a »!ri.¥c of a theatre—a countryside where there was' silence and calm, the hollyhocks in cof'-{re Vaidens, quaint old farmhouses, with fowls whIch appropriated the roadway, and the S woods, with, too, the scent of burmng wood, and all the far-away sensations of a place wbich did not (rouble about the life of CitiC3 and the stir of tbe worid- \nd yet there was work but. still in the midst of n life in which there was action, that old fit-cam aiwav.s returned—strange, insistent, nlonr with the thoughts of the night and of the morning, the refrain of n song, I will hang m- harp on a vc^picfj willow a re- membered interior, the pictures, the books, the coloured lights of the candles on adinner-tahle, the suggestions evoked by the sight of a photo- graph, a girls face. or of some scene iu the gallery of an old-time palace. For in that countryside there bad been much thought, the fore-gathering of friends in the even ing, the chat about the doings of the great world, the explorations, the ware, and then the walk back along quiet country lanes, rather sad with tall poplars standing out against- the grey night sky. After all in one corner of the world, there was everything, life, idea, thought, despair, possi- bility. So that was the end Nothing really signified now, now that he realised that- she could never cure. The former feeling of despair was dulled into a calm melancholy, a sense of the impossible, a strength in the memory of what had bpc-n. The p sst was a dream friend- nothing more. In that ivory tower of thought shc always came back to him—always. lie had guarded some of her letters time was nothing and the notion of old age—alone-did net frighten 111m, Can one be alone in a vast city where there arc so many things which might be done ? The garden of the memory was always a refuge. He t !:nl,lf.t :Ig"lin (I( what had hap- JI.¡¡nd. of how she J. ol;(.d nn a certain <,y.lin"" at n dinner party across the tioweis "h" wore a black dre-s with diamonds. She had said. Yes. I want to g" to the races very much." Tii it yetr ended.—s ully. Wealth had brought distract i( n, — metre, acquaintances, but ."ll,1' I lioiiiMt of her m* £ s always there. He Jill: travelled much, and now he enlarged his itin- crary, seeking changee, oblivion, the oblivion which never came. In a moment of solitude, in the gleam of the firelight, in a crowded alon, on board a steamer, or at. a foreign place in the pleasant dreamy days of that distant June on the garden terrace with the moon majestic,sad, up there, of the wet Whit Monday, all the genial rush of that Bank Holiday, the talk of friends about future doings, the tune of The Holy City," which was played. All the lights and shades of a few minutes' conversation in the drawing-room one wet April afternoon came back, and such a remembrance seemed to tinge the whole world. the streets of London in August when lavender was being sold, the scenes in other places, the chats at night-time wit,h friends. There would never be anything really worth striving for—nothing but that conjured up vision of that summer, that seaside place, the sunlit sea, the crowd and music at Cowcs Regatta, the brilliancy and glamour of that tiulc; and yet at first in a desperate way he had tried to go forward, to realise the world, and to feel with it, and though he couJd not engage in some work which brought fame im- media.te and lasting, and did more besides, likj the musician who brings new feeling, new light into the world, yet in Parliament he did man- age to gain a name. His strength lay perhaps in that detachment from lite which came in time, that curious independence which enabled him to go on unflinchingly where others failed. Sentiment.—all that, so tar as action went, was placed on one side it would never hamper movement again It was only at times that the old anguish would return, at moments when the power of the world bad lost its grip, moments of disenchantment, desolation. Then again, in the moving tableau of mpmory,hesaw her fair hair, her laughing eyes she was coming towards him or once again he was meeting her in the hall of a house. He heard some two years after that she was at Baden, and he avoided that place during his autumn jaunt. The world is pretty wide, after all, for since that farewell in the Isle of Wight he had never seen her—never. And he never would again. Some thing, were not to be some things had to be accepted, and that was one. Yet sometimes the stony indifference of all besides to a tragedy galled and chafed to others these things mattered not: they went in to dinner with easy nonchalance, for life was passing just the same, and trains were de- parting, racing through strange night-times into early morning country-sides where labour- ers—perhaps the most honest of us all—were trudging to labour in the silence of the dawn. Around there was all that intense excitement of life which it was a, pity not to look at whole- minded and without that sense of desolating despair which clogged initiative and rendered everything null. Chance likenesses he caught in the thorough- fareL; of the great world, among the busy marts —people who passed and were never seen again. Perhaps she saw too, some of the things which he saw, heard the same tunes, thought perhaps now and then of the charm of those old days. There was one thing which he drea,ded-the announcement :n the papers of her marriage. Any day it might be there—any day. It would have to be read and bruited abroad, and commented upon. People would lean back in club lounges and drawl out. Yes, a good match," while he would have to act the indiffer- ent who cared nothing, who had never thought of her as other thau a pretty sight—the belle of a season whose eventual choice would he n, useful canvass for conversation. How would it be then? When someone exclaimed, All, by the ivay, Chartcris, have you heard the news ?" And when that fact was shouted into his ear, how hard it would be to reconcile it. with the world, with all that was passing, with Paris in the early morning time its dreams of the past, its ideas of the future, when better things might. come I Yet nobody knew of that scc-rct. It was the perfumed garden entrance to which is commanded by one only; ingress is barred to all besides. Another twelvemonths passed, and April came again. There was a wonderful glamour over the commencement of the season, and the Marchioness of Down whose reception opened the entertainments and festivities of the year, was honoured by Royalty and by all the elect and mingling in that crowd, Charteris ex- changed a word'here, a salutation there. It was not in his mind then that he should by any chance meet her in the brilliantly illuminated salons, when suddenly he felt a, touch on his arm.anda familiar voice—Russell's—exclaimed My dear fellow, how are you ? You haven't been treating us at all well lately do you know and" he went on, linking his arm in Paul s, without giving him opportunity for reply or protest. "I don't know whether we can for- give you. AH last winter-oh, 1 don't know how long TV ell, we were in Egypt. I was so ill that it was only chanee,.dthough with all my business it was awkward enough for me to be away. Now, tell me all—but no, don't— not now. Here are my people." And Paul found himself face to face with those friends of a few years back. Mrs- Russell came forward, saying something cordial, and winning, and then he saw Sybil- Sybil, more graceful, more beautiful, than of old. "Paul," she said. holding out her hand, how long it hao been The voice was so soft, so melodious, 'and in that melody there was a regret. Sybil Only one word, and then he stopped and looked at her wonderingly. How you have changed she murmured. And the sea. and that- parade, and the music of those old days, and the church bells that Sunday morning, and the garden Then, a.? he said not a word, she went on. Why did von go away 1" lie faltered. I was bound to go." Were you ? And she looked at him with reproach in her eyes. I think it was rather unkind. Do you like Parliament ? Tell me about it, please I want to know. Are you busv now ?" You know I was in the House ?" Of course." Then as he looked into her eves he began to dimly understand that he had been hastv, that he need not have despaired—not quite so soon. How icaxliiv was the sorrow of that long lapse forgotten Is it true ?" he said passionately, and then as she inclined her head, he exclaimed. Sybil, I have always thought of you." And I of you," she murmured. Then he tried to take :1. lighter vein, because of the milieau, of the music starting afrosh. The bazaar that summer, and the French comedian who sang Ninon, Nina, Ninette do you remember ?" Y'es, yes," and she laughed merrily "1 remember him." And the Island that summer, a.nd all that 1" "Yes," she answered, "all that too—all that too. Paul, will you forgive me because I was unkind ?" It has made the truth so much finer," he said.

---------------------_-THE…

[No title]

Progress of Newport. .

---Rush to Get Married. .

---'"..-.----..---------.--M.P.'S…

--'" -------------_---FIRE…

Mosely Commission. .

,THERE WAS NO ELOPEMENT.I

---------------SEEING THINGS…

---__------BARRY BUILdER'S…

A Forgiving Husband. .

Alleged Assault in Train.…

---------TOO MUCH INSPECTION.

|PENTREBANE FARM BURGLARYI…

TEN THOUSAND MOURNERS.

GERMANY'S JOHN BURNS.

Funeral Stopped. .

STEALING A BRIDE.

ICARD SUPERSTITIONS.

FIRE ON A PASSENGER SHIP.