The Rhondda Leader

1 1 J7TT c (Copyright.) THE MYSTERY OP CLIFF CASTLE. By MARVIN DANA, Author of "The Woman of Orchids," "The Loves of Rebecca and Basil," "The Con- version of a Parent," "The Temptation of John Greaves," "The Case of Tenoni," &c, CHAFTER I. THII MASTER OF THI CASTLU. Harold Tarnell, of Cliff Castle, Bournemonth, a very merry old gentleman. His gaiety **s not the result of senility. As a babe ha chuckled in the cradle, and he had con- tinued hilarious despite the sobering influence of years. Nor was his constant good humour evidence of silliness. No man in England nad lived a more wholesome life than his, no jk&n had more steadfastly done his duty •towards himself and towards his friends, and "^at, too, through many periods of stress when weaker man must have failed. Mr. Tarnell's appearance was wholly in keeping with his spirits. His figure displayed 'hat abundant circumference which is usually aided by laughter. He was short, too, and thlis his form was, in a way, a rollicking one *^d quite in harmony with his ruddy face, *nere his blue eyes twinkled brightly, with no lack of lustre for all the patriarchal cascade d beard that tumbled whitely to his bosom. Is one concession to the demands of age was that he wore spectacles. Indeed, he was always ■erioua when he peered through them. Usually, "Owever, he pushed them upon his forehead, Where they reposed a diadem to crown his laughter or to interrupt it by untimely descents upon the bridge of his nose. On this particular morning Mr. Tarnell had J*jen closeted with a solicitor in the library of j-'Jiff Castle for more than two hours. When "Dally the lawyer had departed, the venerable faster of the house strolled into the morning- j"o°m jn search of his dead wife's grand niece, •Hs ward and housekeeper, Miss Clarice Landon. He found that young lady frowning over the intricate description of a new stitch in her 'avourite paper; but her face cleared at her Uncle's approach. Mr. Tarnell went up to the girl and pinched cheek, beaming happily from beneath his glasses. "Now guess, Clarice, what I've been doing. 8«ch a joke "Joke ? questioned Clarice, bewildered; for though she loved her uncle, as did all who him, she did not on every occasion under- stand him. "I thought you had been busy With Mr. Stephens." So I have," assented the old gentleman, laughing softly. 'But business is not a joke," Clarice objected, stoutly. "I have an awful time over tny housekeeping accounts." 'Pooh 1" her uncle replied. "This is quite "liferent,* and he smiled with great amuse- ment. "I've been making my will." Oh, uncle dear," Clarice cried, in sudden °onsternation, "you're not ill ? "Not a bit of it," laughed the other. "That's the humour of it. I've lived seventy years Without dying; therefore, judging from my own experience-the only safe guide-I shall live years more. Do you see ? So it's absurd my making a will," and the gay old gentleman laughed aloud. "Then you are not ill, truly ? Mr. Tarnell pulled down his spectacles from forehead and looked through them at his liece with great solemnity. "My dear girl, I've never even had the gout." Here he pushed back the glasses and smiled broadly. "Now, do you lee anything alarming in my appearance ? Clarioe answered with a smile, sweeter than his own, if not so joyous. "No. you look as strong as ever and u tt y °!i was afraid, you know • „*1*1 have enough to keep you comfort- V' Mr. Tarnell interrupted. "Just a tidy ■um well invested so that the income will keep you properly. Harry'11 have the castle ana •oough money to keep it up and a little more; while Charles will have nothing but money— no house to keep up—so perhaps he'll be the oher," and he paused to indulge in a chuckle. If Harry and Charles both die, you're|to have Verything, my dear; but I'm afraid, upon my loul, that you'll never get their shares, for they th* hardy lads. They take after me, and /toy'11 never run the risks their fathers ran, Poor fellows And the speaker pulled down spectacles and stared through them with 011 eves for a minute of silenna. JLuaeea, jar. xarnen mtghT. well nave meim a melancholy rather than a cheery old man, for had taken from him all his children, so ^at there now remained only his two grand- Ions, and it had been the one stern command ot the old man solemnly laid on these young that they must run no unnecessary risks of Harry's father had died from the effects Of a wound received in an Indian campaign, in consequence a military career had been Prohibited the lads. Charles's father had beefc powned during a voyage to Australia, and so Ravelling was regarded with horror. Neither the cousins had ever been permitted to leave land. Wait until I'm dead," their grandfather *«, with no smile, "then take risks if you While I'm alive I want somebody of my °\Vn blood to be alive with me." arry, the heir of Cliff Castle, had an rustic nature, and had studied painting, which «e practised in an intermittent, amateurish *shion. Charles had as yet made no decision j8 to a possible career, though he had taken a at Oxford. He had chambers in town most of his time he passed in Bournemouth, 4t Cliff Castle, along with his cousin and *arice, to the great delight of his grandfather, whom he was a favourite. pliff Castle could iiardly be called an ttractive residence at all seasons of the year for & young gentleman of leisure. *he castle stood on the East cliff of Bourne- outh. There was nothing between it and the Wecipice of sands save a strip of turf and & line Gf wind-tossed pines. The hous# 48 large and gloomy without and within. Ifc built of yellow bricks beaten to a desolate 0- hy the salt gales, and its ungainly regularity o Outline was unscreened by any grace of ivy the walls. The two wings stood sentinel er the main part, in stern and forbidding: j^oity. The higher windows overlooked the» qP* the stunted pines and gazed unwinking; jj the watery expanse. The house seemed as were constantly watching the sea in tre«0UB ^ear the waves' rages. The > fcu even> were melancholy as the struc- they surrounded. Short and slender, scanty remnant of branches was turned from the sea, driven towards flight ar as their trunks' limits permitted by the- ^ee a^ed assaults of tempests rushing from the' •on?" "P10 grounds of the castle extended for 6 distance back of the building itself, and where the trees were more sheltered they ^w sturdier, but none the less sombre. A» ^ffl^lked among them the footsteps were* tjje ? on ^ie fitter of pine needles, and so t^e barest sound was always the rustling of tkd Wind in the branches-a sad sound in s, o place. Sometimes the birds sang merrily boughs about Cliff Castle, and some- tlio sunlight bathed the place in cheerful j, k'lt usually an air of desolation brooded: itq 0lt.. 8P°t—a desolation that seemed to have ^ll1 in the mansion itself, for the castl* pile, dreary with a muter aQd mystery that exhaled from it and Onjy? found about and mounted towards heaven rj £ 0 pause and remain hanging like a pall. history of the house had been marked >»hen disasters to its tenants. Mr. Tarnell, Save up the business concerns with ft. Ln bought it because of its advantages and at^its gloom. Yet he, too, had passed 1 trials there, and sometime! the icell of i the house lay upon him so that he found it hard to be sincerely merry when alone. The young men detested the abode, but they found within it a loadstone that held them fast. That loadstone was Clarice. Clarice alone was wholly at ease in the great, desolate rooms. Here and there she had gone about the castle, changing and adding until the apartments assumed an air that was almost home-like, though still sombre. But to-day, when her uncle had left the morning-room, Clarice gazed about her with a half touch of apprehension. Death is a theme so dreadful. Her uncle's careless words found an echo in her heart. Suppose he were to die, as the making of his will proclaimed that he Mst some day; suppose Charles and Harry vers to die, then the castle must come to her. The girl stared about her with a auddea shuddering dread lest this might come to pass, lest she might some time, by the loss of all sho loved, become the mistress of this mansion. Without the clouds thickened, and the light of day was suddenly darkened. A gust of rain eame on the windows, tapping fiercely as ghosts might seeking admission. The freshening wind cried out a plaintive note, a prophecy of sorrow. Clarice trembled in terror of what the future might hold. Was this a warning, a presenti- ment of coming woe, this new chill fear clutching at her heart ? She started as she heard a noise without. Then she smiled at her own folly, for the sound was of voices, those of her unole and his grandsons. CHAPTER II. TWO LOVBRS. Clarice walked slowly from the castle and out of the gate into the narrow street that opened on the cliff walk. It was the sunset hour and the girl was strolling to a favourite nook, there to watch the beauty of the scene as the sun sank to its re beyond the hills across the bay. The oppression of her spirits had passed, and though she walked so loiteringly it was only that she might the better inhale the salt life of the air, the better watch the play of lights and shadows on the grass, the better listen to the twittering of the birds. Clarice crossed the path and sauntered happily over the uneven turf that bordered on the cliffs. She threaded her way among the dwarfed pines, glancing as she went towards the horizon to count the fishing boats. When she had come almost to the verge of the gulf, she chose her seat beneath a pine, and there rested at ease. The tree hid her from passers- by on the path, while in front were only the open sea and the sky. Here she was in solitude, and free to indulge in a maiden's dreams. That the dreams of Clarice were pleasant now one could tell by the tremulous curve of her lips, the soft colour in her cheeks, by the veiled lustre of her eyes. These charms of the moment heightened the effect of a beauty always striking. Her face was rather long, but this was offset by the luxuriant abundance of her black tresses. Her eyes of darkest brown were large, and lighted with wondrous fires in her moments of excitement. The brows were daintily arched above them, and gave to her countenance a certain sweet candour of expression that was emphasised by the nose, too small, a critic might have thought, but of perfect moulding, straight and delicate, thin- nostrilled. The mouth was a masterpiece of nature's work. The lips were arched and red, their corners turned upward in the final curve of perfection, and the teeth beneath the lips were true and white, neither too small nor too large-like the moutq, that medium which has the most constant charm. The chin was admir- ably formed, but it had no dimple in it, and a close observer saw here possibilities of strength in this girl so gentle and so beautiful. Clarice's form was worthy of her face-tall and slender, all in curves, already almost in the maturity of its grace, for Clarice was twenty-two. A sound of steps aroused Clarice from her reverie, and she turned quickly to see her cousin Harry hastening towards her. "Lucky I know your habits," he said, with a I smile; "there wasn't a sign of you visible from the path." He stretched himself at her feet, and stared tip into her face, his artist's eyes delighted with the picture she formed. "Ah," he said, softly, after a moment's silence, "you ought always to be in the glow of the sunset. Its splendour graces your beauty and matches it." Clarice laughed a little at bis words, though she blushed too. Then she turned the com- pliment lightly: "But the sunset is the beginning of darkness. You don't wish darkness for me ? 11 At the question, the artist was forgotten by the man. "Heaven forbid I I wish only all light W* bftuniiuu far 'FOIl .1. xue worus were a prayer, out somenow in them lay a power that recalled to the girl her strange distress. Would it be light or darkness for her ? By an effort, she threw off the morbid thought. Indeed, Harry's next words took all her attention from remote speculation to the present moment, for he now began speaking rapidly: Surely, Clarice darling, you must know that you are everything to me, that your happiness must always be my happiness, your pain my pain. I love you, Clarice. Ever since I first saw you, Clarice, when we were children together, I have loved you, and you only. Then I loved you as a child loves, I still loved you when we were boy and girl together, I love you now when we are man and woman grown. I love you with all the strength of a man's love. I love you, Clarice. My heart beats only for you. Do you love me, Clarice ? Harry waited, staring eagerly towards the girl, whose face was turned away looking out over the sea. He was white with emotion, his dark eyes burnt with the fires of his mood, his slender form was tense in the anxiety of awaiting her answer. As he watched her, he noted that a rosy colour was flaming over her neck and cheek and brow. He ventured to stretch out a hand to hers. She did not refuse his caress, and he was thrilled with a swift hope. He moved nearer to her, and his arm encircled her. StilhClarice spoke no word. Clarice," he whispered, and drew her to him. She nestled in his arms for a moment, and his lips found an answer on hers. For one minute of ecstasy Harry held her thus upon his breast; then she darted from his embrace and ran swiftly towards the castle. When Harry found her again, Clarice, with the shyness of a maiden, begged that their engagement be kept a secret for a little time, so that she might become accustomed to the situa- tion before being subjected to the ordeal of congratulations. Harry consented to a temporary secrecy, somewhat against his better judgment, since he had no liking for mysteries. That there could be any serious consequences of this reticen.ce neither had any suspicion. They knew that Mr. Tarnell would be made happy by their mutual choice, and there was no one else who had much concern in their affairs, except Charles, and he would be delighted—so they thought. The intimate life of the household had made this error of judgment possible. Both the young men had been like brothers to Clarice until brotherly fondness had ripened into the passion of lovers. Yet Clarice, after she had learnt her own love for Harry, had not dared believe that be cherished a like absorbing devotion to herself. Not until he bad spoken, had she known of his desire. So, too, with Charles she bad not suspected his passionate love; she did not suspect it now, nor did Harry. There was another reason for their blindness, and that lay in the fact that Charles was the youngest of the three. It did not occur to them that the child, as they still called him, despite his twenty years, could ciiOrisU purpose of making Clarioe his wife. Yet Charles was madly in love with Clarice. He loved her with that impetuous ardour the youth in the first flush of manhood always devotes to his earliest love, an ardour even increased by the added dignity superior ytars on to Clarice. The new light of happiness in Clarice's eyes carried Charles beyond the limits of self- restraint. In his blindness it did not occur to him to seek a reason for the added tenderness in her smile, the richer sweetness in her voice. He only looked on her with greater rapture, and his love grew too strong to be restrained. One day about three weeks after the engagement of Clarice and Harry had been made, Charles declared his love. Harry had walked to Boscombe to make a call, and had promised to return by the cliff path, where Clarice was to meet him. So at about half-past five in the afternoon Clarice put on her hat and left the castle. Charles was in the drawing-room at the piano, and chanced to see his cousin pass the window. She had been in his thoughts all day, and now, at the vanish- ing sight of her loveliness, he determined to seize this opportunity of asking her to be his wife. With the impetuosity of his character, he ran from the room, seized his hat as he passed through the hall, and then went towards the cliffs in the direction taken by the girl. Clarice walked rapidly out of the grounds and turned into the cliff path, which she followed towards the east for about a quarter of a mile then she turned out of the path, and strolled slowly to the edge of the cliffs to await Harry's coming. At this point the cliffs fell almost sheer to the sea, in an abrupt fall that even to look on from the verge made the head giddy. At the base of the cliffs the tide sometimes retreated leaving a narrow way of sand on the beach, but to-day the storms had driven the waters higk against the cliff itself, where they beat with sullen fury against this bar to their advance. Clarice went to the edge and ventured to look down the steep slope that ended in the perpendicular wall against which the billows pounded. Her head was steady enough, for her nerves were strong, and she was habituated to heights. She watched the sea rushing and foaming, and the struggle of the element saddened her. The sun was hidden by banks of black clouds, the wind blew strongly from the sea. There was desolation in the sky, on the sea, over the brown and black stretch of the cliffs. Clarice scanned the path, but Harry was not yet in sight. His delay was another source of oppression to her spirits. Suddenly, the thought came to her that these strange moods of dread bad only come upon her since her love for Harry had developed. Were they, then, auguries of disaster ? Could it be that the happiness of which she had dreamt was to be marred by some inevitable cruelty of fate? No. the idea was absurd I With Harry life would be one long dream of bliss. Clarice's eyes grew luminous and tender, yet she shivered with vague dread of peril to her happiness. Pooh It was only the weather, so dreary, so dull and dismal, enough to make anyone morbid. Clarice mocked at her folly and yet she ahivered again. A step sounded behind her, and she turned to see Charles hastening towards her. His face was alight with eager anticipation, and as she looked at him he called: "Clarice I There was a note in the voice that was new to the girl. It had the intensity of passion at last revealed; there was hope in it, and questioning. Clarice raised her eyes and met the youth's longing gaze, and the tender ardour in it confirmed the suspicion his voice had raised in her breast. Charles loved her, not as friend, not as brother, but even as Harry loved her. The revelation struck her as a catastrophe. Gentle as she was, it filled her with sorrow that she must inflict pain on the youth she cherished as a brother. Charles had paused as he spoke the name of Clarice, and waited for an answer. As he waited and no answer came, the light of happy anticipation died out of his face, and doubt and fear shewed there. Finally he spoke again, hesitatingly: Clarice!" Then at last she answered, but her words were barren: "You, Charles?" "Yes, I," he said. Then his bonds of speech were loosed, and he cried, swiftly: "Yes, I, Clarice. I saw you going, and I followed you to tell you what you have surely guessed. Clarice, you know what I would say. My fate rests with you. Will you give me the highest joy or the worst misery? Answer, Clarice—I love you better than my own soul. My only desire is to make you, Clarice, my wife. Say you love me; my darling. For Heaven's sake, say you will marry me I Clarice, oh, Clarice I" The last words were almost a sob, for he read his doom before he had finished in the white face and pitying eyes of Clarice. Then Clarice answered, and her voice was full of regret: "I am more sorry than I can tell you, Charles; I never dreamt of this—that you caved for me except as a brother." '*Do not forbid me to hope, at least, Ckarles urged. "In time I will win you. Foffget all that I have said. The idea is too strange to you. Give me a chance to make you love me. Surely my devotion can win a return. I know you like me, Clarice." "Yes, oh, yes," the girl answered. "Yoo know I love you as the dearest of brothers, but you must not deceive yourself. I can never love you as a wife should love her husband." "But why?" Charles questioned, eagerly. Clarice's eyes drooped and a blush mantled on her cheeks. You do not care for someone elle 1" he questioned, with a sudden, swift fear. Clarice's blush deepened, and she could not trust herself to reply. Her silence and oon- fusion served to convince Charles that his suspicion was truth. "But who is it P" he gasped. I never dreamt of this. Who is it ? Then, as she made no answer, he repeated, with strong emphasis: "Who is it? I insist that you should tell me. Why all this mystery ? At that Clarice asserted herself and spoke boldly: "You have no right to insist on a reply from me. But there is no mystery in the matter. Harry asked me to be his wife, and I consented. As she finished she raised her eyes and looked defiantly at Charles, for his words con- cerning a mystery had angered her. But the expression on the lad's face filled her with dismay, there was such despair in it. She moved to him and touched his hand softly. "No, no, you must not feel so badly," "k* murmured. "Try to forget all this." "Forget," he groaned. Then he shook off her detaining hand and cried, harshly: "Leave me, Clarice," and as she hesitated to obey, he repeated loudly: "Leave me, I JOY- I wish no sympathy. Go and leave me alone 18 my misery." Swayed by the fierceness of his tone, glad to escape from an interview so painful, Clarice turned away and went hastily towards tha castle. She would not wait for IE[arrY, she could not meet him just now, with that wretched figure watching them together. So she hurried towards the castle, and as the went, she gave one baokward glance and saw Charles standing outlined on the brow of the cliffs. The wind was rising, the sky was roofed with dun clouds. The whole scene was desolate to the eye, and its centre of desolation was that motionless figure. Clarice shuddered as she set her face again towards the castle, and a vague terror of the future smote her. What might be the dsstiny in store for her love t Surely thing evil, since these monitions of woe had never stirred it her breast until love's GOWSO r "')A CHAPTER III. Till RIVALS. Harry transacted his business in Boscombe, and then set out walking towards home with a glad heart. "I am a lucky fellow," he murmured, happily, and then he laughed from sheet joyousness. He ran down the deserted street leading into the Chine, just because his buoyant spirits demanded an outlet. His face grew more tender as he came to the edge of the sea and turned into the path leading up the side of the Chine. He would soon meet Clarice- Clarice, the most beautiful, the sweetest, the best of women. Harry repeated her name softly, reverently. The word was softest music to hit soul. In a moment he would see her coming to meet him. The light of mingled tenderness and joy on his face was wonderful. So he breasted the ascent, and, love urging him, came soon to the summit of the cliffs. He peered over the stretch of path, eagerly, expec- tantly, but Clarice was not, there, only a man standing alone. Harry sighed at the disappointment, and quickened his pace. A momentary foreboding possessed him, because for the first time his love had failed in a tryst with him. But he dismissed his trouble with impatience. "She is only a little late," he thought. He looked again towards the solitary man's figure, and now he recognised it. "Why, it's Charles! What a bore I hope he'll go before Clarice comes." But when he came near his cousin he spoke pleasantly, disguising his selfish irritation against a possible third person at the rendezvous. "Hello, Charles! Admiring the view?" Slowly the lad turned and looked at Harry. His face was bloodless and his eyes burnt. "Why, Char'es, what on earth is the matter with you ? Harry cried, amazed and alarmed at, the other's appearance. What is it ? You are ill." Then, as there was no answer: "1 say, Charles, pull yourself together. Come, I'll give you an arm up to the house." With the words Harry strode forward and took his cousin by the arm. The lad leaped back in sudden wrath "Don't dare to touch me! There's nothing the matter with me. And if there were, you're not the one to help me. I hate you and your crafty, underhanded way of doing things." It was now Harry's turn to recoil. The suddenness and violence of the attack stunned him. Ho and Charles had always been the best of friends, with mutual liking and trust, if without any great depths of affection. Never had he in any way to his knowledge injured Charles, nor would he. Hence the other's angry words came as a most unpleasant shock. You apeak strangely, he answered. Surely you are ill—mad, I think, to speak like that to me." You are a treacherous dog!" exclaimed Charles, glad of some vent for the excess of his emotion, and hot with jealous rage against the favoured lover of Clarice. "Yes, a treacherous dog, a sneaking, hypocritical cur!" But this was more than Harry had patience to endure. "How dare you talk so! Apologise-instantly." "Hardly. The language is not bad enough to suit the case. I tell you to your face you have fooled and tricked me like the contemptible i, coward you are. Why didn't you come out and | fight me openly like a. man ? Coward The word was hardly uttered a second time when Harry's list shot out, and Charles staggered perilously close to the verge of the cliff under a heavy blow on the cheek. But Charles did not go down, nor did he hesitate. The moment he had regained his equilibrium, he sprang forward, his face set, his eyes blazing, and clutched at his cousin in a fierce effort to master him. The two men struggled desperately in the blind rage of savaga passion. Harry had no thought save of wrath against the foe that had dared to call him a. coward. The word must ,I be avenged. Why it had been used he did not know, he did not care, only it must be avenged. It was not Charles he battled against, not his cousin, his friend. It was against the one who had spoken the word "coward." So Harry gave way to unreasoning enmity and put forth all his strength to gain the victory. Charles, however, was more conscious of a reason for his conflict. I For the time being all his love for Clarice was turned into hate against his successful rival. iiere was tne man wno scooa oetweea mu «•»«• happiness. Had it not been for this man, Clarice would have loved him, Charles. Oh, to destroy this obstacle in his path I Were Harry out of his way, then Clarice must listen to his suit. The thought occupied Charles's whole mind. A passion of desire for the extermination of his rival filled his heart. His mood came to be that of a murderer. His wish to be rid of his enemy became a frenzied longing to slay the man then and there. The two struggled wildly, their muscles tense, their faces rigid with vindictive purposes, their breathing hurried. Charles was the younger, but he was rather the stronger, while the advan- tage of weight was with Harry. Close in one another's arms they strove each to overcome the other. And now the same idea seemed to come into the mind of each—a pur- pose of casting the other over the brow of the cliff. Nearer and nearer they drew to the edge of the abyss. Their breathing grew louder and their faces white with the fixity of their resolve. Without a word, except strangled curses, each wrestled to throw the other over the edge into the gulf. Then suddenly Charles's foot slipped; for an instant he released his grasp. At that moment Harry sprang free from his adversary's clutch. Then he struck a desperate blow which Charles could not ward off. The stroke took Charles on the shoulder, and sent him reeling to the verge of the cliff. There he paused for a moment, striving madly to regain nis balance—in vain. He threw up his hands with a hoarse cry, and vanished from Harry's sight. For a little Harry stood watching the spot from which his enemy had vanished, and his thoughts were a chaos of triumph. He had conquered The brute in him rejoiced with exceeding great joy. His was the victory over the man who had dared to call him coward. Then, swiftly, there came the inevitable reaction from exultation to shame and despair. In a flash the awful realisation of his deed came to him. He had slain his enemy. He had killed this youth, this lad with whom he had never so much as quarrelled hitherto. Heavens He was a murderer 1 No, no—it tould not be I It was a aightmare, a hideous ttiisiake; the terrible phantom of deceit would pass away in a minute, and he would see Charles again there before him. With a groan of horror, Harry leaped to the adLIe of the cliff and looked over. His eves scanned tn. .,cap siope ot sand that dropped to the vertical wall of rock, in the hope that Charles might somewhere have managed to stay his descent. Alas I there was no sign of his linsman save only the trail made in the soft sand by a falling body. This track led straight to the lower precipice. Harry shuddered. From the point where the traces in the sand ceased was, as he knew, a drop of one hundred and fifty feet into the waves, that now under the stress If the recent gales surged and roared, dreadful and ravening as beasts of prey. Harry under- stood that his moment's madness had indeed ended in crime and disaster beyond any hope of reparation. He was a murderer 1 He had had murder in his heart for those few moinenfe (Continued on page 8). I