The 'Nausicaa.' A love story

Front matter

THE "NAUSICAA." ®be "jiaudtcaa*" A LOVE STORY. EY 5. M. H. "And as, o'er ocean far, Seamen their records keep, Led by some hidden star Through the cold deep ; so may the words i write Tell through what storms I stray — YOU STILL THE UNSEEN LIGHT Guiding my way." — Moore. If. outran: SKEFFINGTON & SON, 163, PICCADILLY, W. 1 89 1 . [All rights reserved.] TO MY DEAR FATHER, REV. T. HANBURY, M.A., RECTOR OF CHURCH LANGTON, I INSCRIBE THE " NAUSICAA." CONTENTS PAGE

Chapter I

Tt is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind." —Scott. t"TTRJ| N autumn afternoon in the South of England, a few BRr «a >"ears aS0' '^be heat of the day, which for the ifikM >fl middle of October had been unusually severe, was now over, and a cool breeze blowing up from the sea. It was a lovely spot this South sea coast, where Nature had been very lavish with her gifts. How luxuriantly even the grass and trees grew ! and almost down to the water's edge there appeared a perfect wealth of soft green mosses and rich vegetation. It seemed all so wild, untouched and utterly lonely, with no sign of human habitation but a few fishermen's huts dotted here and there, nothing in sight to break the soli tude. Nothing was heard but the splash, splash, of the waves A CIic "j3a.i_Jtraa." 2 as they dashed and broke against the huge bounding rocks, scattering them into white foam and spray.

Near out at sea appeared several little fishing boats, but they seemed to have fallen fast asleep, and their shadows lay motionless beside them. One wide expanse of blue in the far distance, just tinged with a flood of golden light, mingled its rare beauty with the purple and rose-coloured clouds above ! All this captivating scene is close to the watering-place of Langbridge, a spot much resorted to during the winter months on account of its warm and salubrious climate. Facing the sea rise up high rocks ; and there, at their base, pretty flower gardens with rustic seats. The town itself has a bright, sociable, and picturesque look, and seems as though it were built upon seven hills. Moreover, it is a place as yet undiscovered by those terrors of the sea shore, excursionists ! Upon the afternoon of the day whereon this story commences, a tall young girl in a shady hat might have been observed, some distance from the town, wandering about on a deserted part of the beach evidently in search of something.

Miss Aldyth Temple had that morning walked out for one of her solitary rambles, and had returned to lunch with her parents at the Langbay Hotel. Almost immediately upon entering their private sitting-room, what was her mortification to find that she had lost one of a number of photograph proofs of herself received by post that morning. "Mother dear," she said, "what shall I do? There were four proofs, and the very best is gone ! " "It was careless of you, Aldyth. I should advise you to go back, as soon as you can, and search the places where Cl)c "$au_Jtcaa." 3 you think you could have dropped it," replied Mrs. Temple. " Well, I don't suppose that if anybody picks it up they will become fascinated by it ! Mother," she added, " I dropped my looking-glass this morning, and it broke into a dozen pieces — doesn't that mean ill-luck coming ?

" " What nonsense to be so superstitious, Aldyth," said her father, looking up from his newspaper. " If you had been walking like a sensible thing amongst your friends, instead of mooning about all alone, it would never have happened." " Well, I do want to find it," returned the girl, " for the one I lost was the best." " The best-looking you mean ! That's what you mean. What does a woman care whether a picture is like her, so it flatters her ? If you want to recover it you had better set off at once." " Yes, my dear," added Mrs. Temple. " It was rather un fortunate, for there is no telling who may pick it up." " Some gentleman for instance," rejoined Mr. Temple. "They're all alike," he added, rather inconsequentially, "these girls — all alike ! — only I'm afraid the chances are small of a respectable one's finding it."

" You speak as though I had lost it on purpose," answered his daughter, hardly able, in spite of her annoyance, to conceal a smile. Mrs. Temple looked at her with forbearance in her gentle eyes as if to say, " You know what he is, Aldyth. Don't say anything." And thus it came to pass that she was by the shore alone ; where up to the present moment her search had been un successful. She was tall, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes ; Cfcc "jjatistraa." so quiet and reserved as a rule, that people took her to be proud and cold — as she was, in a certain way. But when one came to know her, there lay warmth and affection enough beneath that calm exterior to carry her to the ends of the earth, if need were. She had been sensitive even from a child. Somewhat imaginative and fond of dreaming no doubt, but with very strong capabilities of suffering and enjoyment.

Withal, hers was a nature calculated to meet with many disappointments in life, and one which would require something very great and noble to satisfy it. There was a pleading, wistful, longing look in her eyes, as if all the soul in her were just awakening. Perhaps she was thinking of the days which come for some, and wondering whether a great light would brighten her days, making her future bright, as it might be also ! Though she was an only daughter, much admired and talked of, she dwelt generally much by herself — in company being especially reserved. Her father embodied what is termed in children "spoilt" — he was cold and even tyrannical. He never gave his confidence, and consequently could not expect to receive the same. Thoroughly wrapped up in his own importance, he desired everyone to be subservient to his will.

Aldyth's mother was very fond of her, as kind and gentle a creature as lived — but, at the same time, she was much too fearful of her husband's fancies to be very demonstrative. Hers was a less noble nature than her daughter's j and so the inexpressible beauty of a perfect feeling was unknown between the two. Generally, Aldyth was in a state of self-repression. She knew she could never say just what came uppermost in her thoughts. Presently she espied a sailor coming along the shore, carrying Che " jJaugiraa." 5 over his shoulder a load of fishing nets. She determined to accost him ; so she went forward, saying, as she drew near him, " Have you seen a photograph which I have lost any where about here?" The man stopped, letting his nets fall to the ground, as he replied, " No, Miss ; but I'll help yer look for it."

Then she proceeded to tell him about the missing proof. The fisherman looked very thoughtful as he helped in the search, though utterly unconscious of what a "proof" meant. "Might this be it, Miss?" he cried presently, excitedly raking up from unknown depths and holding out a fragment of a small hair comb, which the owner had probably given up for lost many months before. " No," said Aldyth, laughing — the first good laugh the poor young thing had uttered for days. " Don't you know what a photograph is? Well, that's what I've lost, you see." " Oh, a pholygiaft, is it ; now I can help you, Miss. I've had me photygraft taken onest — 'two for sixpence, or, with lady, three for a shilling'; that's what it said over the door, only I ain't got no lady." He turned over stones and seaweeds unremittingly ; he scattered little heaps of sand, but no result.

At last, after a few other remarks had passed between them, he spoke, saying — "Excuse me, Miss; but — you seem friendly like — would you mind tellin' one how to go about getting married, supposin' one thought of such a thing ? You see, I know the right person ; I'm got my own mind fixed, and knows where she lives and all that, but the trouble is to get her to come to." "Have you asked her yet?" said Aldyth, becoming interested in the evident trouble of the swain before her. Cfje " JJaurficaa." 6 " Can't say I have yet, Miss. I'm sort of waitin' to see how the wind lies." " You must ask her of course," replied Aldyth. " How can you tell anything about it before you have done that ? You don't know how she feels towards you. I should certainly advise you to take that step at once if you mean it.

It is quite possible your friend is waiting all this time for you to ask her." "Well !" exclaimed the fisherman, his eyes sparkling—" that's a noo light. I never thought of that ! That's what I call sympathy ! We all needs sympathy, Miss, don't we ? You've helped me mightily. I ze>///ask her." " Yes," said Aldyth simply and half to herself — " we all need sympathy." Soon he resumed, "No offence, Miss, but may I ask if you be a married one yourself." "No," returned she. "The fact is I have not found my ideal yet," (for indeed she had had plenty of offers, such as they were). " And," she added, " but how funny it is for me to be talking like this to you ! " " Not at all, Miss," rather resentfully replied her companion, " I like to hear you. It's quite a mistake to think I can't understand sechlike.

I'm a 'uman being liken yourself. I have feelings and an 'art, and I tell you what it is, Miss ; they say as th' Almighty made us all alike spite o' fine clothes and all that, and I tell you you want somebody as '11 understanden you and take care of you, as much as a poor creetur like me do, and wants Mag — and when you find your idol, as you call him, you'll get it — providin', that is, he's of the right sort ! " " I do not think," she said, again rather absently, " that Cf)r "#au_>ttaa." 7 anyone has quite understood me yet. But you must be very clever to be able to tell me what I want in this way." The sailor looked somewhat abashed, but he returned, " That's it, Miss, no doubt, what with that pretty face o' yourn an' them slender 'ands. Just look at mine ! " and the good fellow displayed his huge horny fingers with genuine pride.

" How strong you must be ! did you ever save any lives?" asked the girl. " No mum, but I hope that if God throws any in my way, I will." " I'm sure you will. But I really must go home. It is very kind of you to have helped me so much, I am sure it is no good looking for this tiresome photograph any longer. I expect the tide has washed it out to sea." "May be so, Miss," replied the waterman, "and perhaps some day 'twill wash you up the right sort of a comrade after all ! " On the way back she stopped at something. A curled fragment of dark coloured paper lay before her on the wet slimy ground. It was water-eaten and unrecognizable. " The proof, I daresay," she said, poking it with her parasol. "It is quite spoilt now, if that is it." And so she reached the Hotel with a bright colour and an unusual appetite, and all the better for this bit of sociable drawing out at the hands of one of her fellow creatures.

Chapter II

' ' How could I leave a world which she, Or lost or won, made all to me? No matter where my wanderings were, So there she looked, moved, breathed about — Woe, ruin, death, more sweet with her, Than all heaven's proudest joys without ! " — The Loves of the Angels. * ' ItJ^gNUJ H dear! oh dear! To think that I should have [gyKjj gone and broken it myself, and can't even say hSsg^l the cat did it!" Mrs. Clarke gave the beautiful black Angora a rather impatient kick, as it sat blinking and purring before the bright little fire, which she had just kindled. "There, there ! I must gather up the bits of broken glass and clear them right away, since 'tis certain they never can be mended no more ! I'll fix up the picture against the easel, where it fell off when I caught my sleeve against it. I do hope he didn't value it particular.

Fancy me having a real Artist for a lodger. Such a nice young gentleman too as Mr. Lothar is, bless him ! I feel just like his mother now he lets me use his name so friendly like. But as I told him from the first, I Cfie " tfauSicaa." 9 never could speak that curious long surname of his nohow. And whatever his poor mother could have been thinking of to marry a Russian gentleman, and with such an outlandish name, too, I can't imagine ! " Soon after Mrs. Clarke had descended to the lower regions, the sound of a latch-key in the street door announced the return of Lothar Eisenschmidt, who mounted the stairs to his studio — a small room in a dingy back street of London. He walked straight to the easel, taking up the little photograph, with which he seated himself before the bright light of the fire, in order to study the face.

The cat, however, would claim his first attention ; so after having duly satisfied that importunate animal's caresses, he again fell into contemplation of the picture. Very dark was the autumn dusk, and dreary enough the outer world of London, as it always is at this season of the year. But Lothar Eisenschmidt was just now in a land of dreams ! The palace of imagination held him. He noticed nothing of the gloom around, and appeared not to hear the dashing of the rain as it splashed against the window frame. For the time being, at least, he was happy. He seemed to have found his " dream woman " at last. And yet, so far from that being the case, he had never once seen her. It was only a photograph after all that he held in his hand — something he had picked up on the sea-shore ! No one had he seen to drop it, nor observed returning to look for it ; so that simply he knew nothing at all of the owner of the sweet face before him.

It may seem strange, and in this cold nineteenth century age almost incredible, but before long Lothar Eisenschmidt was thoroughly in love with a picture ! The pure young beauty of the face, and the appealing look in the earnest dark eyes, Crje " jjaut-traa." deeply they appealed to him, deeply they struck him. His was a poet's heart. Love to him, when it came, would be a pure and beautiful passion, and he now felt that he had an object before him— to seek to ascertain the owner of the face before his mind. He pictured her standing before him. Long did he wonder whether he would ever see her ! He determined at once to paint the face from the photograph, and preserve it carefully in his studio. These happy and wondering dreams were dispersed by the entrance of Mrs. Clarke with a lamp, which she placed at Lothar's elbow.

It was a beautiful boyish face which turned round to greet the good-natured landlady, a face which for most people had an unspeakable attraction. It was so "good," the pure spiritual look upon it which spoke of a noble soul. Even his friends felt that they could say or do nothing low in the presence of those honest grey eyes. He was dark, rather tall and slight, with a pale earnest face, decidedly romantic, rather dreamy, quieter than most men except perhaps in company, and a close observer of character. Most patiently he now listened to Mrs. Clarke's profuse apology for the broken picture frame, and much to that good lady's relief and astonishment said, "It does not matter in the least. I really never noticed that it had gone. The picture itself is, I am thankful to find, unhurt, and that after all has the greatest value for me."

" Well, I never ! " exclaimed the good woman. " Nothing never seems to put you out nohow, Sir ! " Lothar smiled one of his rare smiles as he replied : " You say it is broken past repair, so if I were to scold you now it would do neither of us any good ! " " Ah well, Sir ! the lady who has you will never want Che " jUaufitcaa." 11 to make a compact," said Mrs. Clarke rather enigmatically. " A compact ! What do you mean ? " enquired Lothar, now rousing himself more thoroughly to listen. " Indeed, Sir ! if you'll believe me my man and I have both of us shocking bad tempers. I only discovered it after I had married him. If I had known it before maybe I might never have took him. We lived in the country at first, Sir, in the Midlands, he being in the shoe trade. After a while he took it into his head to take to the same work in London, so I was obliged to leave my village home.

But about the compact, Sir. When I made this discovery I've mentioned, I said to my man ' Now James ! you mind, whenever you come home cross, just take one arm out of your coat and leave the sleeve hanging loose. I shall know, and I'll take care not to speak to you. As for myself, when I'm put out, I'll not wear my muslin cap on my head, and you'll know that you needn't speak to me.' " " Did it answer? " asked Lothar amused. "Yes, Sir, indeed it did," responded the landlady. "But one night, curiously enough, he came home with his sleeve hanging loose, and I had my cap off too ! " "Indeed! How ever did you manage then?" enquired Lothar. " Well, Sir," replied Mrs. Clarke, " we neither of us spoke a word. We both sat in the room a long time in silence. Then all of a sudden we burst out laughing, and were both of us all right again."

When Lothar was once more alone, he took from his pocket a foreign letter, and his thoughts carried him back to years gone by, when, at the age of sixteen, he had said farewell to his mother. Hers had been a very sorrowful life. Her father, a country clergyman, had died, leaving his orphan daughter CIjc " jJauiStcaa." almost penniless. She succeeded at last, through an agent, in obtaining a situation (with a large salary) as governess in the family of Herr von Keltsch. These people were Poles, and lived at Lenartowice, near Pleschen, in Posen. Three children constituted the entire charge of the young English governess. Still the situation was sadly lonely for her at times, and the only change she ever experienced was going sometimes to a concert in Pleschen with Madame, or driving with Herr von Keltsch in his sleigh through the bitter wintry air.

The house lay quite solitary, surrounded by a dense forest. Several fierce bloodhounds were kept, securely chained during the day, but always let loose at night to guard the premises. One January saw the arrival of Herr Oscar Eisenschmidt, a cousin of Herr von Keltsch, who came intending only to stay a few days ; but, on and off, he remained in fact until Easter. He was a Russian nobleman, very dark and handsome, who took much notice of the pretty pale-faced young English governess ; and she, thinking she was doing a good thing for herself, finally yielded to his entreaties to marry him, and was carried off to his home in St. Petersburg. Poor thing ! she had better have remained a governess, being totally unfitted for the position of wife to such a man. He was morose and proud, and much mixed up in the politics of his day.

She was sensitive and timid, and ere long became as much chilled by his bearing towards her as by the extreme cold of those Russian winters, when all the fashionable population would go off to skate on the Neva, and enjoy dances by torch-light, clad in rich furs and velvet. As the years rolled by, Herr Eisenschmidt seemed to drift farther away from his wife, and made sole companion of his Cte " jiausftcaa." 13 daughter Heta, whom he perfectly idolized — perhaps because she possessed just her father's imperious temper ! His second child, Lothar, the mother's greatest comfort, this austere man simply hated ! Always irritated by his quiet, dreamy ways, when he showed a decided talent for painting and not for politics, Herr Oscar was furious ! For artists he entertained a supreme contempt. One day, after a violent scene, when he cruelly taunted his wife with her lowly position and the honour he had done her by marrying her, he told his son Lothar that on condition of never being troubled by a sight of his face again, he would give him a sufficient sum of money to complete his education, and that he had better pack up his things and embark for England at once.

It was a heart-rending parting between mother and son, so deeply devoted to one another ! Both, however, felt the uselessness of resisting the father's evident wish that his eldest son should leave Russia, and so the wrench had to be made. A year after this event the gentle mother died. Carl, the nine year old, an ardent, though secret, admirer of his brother Lothar, wrote him the sad news. From this source only, and at long intervals, did any communication reach him from his old home. Four years later, Lothar received very startling intelligence from St. Petersburg, which he justly considered to be a judgment on his father for so neglecting the patient wife. Carl sent him word that, for some reason or other, best known to the Russian Government, Herr Oscar Eisenschmidt had been exiled to Siberia !

His young brother's latest communi cation Lothar now held in his hand. It was written in German, of which the following is a translation : — Cfte " JJauStcaa." " Dear Lothar, " I have to tell you that our sister Heta has just been married to an American gentleman we met here (very rich, I believe) and has gone abroad with him. This, together with the terrible news I wrote you about father, leaves now nothing further to keep me here, so if you think right I can come to you at any time. You remember what our dear mother said before she died : ' Carl, recollect, whenever you can, go to Lothar.' Can you do with me, old fellow ? I can play now pretty well, they say, am deeply fond of music, and so I may be able to do something in that direction in England. " I have got 2,000 roubles, so am not entirely destitute.

And now I await your reply. "Your loving brother, " Carl." The above letter had been received two weeks ago, and was, with the foregoing recollections, occupying Lothar's mind this stormy night. "Yes," he said slowly, "I feel sure I did right in telling him to come at once. I am his brother. He is now only fourteen. There are just eight years between us, and — our mother wished it ! How good she was to us all ! I hope I am not getting selfish. I should have preferred it were not now ! Will it hinder me in my quest ? If I could but have stayed one more week by the sea, I might have found her ! Yet still it was best to come away. Carl might walk in at any time now, and I ought to be here to give him a welcome ! "

Chapter III

" While a man is contented with himself and his own resources, all is well." —Hazlilt. EH PEI Pretty v'"age of Richton was situated in one of SJP mB the Midland agricultural counties of England, and w*S Sw its rich pasture lands were rented by several wellto-do farmers. The occupants of the Hall were our friends the Temples, who had returned from Langbridge in time for the commencement of the hunting season. This rural spot afforded but few companions for Aldyth ; she, how ever, had plenty of resources of her own, and was seldom at a loss for occupation. Within the last year, the Grange had been bought by a Mrs. Leigh, a widow of considerable means. Having no daughter, she had adopted an orphan — a young girl of Irish extraction named Ina West. The present Rector, the Rev. Clement Masters, now sixty years of age, had grown up amongst his parishioners, and was by them deeply loved and respected.

He was a widower with one married son, who had followed his father's profession, and was now working in a London parish. Now this son of the Rector of Richton boarded and taught pupils ; and for six months past Aldyth's Cfje " fiauiS.caa." only brother Jack, a boy of thirteen, had been studying nominally, at least, under him in London. The following week, Richton in general, and Richton Hall in particular, was expecting Master John Temple home for his Christmas holidays. This boy, being a great favourite with his father, was about the only one in the house who did not stand on ceremony with Mr. Temple. " Mother, dear, will you open the window," said Aldyth's voice as she tapped on the pane of glass. " It is so warm in the sun; I wish you would come for a walk." "My dearest, where have you been?" answered Mrs. Temple, rising to admit her daughter through the long low window of the library where she had been sitting with her work.

"Just into the village, mother, to see Kitty and Marjorie," replied Aldyth. " Is poor little Kitty still charmed with the doll you gave her?" enquired Mrs. Temple. "Yes, mother, quite pleased ; and I must tell you something so pretty which she said — you know she is only four — she looked very serious for a moment as she held her doll, then she whispered so softly, ' Miss Aldyth, do you think God will be angry with me if I play with dolly on Sunday ! ' Darling, I told her, I am quite sure He won't. She seemed to be thinking deeply for a little while. Then she said so sweetly, ' You see we are not like real ladies and gentlemen ; we are only little children.'" " Very nice of her, my dear, was it not ? " said Mrs. Temple. " What a lovely morning your father will have for the Meet at the Caldwell !

" " He has not gone yet," said a cross voice at her elbow Crje " j8au<_traa." 17 Mr. Temple having just entered through the open window. " My dear George ! How you startled me ! Is anything the matter ? " asked his wife. "Matter!" replied her husband, "I should rather think there was. You know I made that handsome offer to the Rector about giving him a pair of brass candlesticks for the Altar ? He has actually had the impertinence to refuse them !" Mrs. Temple looked rather nervously at her daughter as she said : — " I am sorry to hear it, George. It is quite a disappointment. I think they would have been a great improvement to the Chancel. What reason did he give you ? " " A most absurd reason," replied her husband, as he paced up and down the room. " He was — afraid of offending his parishioners !

" "I believe they are rather a difficult set of people to manage, father," softly volunteered Aldyth. " I never asked for your opinion," said Mr. Temple, wheeling round and facing the speaker. A slight tremor passed over the young girl's countenance, but she said nothing, and her father, after glaring at her for a few seconds, continued addressing his wife — " Yes, Madeleine, he said he had consulted his Church wardens, Woodman and Rice, and they declared they should be obliged to leave the Church if he attempted to have them." " I fancy Rice's wife is really a dissenter," said Mrs. Temple. "Yes," replied he, "she was very much against it, I suppose. No doubt ! And when the Rector explained to her (so he told me to-day) that the candles meant no harm, but only signified E CfjE "Nausicaa." 18 the Light of the World, she answered that she hoped we didn't want such things to teach us that !