'Zorg.' A story of British Guiana

Chapter I

The garden was wet that July evening ; the rain drops hung down from the hibiscus bushes, and covered the lily-buds with crystals. I was standing in the shelter of the big mango tree, my naked feet sinking into the soft shell footpath, watching with eager interest two birds building a big hanging nest in the plantain near me. On my right stood the old house, its mottled wooden front half covered with creepers, the sun A "zorg:" 2 quivering on their red and white blossoms, and showing up every seam in the broken shutters. I was born in the old place, and loved it with a child's warm, eager affection. I stood on tiptoe, holding back my heavy yellow hair with one hand as I watched the busy little birds with breathless interest. Suddenly, a shrill voice sounded through the garden ; the small builders fluttered away with nervous twittering.

" Sarnia ! Sarnia ! you naughty child ! what are you doing down there ? Come in this minute ; always up to some mischief." It was my mother who was calling ; she leaned over the gallery railing, and shook her fist at me : I looked up saucily, but knew better than to disobey, and running noiselessly with my bare feet up the wooden steps, stood before her, a thin, large-eyed little maiden of ten years old, with a great tangle of yellow hair straying over my dirty white frock. My mother looked at me carelessly. " What were you doing down there in the wet ? Go to Nanny, child. I can't be bothered with you now." She drew her faded dressing-gown round her, and sank exhaustedly into her rocking-chair, only to rise again in a few moments to scold the servants in the yard below, her shrill voice sounding all over the house.

Glad to find my disobedience let off so easily, for a whipping was no unusual thing, I skipped off into the nursery, a big room at the top of the old house, which my father, William Merriefield, inhabited as manager and part proprietor of the Verducking estate. My old nurse Nanny, who had been with us ever since I could remember, sat in a chair by the win dow knitting. Crouching on the floor by her side, I bade her tell me a story, and listened to her familiar tale as I gazed through the jalousie on to the wet untidy garden, with its great ixora bushes, flaming crotons and sweet smelling limonia, to the flat pasture dotted with cattle, and the brown sea beyond. Overhead the white cranes, a waving line of light across the pale blue sky, were flying to their homes among the courida bushes. It had been raining all day, so Nanny and I had been let off our usual dull walk down the trench-bordered dam, on which the water was still lying in great shining pools.

Nanny finished her story ; there was a short silence, broken by my mother's voice, which pierced the stillness of the house. " There is a dinner-party to-night, and the ice ZORG 4 has only just arrived ; I expect mamma is angry about it." I spoke indifferently ; my mother's fits of temper were so frequent that they had become uninteresting. Nanny rose hastily. " So there is, and I had forgotten to sew the fresh lace in her dress. What will she say ? " She rushed away, and I followed her into my mother's huge, untidy bedroom, and knelt beside her as her nimble fingers set to work on the for gotten gown. Even in those days I loved dress, and it was a real pleasure to me to feel the soft ness of the satin, and see the red gloss upon it. I was softly rubbing my hand up and down the train, when a sudden box on the ear sent me reeling across the room.

" You bad girl ! " cried my mother, her face crim son with fury, her dressing-gown floating behind her. " Go this instant ! Rubbing your filthy fingers on my dress!" She seized one of the down trodden slippers. " Go this minute, child." And I went. Up in my room the moon was already shining through the open windows, and I went and leaned my head on the window-sill. I was sobbing softly, so that my mother could not hear me. " Would no one ever love me?" I thought. "My mother did not, my father did not, and Nanny was the only one who ever cared for me, and she was only a servant." I gazed out into the noisy stillness of the tropical night. The moan of the sea came up sadly on the wings of the wind, which fanned my forehead as I stood there sobbing in my loneliness. Soon after my eleventh birthday we left Verduck ing, and went to live in Georgetown, in a small house on the hot side of Main Street, with an open gallery wreathed in stephanotis at the back overlooking a big garden full of roses and frangipani trees.

My mother preferred sitting in the narrow, hot gallery at the front of the house, from which she could watch everyone go by. A governess was provided for me at this time, who taught me to read, write and spell, but little else. She was always ready for a gossip, and she and my mother spent many hours discussing their neighbours' affairs, while I, with my ears well open, laboured at my blotted copies. My mother loved gaiety, and till her health gave out, used to go to many parties, so, fortunately I thought, I saw very little of her or my father, who spent most of his leisure time at the club. My governess and I used to take daily walks to the sea wall, or to the fort, where we watched the "zorg:" ships passing to and fro, and the square punts with their big brown sails coming in with the tide.

So I grew into a woman, caring for nothing but dress, and with the determination to make a good marriage, which my mother declared to be, and should be, the aim and end of a woman's existence.

Chapter II

One evening in the middle of June, when the moon was just rising behind the palm trees, and staining the polished floor with silver, I stood under the chandelier in our small drawing-room in Main Street. My mother, who had been in ill health for some time, was leaning back in a rocking-chair fanning herself languidly, a black kitten was play ing with one of her little red satin slippers, and when I glanced towards her, in one of my short lived paroxysms of affection, I saw that a firefly had settled for a moment on her dark hair. A chorus of admiration rose from behind me, where our black servants were assembled. I was standing there, in the full light of the flaring gas, ready dressed for my first ball, and while waiting for my father, was showing myself off before the household. " I wish I could take you," my mother said longingly.

" Look at yourself, child." I swept across the room, and stood before the long glass, my white satin gown falling in soft gleaming folds round me. "zorg:" 8 A face flushing with excitement, a pair of dark shining eyes, and masses of yellow gold hair flashed out at me. I turned towards my mother, who had risen and stood beside me. "lam beautiful!" I cried excitedly. "Mamma, say I am beautiful ! " She laughed softly ; she was in a gentle mood that night. "You are beautiful, my daughter," she said. My father entered hastily ; he cried out when he saw me. " Great Scott ! Sarnia, you are a beauty ! " I rounded my elbows, and dropped him a stately courtsey. " She will do you credit, William," my mother said. " No doubt," snapped he ; "and cost me a pretty penny besides. Get into the carriage, Sarnia.

Ta-ta, Josephine." He waved his hand as we drove off in the moonlight. My heart was beating wildly with excitement when I entered the ball-room with my father. The music had begun, and already one or two couples were whirling round and round. All the rest of the evening was a confused mass of sounds and sights ; I danced with one and another ; someone who had a dark moustache begged a flower from me, and I seemed to see that flower very often afterwards ; someone else who had a fair beard and an eyeglass haunted me. Then after what seemed hours of waltzing and moonlight, my father came towards me, with a bland smile on his face, and telling me it was time to go, drew me away amid a shower of remonstrances from a small black -coated phalanx. " You were a great success," my father said complacently, as he lighted a big cigar.

The next afternoon we had visitors. My mother's eyes glistened with pleasure as one man after another was shown in, and when the drawing room seemed to our unaccustomed eyes quite full, my father arrived, bringing with him a tall dark man who had a faded stephanotis blossom in his buttonhole. "Josephine, this is Mr. Gordon; I don't think you have had the pleasure of meeting him before. I believe you know my daughter already," he added with his cynical smile. James Gordon bowed deeply over my mother's hand, then took a seat near me. He stayed some time ; we went out into the garden, and wandered side by side among the rose bushes, and chased the kiskadies that hopped with noisy clamour on the untidy lawn. " ZORG : " 10 My mother came out a little later and asked Mr. Gordon to stay to dinner.

" I am sorry, Mrs. Merriefield," he said regretfully, " but I have another engagement. I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Merriefield, before I go." I looked up at him, my eyes half-dazzled in the sunlight. " My sister Isabella is coming out to me next mail. Will you come and see her ? " He looked anxiously at me, pulling his moustache. " I shall be very glad to do so," I answered. He thanked me gratefully, and with more polite regrets, he took his departure. My mother looked after him with a pleased smile. " Play your cards well, Sarnia ; he is the richest young man in Georgetown. All the girls are after him." Early the following week I went to see Miss Gordon. I put on my white gown and tucked some yellow roses in my belt. I was armed with my mother's tortoiseshell card-case, and her large red umbrella to keep off the sun.

Mr. Gordon lived in Kingston, in a pretty one storied house, divided from the road by a wide trench bordered with oleanders. As I went over the bridge and down the path to the front door, I noticed the extreme neatness of everything in the garden, how regularly the creepers were trained up the house-pillars, and how trim were the borders. " Yes, de mistress was at home, would I walk up ? " the servant said in answer to my inquiries. I followed him up the steps into a gallery made pretty with palms and flowers, the same air of neatness reigning here as in the garden below. A girl was seated at a distant table, writing. She rose with a brisk movement as I entered, and was across the room and shaking hands with me before I had taken a few steps. I looked at her curiously, as she put me into an easy-chair, and seated herself opposite.

She was of middle height, with a trim waist and square shoulders, her features were irregular, her eyes dark, with well marked eyebrows, and she had coils of ruddy brown hair twisted round her well shaped head. " How do you do ? " she said. " You are Miss Merriefield, I think ? Jim told me to expect you. It is very kind of you to come so soon." She spoke briskly, in a clear, frank voice. " You would like a cup of tea after your walk," she continued, ringing the little bell that stood on the table beside her. " How quick you are ! " I exclaimed. " ZORG : 12 " I am afraid I am," she answered with a merry laugh. She bustled round, clearing a table for the tea-tray. " I have not learned tropical ways yet ; I daresay in a few weeks I shall be able to walk as slowly as you do." " Do I walk slowly ?

" " You do," she answered ; " I could not help wondering just now how long you would take getting from the corner here. I only hope when I have learnt the way I shall do it as gracefully." " Do I walk gracefully ? " I asked, pleased with her remark. " Yes, very," Miss Gordon answered ; " but how rude you must think me to be making such per sonal remarks on first acquaintance. You led me on, didn't you ? Here is the tea at last. Do you take sugar ? " " A good deal, please," I an .wered, leaning back at my ease, while she arranged my tea and cake on a tiny table close by. " What do you do with yourself all day, Miss Merriefield ? " my companion asked presently. "It must be very difficult to pass the time here without concerts or exhibitions or even extension lectures to attend." I only understood one thing by a lecture, so I said I had plenty of those, and that I never did want anything to do.

She laughed again at that, and asked if I was fond of reading. " Now and then I like it." " I have never been out of England before," Miss Gordon continued, as she meditatively stirred her tea, " not even in Europe, so I am anxious to discover what other girls do with themselves all day. Do tell me what you do ? " I thought a moment ; an answer did not come readily. Miss Gordon looked surprised at my silence, and asked me if I rose very early in the njorning. " We always have our coffee about six, then I lie in a hammock till it is time to dress for breakfast." " You play or sing, perhaps ? " "No, I don't sing, I can't do anything but dance ; I love that. Your brother dances very well." Miss Gordon frowned slightly. " You do nothing all day and every day except lie in a hammock, and occasionally go to a dance?"

" No, why should I ? " " You don't care for music ; you don't care for lawn-tennis, I am sure. Do you like walking ? " ZORG " Not at all," I answered energetically, " I never do it, unless I can't help it. It makes me very hot and uncomfortable, and wears out my shoes." " And you are quite satisfied to lead this useless life ? " I was getting a little angry at this continual ex amination. "Why should I be useful if I don't want to ? Why should I read books that do not interest me?" Miss Gordon looked puzzled. " We were not put into this world to do nothing," she said slowly " Some of us were," I answered comfortably, finishing my cake as I spoke. " But if we were all to think as you do, the world could not go on," she said eagerly; "there would be no cities built, no parliaments held, no pictures painted, no music composed, no books written, no — anything in fact."

" Why should there be anything ? " I asked. " I don't want to build a city, I would rather leave it to those who do. I believe some people like pictures; I do, pretty well, if I can understand them. Music is pleasant to hear ; let people play if they wish, it will not hurt anyone. If they like to write books, let them, but why should I read them when I cannot understand them ? " Isabella Gordon gasped. "But your mind will become enervated," she said ; " the time will come when you will not be capable of reading clever books." " But that will not matter if I do not want to read them ? " I persisted. She tried another tack. " But posterity ! " she cried ; " we must think of the future." " Why should we ? " I asked. " Why think of any thing while the present is so charming? Eor me, what should I want ?

I have health, I have beauty. The sun shines, no one asks it to do more; the birds sing, the butterflies go from flower to flower, no one expects more from them, why should they from me ? I am happy as I am; I love the sunshine, the singing birds, the fragrance of the lilies. Do others suffer, I know it not. Why should I trouble myself about them ? They have no thought for me ! If others like to work and slave, let them ! Why should I do what I hate while there are others ready to do it for me ? " I looked at her triumphantly; she seemed quite distressed. " I know you are mistaken," she said, " but I am not clever, and cannot argue well, though I feel what you say is wrong. We are not the same as "ZORG birds, beasts, and flowers ; we have souls, they have not, but even they are all made for some particular purpose.

You were given your beauty, my brother his brains, and I a pair of capable hands for some use I am sure, not only for ourselves, but for others, not perhaps to achieve any greatness, but to do good, and help those who are around us." " Why should we help them ? " I asked ; "they do nothing for us." "Must it always be to give and take?" she asked. " There is Jim at last," rising suddenly, and rushing to meet him ; " let us find out what he thinks ; " and as soon as he had shaken hands with me, she put the case before him. He turned to me with a smile. " I expect you have discovered already," he said, " that my sister is always very much in earnest. I am afraid, Isabella, that I incline to the belief that some of us are of the butterfly order, and are made to enjoy the sunshine." His sister looked vexed, but said nothing, and after a few minutes of desultory conversation, I rose to take leave.

Isabella's face soon cleared, and she shook hands warmly, and said she hoped I would not be vexed at what she had said, her tongue often ran away with her, and led her to say more than she intended. Her brother looked pleased, and patted her on the shoulder. " My honest Bell," he said. She flushed with pleasure at his praise ; they seemed wonderfully fond of one another; then Mr. Gordon put down his half finished tea, and volunteered to see me home. We walked slowly towards Main Street ; it was a still evening, and the air was filled with the heavy fragrance of flowers. My companion thanked me for going to see his sister, then began telling me about the home she had just left in England, in one of the Midland Counties he said, and told me of the pretty tran quil country with its green slopes, and the copses which in spring-time were full of primroses and blue-bells.

I was listening, half-bored with his eloquence, when he stopped suddenly with a loud exclamation : " Good gracious, what is this ? " Looking up, I saw a black girl apparently about to charge between us, and recognised her as our housemaid. She knew me at the same moment and seized my arm. " Oh, missy ! missy ! " she gasped, " de mistress she took bad. Nanny have fetch de doctor, but he no good." " What is the matter ? my mother is ill, you say ? She was all right when I left her this afternoon." B ZORG " De mattah ? Me can't tell, but she berry sick." We were soon at home, and I stopped at the gate to wish Mr. Gordon good-bye. " What wonderful self-possession you have," he said admiringly, as he took my hand and looked down into my eyes. " Do let me know if I can do anything for you." I thanked him, and ran up the steps ; looking back, I saw he was still gazing after me, and waved my hand to him.

I found my mother stretched on her bed ; she looked white, with blue rings round her closed eyes ; she smiled faintly when she heard my footstep. The doctor met me at the door. " Be calm, my dear, your mother is very ill." "What is it, doctor?" "The heart: I have been expecting this for some time," he answered gravely ; " your mother is a very brave woman, Miss Merriefield." " Is she dying? " I asked bluntly. He looked at me curiously. "She cannot live many minutes," he replied; "it is a sad pity your father happened to go into the country to-day." " He did not know my mother was ill," I answered, and went past him towards the bed. The priest from the church of the Sacred Heart close by was praying at the bedside. My mother had received the last sacraments of her Church ; a crucifix lay close to her white hand.

I put my card-case and the red umbrella on the table, and stood by the bed. The doctor was close behind me. My eyes were dry, but I had a little pain in my throat. My mother opened her eyes ; they had a weary look in them. She put out her hand and tried to touch my flowers. " Your roses have quite faded," she said. Then she turned her face to the wall, and with a sigh, she died. The doctor bent over her. " It is all over," he said, and the priest murmured the prayer for the departed. I stole gently out and went down into the back gallery. The brilliant roseate afterglow had not faded from the sky, the palms waved darkly before it ; I could hear the sullen moan of the sea. A hand touched my shoulder, my father was standing beside me. He looked at me with strange eyes. " What are they saying ?

" he said hoarsely. " They tell me my wife is dead." He had never called her anything to me before but " your mother." " zorg : " 20 I answered him slowly: " Yes, she died a few minutes ago." " How ? what ? " he gasped. "The doctor said it was heart disease, and that she has had it for some time." " My God ! Dead ! Ah, Josephine, forgive me ; I might have been a better husband," he muttered, then turned upon me fiercely. "Why was I not sent for ? What were you doing, Sarnia ? " " I had no idea she was ill," I answered ; " I had gone out visiting. There was no time to send for you." He left me. I heard him slowly mounting the stairs. He had never seemed to care for her when she was alive ; perhaps his thoughts had gone back to the time when he had loved her. The funeral took place early the next morning ; numbers of people came to it ; the carriages reached from our house to the club, at the end of Main Street.

The first part of the service was in the Roman Catholic Cathedral, then the whole cortege drove on to Le Repentir Cemetery, a vast deso late place, where rich and poor, white and black, brown and yellow, are all buried. I was sitting alone late in the afternoon of the same day, when a card was brought up to me. " Mr. J. H. Gordon," I read. " Show him up, Matilda," I said. He came in quietly, his face very grave ; his very neat appearance was more accentuated than usual. I had not been able to get my mourning, and had my white frock on, in my hand I held a scarlet passion-flower ; I had been pulling it to pieces, and some of the vivid petals clung to my dress as I rose to greet my visitor. He shook hands gently. " I was afraid you would not be able to see me." His voice was almost tender in its seriousness.

" I am very glad to see you," I said. He bowed with rather a puzzled look at me, and perched himself on the balustrade ; we were sitting in the back gallery, and the dark shining leaves of the stephanotis made a frame for his handsome face. He looked at me again, this time critically. " You don't look as if you had been crying," he said at length. " Why should I ? " I asked, looking up at him. He gazed at me with astonishment. " Most girls cry — when — when — their — mothers —er—" " When their mothers die, I suppose you are going to say," I interrupted coolly. " Do they ? " I cried passionately, springing up. " Do they cry "zorg: 22 when they feel they have freedom at last ? When liberty is theirs ? When years of alternate neglect and cruel beatings have ended, when they have lived in fear of her hand, still more her voice, all their lives ?

When childhood's confidences have been received with scorn ? When childish tears have been dried by other hands ? Good heavens ! Is it for the loss of this that I am told I must weep ? " I threw my arms on high. James Gordon seized my hands. " Good God ! " he cried, " don't look like that, and remember that you can be overheard." " And what matter ? " I cried fiercely, turning upon him with wild eyes. " Perhaps they will think I am calling for my mother. My mother who slapped me, neglected me, scorned me, who — " A strong hand was placed over my mouth. " Say no more, Sarnia," said James Gordon authoritatively; "you are excited now, and will say more than you intend. I should advise you to go and rest a little." Seeing I looked vexed, he took my hand in his again. " Don't be vexed with me, dear," he said tenderly.

As I raised my eyes to his, I was startled at his extreme pallor. " I wish," he spoke slowly, gazing into my eyes the while, " I wish to God you were not so beautiful." He left me and I saw him no more that week or for many following. "ZORG 24

Chapter III

The months which followed my mother's death were naturally very quiet ones. My father lived his life, and I mine, and the days slipped by " like a shadow o'er the heart." Isabella Gordon came to see me occasionally, but I felt she did not approve of me, and we had nothing in common. Sometimes she talked of her brother, who, she told me, had gone to Barbadoes on business, and she did not expect him back for some time. It was very dull. Most of my days were spent in the hammock with a novel, until five o'clock, when I dressed for the inevitable walk on the wall. I had no girl friends, but plenty of men were ready to walk and talk with me when I appeared. One evening towards six o'clock, I had come in rather hot and tired, and was resting in my favourite gallery ; the wind was blowing softly, ruffling the gold rings of hair on my forehead ; my hat lay on the floor beside me.

I rocked lazily to an fro. A large striped butterfly flew round the gallery, and out into the garden beyond ; the kiskadies quarrelled in the sand-box tree, and a thrush sang lustily in a neighbouring bush. I was thinking of James Gordon. Would he ever come back, I wondered and if he did, would he — A sudden step in the drawing-room made me look up. It was he who stood before me, dark and pale. Something made me rise ; I stood a tall, shadowy figure in the shade of the gallery. At last he spoke. '•' How tall you are ! " he said. I had expected something very different, and turned away. He came towards me, waiting, however, to put his hat and stick carefully on a chair. " How little he cares ! " I thought. " Sarnia ! " I would not turn. " Sarnia, my own darling, what is it ? " In another moment, I know not how, I was in his arms, and he was covering my face with kisses.

The sun went down, and the thrush sang as the wind came in from the sea. We sat together hand in hand ; we said little, but it was enough ; we thought of nothing, yet it sufficed. The stars came out, night was upon us, and the fireflies flashed like d.amonds out of the gloom. . " zorg : " At last he rose. " I must go, darling. I came straight here off the mail, and Isabella is expecting me. When can I see your father ? May I come this evening after dinner?" I whispered " Yes ;" my throat throbbed so that I could hardly speak. Still he waited ; his arms were round me. " Let me hear it once," he pleaded, his eyes de vouring mine. " Say, I love you, Jim." I hesitated. " Only just once," he said again, " only once, my sweet." " I love you, Jim," the words came slowly. " Good-bye, my darling." He kissed me again and went, not trusting himself with a backward glance.