Pierce Moran

Chapter I

In many lives there is a period when a hidden force, coming they know not whence, bids them give forth their secret history to the world. Such a power is upon me now. It matters little to me whether what I write be received with sneering unbelief, or a pity which is even more galling, hinting significantly that a failure of brain power may account for the whimsical fancies of a human mind. It is not willingly that I offer to the world the story which follows ; it is rather with shuddering and cold dislike that I unfold once more the history of the past, and allow the light to glimmer anew, where darkness and misery have so long reigned alone. Why I have been the victim of so A much heartless cruelty, is beyond the most searching efforts of mind or will to discover. I am not knowingly suffering the effects of so much misery, because of some deadly sin which I have com mitted ; I dare not, like Rousseau, argue the in justice of my fate with the Infinite.

So far my life has been paralysed in the fulness of its vigour, by an intensity and concentration of purpose I must needs admire even when suffering from its very excess. Suffice it, at the last, peace has come, when the struggle was likely to go hard with me ; and though wearied in mind and body, I can still say I have been indeed rescued out of the depths of misery and despair. The night train for Nuremberg was ready to leave Mainz, and the station was unusually crowded. With great difficulty, my brother and I had secured a second-class compartment to ourselves, and were making our arrangements for a comfortable night. I had been watching with anxiety the movements of a sleek German, especially as I fancied he eyed our carriage with a favourable glance. To my delight he finally settled himself in the next compartment, and feeling all danger over, I began to unfasten our bundle of wraps.

My poor brother, thoroughly exhausted with the care of me TIERCE MORAN. 3 and my belongings, seemed disposed to sleep any where and anyhow. " Toss me my old rug, Cass," he said. " I think we have been jolly lucky to keep this carriage to ourselves." I was in the act of handing the rug to him, when the door was suddenly opened, two people jumped in, and then as the door was closed, the train began to move. At first I was too annoyed at the intrusion to notice the new arrivals, who I concluded were Germans. I was, therefore, surprised to hear an English voice say, " That was well done, Iva ; I would not have missed this train for anything." It was nearly dark, so I could not distinguish the features of our fellow travellers, but I was at once struck by the voice, and disagreeably so. It was a very beautiful one, with full, deep tones, exquisitely modulated, yet it exercised a strange effect upon my nerves, and un consciously, I shivered.

A woman's soft tones an swered the remark, and then there was a silence which no one seemed disposed to break. My brother was asleep ; the lady soon followed his example, and I also found myself nodding. All the time I was dozing, however, I experienced the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, but the shaded lamp gave so feeble a light, I concluded it was mere imagination. When I next opened my eyes, the day was breaking, and all the others were asleep. On the train sped through misty meadows where the dawn seemed to be just kissing the wet grass. Now, for the first time, I was able to see clearly who were the strangers, who had invaded the privacy of our carriage at Mainz. The girl, or woman, for it was difficult to guess her exact age, seemed to be sleeping from pure exhaustion, and her head was resting on the shoulder of her com panion.

When I first saw her face, I was surprised at its extreme loveliness ; yet when I looked more closely, I felt the sad conviction that it was a beauty too pure, too holy, to remain long imprisoned in her delicate body. She seemed in good health ; the sadness was more a warning, a prescience, as if I were intimately connected with her future. I shall not attempt to describe her more fully than to say she was fair and tall. Something restrained me whenever I attempted to look stedfastly at her companion, but with an effort I shook the fancy off, and riveted my eyes on his face. It was, without exception, one of the ugliest I ever saw. The features were refined, and the mouth small and well cut, but a peculiar lowering of the eyelids gave to the whole an expression of subtlety and sinister power, Both face and figure were those of a man about forty years old ; the latter was perfection, and denoted at once great strength and powers of endurance.

When I had reached this point in my investigation, I was again conscious of a shuddering sensation, and raising my eyes to his face, as the surest restora tive, I was astonished and disagreeably surprised to find he was awake. In fact, I began to wonder if he had ever been asleep, as his eyes appeared per manently closed, and the look seemed to come under, and not through them. I turned uneasily, and again had recourse to the out-look from the window for amusement. Glancing casually at my brother, I saw he was still sleeping, but there was an expression, almost of horror, in his face, which I had never seen there before. This seemed to intensify, until I could bear it no longer, and with a sudden movement of my body, I contrived to upset my hand-bag, and with the noise, he awoke. After a few preliminary yawns, he was preparing to go to sleep again, when he caught sight of the lovely face opposite to him.

I saw a look of ad miration steal to his eyes, followed by a clouded sadness, and finally, glancing at the man who was with her, he gave a dissatisfied shrug, which to me spoke volumes. Neither the first look, nor the sub sequent action had escaped the quiet watcher in the corner; and again a thrill of irrepressible horror passed over me. Rousing myself with an effort, I began to talk gaily to my brother, about our plans for the day. To my great relief, the train was nearing its destination ; I felt, indeed, that I could not bear this strain on my nerves any longer. The pre-occupied words and looks of my brother, the lovely tired • sleeper, the silent, dark physique all acted on my brain like some powerful stimulant. As the train reached the station, at the uncouth hour of five a.m., the sweet eyes of the girl opened, and looking up with unaffected gratitude at her es cort, she said : " Ah, dearest, how I must have tired you.

I had no idea I had slept so long." He answered with a smile ; yet, as I watched it come and go, I looked in vain for any softening of the lines around the mouth, or for a smoothing of the deep wrinkles in the upper part of the face. At last, we reached our journey's end, and with quick ready movements I gathered up my scattered be longings, and gladly prepared to leave the train. A cup of coffee and a roll in the smoke-laden at mosphere of the waiting-room, did not tend to make me more cheerful, and I envied the boyish fervour with which my brother prepared for an early morning stroll. Tired though we were, in stead of going straight to an hotel, we spent the opening hours of the day in watching the market women assemble in the old square, with their variety of produce ; their shrill voices raised now in dispute, again in bargaining or gossip.

Later in the day, Roland left me for a little while in the Frauen Kirche, whilst he strolled forth again, presumably to have a shave ; I think in reality to en joy a quiet smoke, and glass of beer at some near cafe. Left to my own devices, I sauntered leisurely through the old building, my mind filled with scenes from " Faust " ; not " Goethe's " surely, but the " Faust " of " Henry Irving." From these thoughts I was aroused by the entrance of an old woman with a broom, and my fancy surrendered itself to watching her slow movements, and won dering how often she went thus leisurely through her cleansing operations. In a while she also departed and I was left alone. I sat there dreamily, thinking of home and people, and lazily wondering how soon Roland would re turn to me. This reverie was disturbed by a faint sob, and rising quickly I looked from whence it came, and was startled for the moment by what I saw.

Had my fancy indeed conjured up Mar garet, and if so, was the whole sad tragedy going to pass before my eyes ? I advanced up the aisle towards the high altar, and then, and only then, knew it was no peasant girl I was looking at, but the lovely girl of my night's remembrance. She was kneeling at the altar steps, and I think praying. To my surprise, instead of %n English hat, she wore a hooded cloak, which; had fallen back from her head, and left to view the glorious colouring ofher hair, on which the soft light ofthe windows gleamed richly. She was sobbing gently, not passionately, more like a child that has exhausted its efforts, yet still sobs, it knows not why. I knelt quietly beside her without speaking, and again the unutterable thrill of horror seemed to overpower me ; but with it a new sentiment of hidden force and latent will, which came to me as if from some interposing influence.

In a few mo ments she raised her head and looked at me with gentle astonishment, touched, perhaps, with a slight expression of cold displeasure. " You are not well ; something troubles you ? " I spoke softly, as to a child ; but the face raised to mine, though childishly regular in beauty and features, was the face of a woman who had both seen and known life in many phases. What struck me even more forcibly, was the intelligence and strong intellect which were expressed by the eyes and forehead ; yet, over all there was a dreamy rapture, whether of suffering or joy, which spoke strongly of a highly sensitive organisation. She did not answer me in words, but shook her head, rising at the same time and drawing her cloak around her. I felt a chill of disappointment as she left me thus, but at the distance of a few yards she turned round and gave me a smile, which, by its beauty and radiance, would have delighted the most callous heart.

As she left the church, my brother entered it and came straight towards me. Evidently he had not seen her, and although I could not account for it, my feeling for the moment was one of intense re lief. As we went out into the streets again, Roland rallied me on my unusual quietness. " One would think you had entertained a ghost, Cass," he said merrily. " No," I answered ; " but I have seen an angel." He gave a prolonged whistle, and the rest of the way was very silent. We stayed at Nuremberg several days, and then went forward to Marienbad, that small encamp ment in the pine woods, where we remained some weeks, religiously took the waters, and under went the prescribed routine. I vainly searched among the divers groups in this place for the strangely associated pair, who now occupied so much of my thoughts.

After all, it was a relief to watch the people who had come here to get rid, by any possible means, of their superfluous flesh ; or to criticise with an Englishwoman's freedom and self-imagined good taste, the gorgeous toilettes of all nations. I was very anxious about Roland at this time ; he was certainly not himself: a general restlessness had come over him, and an uncertainty of temper, which made him impatient of all surroundings. Finding his state daily become more unsettled, I suggested an excursion to Prague for a week, knowing his love for archæological study and anti quities. Partly to my chagrin, he joyfully acquiesced, and I prepared to martyrise myself by an assumed interest in grotesque carvings, quaint old buildings and general mustiness. Our journey to Prague was most uninteresting, broken only at Pilsen, where we stayed to drink the beer.

Arrived at our destination, I bravely devoted myself to sturdy hard work ; I visited churches, bridges, barracks and abbeys, answering Roland's outbursts of enthusiastic delight, with, at least, a well simulated appearance of the same. One afternoon, when really footsore and weary, we were returning over the old Karl Bridge to our hotel for coffee, which I thought might restore my exhausted nerves, a carriage passed us at a slow speed. To my surprise, both the occupants of it bowed. My brother returned the salute; but I, li with genuine English stolidity, only became cognisant of it, when too late to return it. " Did you see who those people were, Cassy ? " Roland asked. " Yes, that was my angel," I answered, smiling. " And her attendant fiend," my brother growled between his teeth. That evening after dinner, I retired to my room, which by the way was a very large one, well sup plied with mirrors, but lacking most things else essential to my comfort.

However, it possessed one luxury which I valued highly: this was a little balcony looking out on the principal street. I placed my easy-chair upon it. within the shade of my curtains, and sat there watching the moving panorama beneath my feet. I stayed until quite late, especially interested in a woman who sold cigars and cheroots, out of a little kiosk placed at the end of the broad pavement. At last all the streets grew silent, and reluctantly and slowly I un dressed, and got into my small narrow bed. I must have been asleep some little while, when I suddenly heard my own name pronounced several times by a clear beautiful voice. The sound startled me so much, I sat up hastily in bed, and only half awake, prepared for I know not what. Slowly, however, the consciousness dawned on me that the voice came from an adjoining room, and that the words were not addressed to me, but seemed to be spoken almost reluctantly.

A few moments of silence, and then I heard the name again repeated ; caressingly, gently, with a lingering, almost croning fondness. " Cassy Cameron." Then the tone changed, and rapid fiery words, whose meaning I could not gather, followed in quick succession. But even when the tones changed, the voice remained beautiful, with a beauty that had something weird, nay, unholy about it. Suddenly the same shuddering sensation seized me, and then, and not till then, did it dawn upon me whose those tones were. And when I knew this, a horrible fancy possessed me, that the strange dangerous eyes were looking upon me from every part of the room. " How did he know my name ; by what right was he, a stranger, using it in such mingled tones, at this hour, and in apparent solitude ? " As I asked myself this, sickly fancies floated be fore my mind ; old wild, forgotten dreams, filled with anguish such as I had never before experi enced, chased before my distended eyes.

So utterly was I frightened at my own thoughts, that although my candle remained beside my bed, I felt powerless to relight it. Constantly the same rapid voice continued talking ; sometimes singing softened snatches of song, yet always intermixed with the clear enunciation of my now hateful name. At last the spell broke, and I was released from my excited state by an agent as simple "as unex pected. The smell of a cigar from the next room was the foolish signal of my return to the regions of common-sense. The strange dreary feeling had gone, and I was again a living social being, capable of action and clear steadfast thought. All was silent now, and after listening a while, worn out with the exhaustion of my nervous terror, I fell asleep with the determination, as soon as possible, to find out who these mysterious people were.

I woke in the morning with a sense of heaviness, but no distinct recollection of the last night's terrors. Thinking it all over, I came to the very wise conclusion that there was nothing very re markable in what had occurred. Neither Roland nor myself were very reticent people, and our names were well marked on our belongings, therefore it would not be difficult for any fellow-travellers to discover them. As for the repetition of my own particular name, a half-smile came to my lips as I excused even this. I have not thought it necessary before to draw any attention to my own personal appearance, but here, I may say once for all, I had the reputation of being pretty, in an irregular and uncommon way. I had no particularly foolish ideas about my beauty ; I knew for instance that, compared with the loveliness of the girl I had heard addressed as "Iva," I should sink into the merest common-place.

And here, perhaps it would be well to mention another con necting fact in this story. A few weeks previously, I had, with my people's consent, engaged myself to one who had been the first to teach me that there was a charm in my eye, or grace in my steps. I honestly confess I was not overwhelmingly in love with him, nor did I hesitate to criticise him with all the powers of an intellect, which I deemed stronger and more cultured than his own. But of his love for me, and his own personal beauty, I had no doubt, and I was woman enough to hope we might be very happy if ever united. This favoured man rejoiced in the thoroughly English name of George Reckless, and to his unmitigated disgust had been obliged to leave England almost immediately our engagement had been made known, and sail for India to superintend some engineering operations.

It was partly to console me for his loss, also to secure himself a lively and intelligent companion, that Roland had offered to take me for the summer to Bohemia. Our parents were middle-class people, who with great forethought had given their children an exceptionally good education. Roland had passed through a short, but bright career at Oxford, and my sister younger than myself had graduated at Girton. The latter was a remarkably gifted girl, possessed of a strong will, and concentration of forces, which alone promised her success in most undertakings. These are the only facts I think it necessary to state about my previous life, nor would I have mentioned them if they had not later a con nection with my story. With a farewell glance at my mirror, and a coquettish smile to my own reflection, I left the room where I had passed so uncomfortable a night, and went down into the court-yard for my morning coffee.

As Roland had not yet appeared, I went to the porter's lodge, and, addressing him in very broken German, prepared to satisfy my morbid curiosity. I commenced in a roundabout way to ask if we were the only English in the hotel, and discovered that we had not been so until that morning, when two other English people had left for Frankfort. It vvas supposed they were father and daughter, and were making a tour of Southern Germany, preparatory to returning home for the winter. When I became possessed of the name they were travelling under, nothing more remained to be discovered, and, delighted with my success, I returned to my coffee and greeted my brother with one of my brightest smiles. He also seemed in the best of spirits, and our last week in Prague bade fair to be a very pleasant one. Certainly we had no more disturbing influences around us ; and the wonders we did in sight-seeing, and antiquarian re search, were thoroughly attested by the state of my feet, which were sore, and even blistered, by the continued walking over the uneven cobble-stones.

Finally we bid adieu to our favourite nooks : to the wondrous clock in the Rath-Haus; the Radetzky monument ; the Jewish cemetery ; the strangely as sorted groups of sculpture on the Karl bridge, and once more set out en route for England. Our journey was rapid, broken only once for pleasure, and that was at Konigswinter, under the shadow of the weird old Drachenfels. The day there had been so peaceful, the evening was, if possible, still more lovely, and we were sitting out upon our hotel terrace, overlooking the silver thread of water, enjoying to the full the deep and silent beauty of our surroundings. Roland was heightening my pleasure by repeat ing some of Heine's lines, varied now and then by some original fancy of his own mind, which was rich indeed in new thoughts, and older gems, preserved with a memory which enhanced their intrinsic charms.

Not long, however, were we allowed to enjoy the PIEftCE MORAN. 17 peaceful beauties of the scene uninterrupted. A bustling waiter heralded the approach of more con vivial guests, and to our disappointment, they were fellow-countrymen. I intend here no disrespect to my own nation ; but when one is abroad for the sake of quiet and enjoyment, our own nationality are less welcome than the natural elements of the country visited. However, these good people did not trouble us much, although their mirth and con versation were not the quietest possible. They might not think we were English, and we sat so much in the shade as to be almost unnoticeable. Their conversation from being jocular and careless gradually began to assume a literary bend, and finally became so interesting that both Roland and myself grew silent, and listened with increasing curiosity to the witty, sparkling criticisms on some of our favourite works and writers.

One young man of the party, whom I mentally assumed was a reviewer, seemed to be distinguished by the others with a deference and attention which bespoke a superiority of thought on his part, strangely at variance with his youthful, almost boyish appearance. He was gradually getting excited with the subject they were discussing, and I thought in all probability the deep, repeated draughts he took from his constantly replenished wine-glass, added in no little measure to the pungency of his remarks. B For a little while I was so interested in watching the various contortions into which he twisted his face as he spoke, that I lost the drift of his later remarks. I was called back to a renewed attention by his mention of a work which had been the sub ject of almost national curiosity and wonder.

It was one of the strangest books I had ever opened, and by the very intensity of its genius, its scathing sarcasms, intermingled with ideal dreams of beauty, rich thoughts and brightly coloured fancies, had been almost placed beyond the power of all reviews. The writer of it had been the subject of the great est curiosity, few people being able to believe the whole to be the outcome of one individual mind. With each chapter a new phase of thought seemed to exhaust itself; some of the ideas being wrought almost with the cunning and perverted genius of madness, while the well-balanced thoughts in the rest of the book spoke a mind powerful and sagacious in the extreme. But through varied guesses and hazarded opinions, the writer of it still remained unknown. The work was signed merely by the nom de plume " Avis," and that was the only fact the public could glean.

Roland and I had both been strangely impressed by the book in question, and the criticism of it at the adjoining table drew our attention at once. My young friend's remark that — " No unaided human genius had compiled the work,"— sunk deeply into my mind, and although I heard this scouted on all sides of me with wine-tipped laughter, the thought, once fully in possession of my brain, was a difficult one to eradicate. I turned to Roland and asked him his opinion, which he seemed reluctant to give. At last he answered me with great warmth : " Don't bother me just now, Cass ; I would give a great deal not to have read this book, for I have never felt really happy since." That evening before I retired to rest I took the strange book from my bag and read a little of it here and there. I cannot say the effect was a very successful one, although I had confined my choice to the most consistent parts ofthe volume.

Some how, it seemed to connect itself with the fair face I had seen so troubled in the Frauen Kirche, and the darker aspect and the lowering eyelids of her com panion. The next night we spent at Cologne, and then we hurried on to Antwerp, Roland kindly allowing me to re-visit the cathedral and pay a farewell to the " Rubens " there. It was about four o'dock in the afternoon when we entered the cathedral, and we had only an hour to spare before we took steamer for Harwich. Roland had gone into one of the transepts, and I was seated looking at " The Descent from the Cross," when I experienced again the strange impression, that powerful eyes were upon me, and then helplessly I shivered. It was without astonishment I saw the dark, ugly face of our train acquaintance behind me. He honoured me with a distant bow, and resumed his study of the masterpiece before us.

I felt a subtle fascination in analysing the stern features bent on the picture, when through me suddenly rushed the thought, stamped with the impress of certainty, " This is the brain which has roused by the very recklessness of its genius the wonder and curiosity of the world of letters." After this man had thoroughly examined the painting, with another silent salute he left the cathedral, and I was turning to regain Roland, when I saw an envelope at my feet. I picked it up quickly and read, " Pierce Moran, " The Elms, " Oxfordshire." I placed this in my purse, and felt I had made a discovery. Roland coming up just then, I cau tiously told him the incident. " I fancied I smelt the brimstone," he said ; and he passed his hand over his forehead, sighing heavily, so much so that I could not answer his remark with my usual light laugh.

However, when he came to my side on the deck of the steamer, he was as merry and careless as usual, affording me funds of amusement by his playful sallies, and the keen, good-natured wit with which he drew my attention to some of my fellow-passengers' eccentricities of attire and speech. At last we reached once more our dear old home, situated in one of the quietest of the London suburbs. We were greeted with an amount of affection from parents and sister, which would have caused surprise to those foreigners who love to designate the English as cold-blooded and unfeel ing. After a graphic description of our tour, which was listened to by all with sympathetic attention, we three younger people retired to the privacy of our "Den." Here our doings and conversation, freed from all restraint, our shouts of merriment and excited gestures, would have done credit to any asylum.

If I had time, I could dwell for hours on all the beauties and delights of our "Den," but I must pass on quickly to more stirring scenes and hours of deeper excitement than we had yet experienced in the charmed circle of our home life. One little incident, however, happened, on our first night of reunion, which affects so strongly the rest of this history, that I cannot pass it unnoticed. My sister, whom we called Lolo, had busied her self with making us appreciate our return to the TIERCE MORAN. comforts of civilised existence by providing Roland with some good coffee, together with his favourite pipe, and herself and me with some delicious tea. When she saw us enjoying ourselves in the old manner of past times, she dived, no other word can quite describe her mode of transit, out of the room.

She returned with a paper in her hand, and an ex pression of determination on her bright, handsome face. " Roland and Cassy mine," she began melodra matically, " for some months I have been watching for my opportunity in life. At last it has come, and I mean to make the most of it. What is the use of a good degree, a handsome head upon my shoulders, together with capital health, if I am to remain here for ever unknown, moderately poor, and certainly unrecognised by the great outside world ? Listen to this, good people all," and with this lengthened peroration, she began to read from the paper she held :— '"Wanted immediately : — A highly accomplished woman, as secretary and literary companion to a lady. A graduate of Oxford or Cambridge preferred. Apply, Pierce Moran, Esq., The Elms, Oxfordshire.' "What do you think of that?" she said, with raised head and flushed cheek.