Speaker 1: The Return by Robert Murray Gilchrist five minutes ago. I
Speaker 1: drew the window curtain aside, and let the mellow sunset
Speaker 1: light contend with the glare from the girandols. Below lay
Speaker 1: the orchard of Vernon Garth, rich and heavily flowered fruit trees.
Speaker 1: Yonder a meddler, here a pair, next a quince. As
Speaker 1: my eyes, unaccustomed to the day, blinked rapidly, the recollection
Speaker 1: came of a scene forty five years past, And once more,
Speaker 1: beneath the oldest tree stood the girl I loved, mischievously
Speaker 1: plucking yarrow, and, despite its evil omen twining the snowy
Speaker 1: clusters in her black hair. Again, her coquettish words rang
Speaker 1: in my ears. Make me thy lady, make me the
Speaker 1: richest woman in England, And I promise thee Brian we
Speaker 1: shall be the happiest of God's creatures. And I remembered
Speaker 1: how the mad thirst for gold filled me, how I
Speaker 1: trusted in her fidelity, and without reasoning or even telling
Speaker 1: her that I would conquer fortune for her sake, I
Speaker 1: kissed her sadly and passed into the world. Then followed
Speaker 1: a complete silence until the star of Europe the greatest
Speaker 1: diamond discovered in modern times lay in my hand, a rough,
Speaker 1: unpolished stone, not unlike the lumps of spar I had
Speaker 1: often seen lying on the sandy lanes of my native county.
Speaker 1: This should be Rose's own, and all the others that
Speaker 1: clanked so melodiously in their leather bulse should go towards
Speaker 1: fulfilling her ambition. Rich and happy, I should be soon,
Speaker 1: and should I not marry an untitled gentlewoman sweet in
Speaker 1: her prime. The twenty years interval of work and sleep
Speaker 1: was like a fading dream, for I was going home.
Speaker 1: The knowledge thrilled me so that my nerves were strung
Speaker 1: tight as iron ropes, and I laughed like a young boy.
Speaker 1: And it was all because my home was to be
Speaker 1: in Rose Pascal's arms. I crossed the sea and posted
Speaker 1: straight for Halkton Village. The old hostelry was crowded. Jane Hopgarth,
Speaker 1: whom I remembered a ruddy faced child, stood on the
Speaker 1: box edged terrace courtesying in matronly fashion to the departing
Speaker 1: mail coach. A change in the sign board drew my eye.
Speaker 1: The white lilies had been painted over with a miter,
Speaker 1: and the name changed from the Pascal arms to the
Speaker 1: Lord Bishop. Angrily, aghast at this disloyalty, I cross questioned
Speaker 1: the ostlers, who hurried to and fro, but failing to
Speaker 1: obtain any coherent reply, I was fain to content myself
Speaker 1: with a mental denunciation of the times. At last I
Speaker 1: saw bow legged Jeffreys, now bent double with age, sunning
Speaker 1: himself at his favorite place, the side of the horse trough.
Speaker 1: As of old, he was chewing a straw. No sign
Speaker 1: of recognition came over his face as he gazed at me,
Speaker 1: and I was shocked. Because I wished to impart some
Speaker 1: of my gladness to a fellow creature. I went to him, and,
Speaker 1: after trying in vain to make him speak, held forth
Speaker 1: a gold coin. He rose instantly, grasped it with palsied fingers,
Speaker 1: and muttering that the hounds were starting. Hurried from my presence.
Speaker 1: Feeling half sad, I crossed to the churchyard and gazed
Speaker 1: through the grated window of the Pascal burial chapel at
Speaker 1: the recumbent and undisturbed effigies of Geoffrey Pascal, gentlemen of
Speaker 1: Breton Hall, and Margot Maltravero, his wife, with their quaint
Speaker 1: epitaph about a perfect marriage enduring forever. Then, after noting
Speaker 1: the rankness of the docks and nettles, I crossed the
Speaker 1: worn stile, and with footsteps surprising fleet, passed towards the
Speaker 1: stretch of moorland, at whose further end stands Breton Hall.
Speaker 1: Twilight had fallen. Ere I reached the cottage at the
Speaker 1: entrance of the park. This was in a ruinous condition.
Speaker 1: Here and there sheaves in the thatched roof had parted
Speaker 1: and formed crevices through which smoke filtered. Some of the
Speaker 1: tiny windows had been walled up, and even where the
Speaker 1: glass remained, snake like ivy hindered any light from falling
Speaker 1: into their thick recesses. The door stood open, although the
Speaker 1: evening was chill. As I approached, the heavy autumnal dew
Speaker 1: shook down from the furs and fell upon my shoulders.
Speaker 1: A bat, swooping in an undulation, struck between my eyes
Speaker 1: and fell to the grass, moaning querulously. I entered. A
Speaker 1: withered woman sat beside the peat fire. She held a
Speaker 1: pair of steel knitting needles, which she moved without cessation.
Speaker 1: There was no thread upon them, and when they clicked
Speaker 1: her lips twitched as if she had counted. Some time
Speaker 1: passed before I recognized Rose's foster mother, Elizabeth Carloss. The
Speaker 1: russet color of her cheeks had faded and left a
Speaker 1: sickly gray. Those sunken, dimmed eyes were utterly unlike the
Speaker 1: bright black orbs that had danced so mirthfully. Her stature
Speaker 1: too had shrunk. I was struck with wonder. Elizabeth could
Speaker 1: not be more than fifty six years old. I had
Speaker 1: been away twenty years. Rose was fifteen when I left her,
Speaker 1: and I had heard Elizabeth say that she was only
Speaker 1: twenty one at the time of her darling's weening. But
Speaker 1: what a change. She had, such an air of weary
Speaker 1: grief that my heart grew sick. Advancing to her side,
Speaker 1: I touched her arm. She turned, but neither spoke nor
Speaker 1: seemed aware of my presence. Soon, however, she rose, and,
Speaker 1: helping herself along by grasping the scanty furniture, tottered to
Speaker 1: a window and peered out. Her right hand crept to
Speaker 1: her throat. She untied the string of her gown and
Speaker 1: took from her bosom a pamanda set in a battered
Speaker 1: silver care I cried out. Rose had loved that toy
Speaker 1: in her childhood. Thousands of times had we played ball
Speaker 1: with it. Elizabeth held it to her mouth and mumbled
Speaker 1: it as if it were a baby's hand. Maddened with impatience,
Speaker 1: I caught her shoulder and roughly bade her say where
Speaker 1: I should find rose. But something awoke in her eyes,
Speaker 1: and she shrank away to the other side of the
Speaker 1: house place I followed. She cowered on the floor, looking
Speaker 1: at me with a strange horror. Her lips began to move,
Speaker 1: but they made no sound. Only when I crossed to
Speaker 1: the threshold did she rise, And then her head moved
Speaker 1: wildly from side to side, and her hands pressed close
Speaker 1: to her breast, as if the pain there were too
Speaker 1: great to endure. I ran from the place, not daring
Speaker 1: to look back. In a few minutes I reached the
Speaker 1: balustraded wall of the whole garden. The vegetation there was
Speaker 1: wonderfully luxuriant as of old. The great blue and white
Speaker 1: Canterbury bells grew thickly, and those curious flowers to which
Speaker 1: tradition has given the name of Marie's Heart still spread
Speaker 1: their creamy tendrils and blood colored bloom on every hand.
Speaker 1: But Pascal's dribble. The tiny spring, whose water pulsed so
Speaker 1: fiercely as it emerged from the earth, had long since
Speaker 1: burst its bounds and converted the winter garden into a swamp,
Speaker 1: where a miniature forest of Queen of the Meadow filled
Speaker 1: the air with melancholy sweetness. The house looked as if
Speaker 1: no careful hand had touched it for years. The elements
Speaker 1: had played havoc with its orioles, and many of the
Speaker 1: latticed frames hung on single hinges. The curtain of the
Speaker 1: blue blue parlor hung outside, draggled and faded, and half
Speaker 1: hidden by a thick growth of bindweed. With an almost
Speaker 1: savage force, I raised my arm high above my head
Speaker 1: and brought my fist down upon the central panel of
Speaker 1: the door. There was no need for such violence, for
Speaker 1: the decayed fastenings made no resistance, and some of the
Speaker 1: rotten boards fell to the ground. As I entered the
Speaker 1: hall and saw the ancient furniture, once so fondly kept,
Speaker 1: now mildewed and crumbling to dust, quick sobs burst from
Speaker 1: my throat. Rose's spinnet stood beside the door of the
Speaker 1: withdrawing room. How many carols had we sung to its music.
Speaker 1: As I passed, my foot struck one of the legs,
Speaker 1: and the rickety structure groaned as if it were coming
Speaker 1: to pieces. I thrust out my hand to steady it,
Speaker 1: but at my touch the velvet covering of the lid
Speaker 1: came off, and the tiny gilt ornaments rattled downwards. The
Speaker 1: moon was just rising, and only half her disc was
Speaker 1: visible over the distant edge of the hell garden. The
Speaker 1: light in the room was very uncertain, yet I could
Speaker 1: see that the keys of the instrument were stained brown
Speaker 1: and bound together with thick cobwebs. While I stood beside it,
Speaker 1: I felt an overpowering desire to play a country ballad
Speaker 1: with an overword of willow brow bound. The woods, in
Speaker 1: strict accordance with the melody, are merry and sad by turns,
Speaker 1: at one time filled with light happiness, at another bitter,
Speaker 1: as the voice of one bereaved forever of joy. So
Speaker 1: I cleared off the spiders and began to strike the
Speaker 1: keys with my forefinger. Many were dumb, and when I
Speaker 1: struck them, gave forth no sound save a peculiar sigh.
Speaker 1: But still the melody rhythmed as distinctly as if a
Speaker 1: low voice crooned it out of the darkness. Wearied with
Speaker 1: the bitterness, I turned away. By now the full moonlight
Speaker 1: pierced the window and quivered on the floor. As I
Speaker 1: gazed on the tremulous pattern, it changed into quaint devices
Speaker 1: of hearts, daggers, rings, and a thousand tokens more all
Speaker 1: Suddenly another object glided amongst them, so quickly that I
Speaker 1: wondered whether my eyes had been at fault. A tiny
Speaker 1: satin shoe stained crimson across the lappets. A revulsion of
Speaker 1: feeling came to my soul and drove away all my fear.
Speaker 1: I had seen that self same shoe, white and unsoiled,
Speaker 1: twenty years before, when rain Rose danced amongst her reapers
Speaker 1: at the harvest home, and my voice cried out in ecstasy. Rose,
Speaker 1: Heart of mine, delight of all the world's delights. She
Speaker 1: stood before me, wondering, amazed, alas so changed. The red
Speaker 1: and yellow silk shawl still covered her shoulders, her hair
Speaker 1: still hung in those eldritch curls, but the beautiful face
Speaker 1: had grown wan and tired, and across the forehead lines
Speaker 1: were drawn like silver threads. She threw her arms around
Speaker 1: my neck and pressing her bosom heavily on mine, sobbed
Speaker 1: so piteously that I grew afraid for her, and drew
Speaker 1: back the long masses of hair which had fallen forward,
Speaker 1: and kissed again and again those lips that were too
Speaker 1: lovely for simile. Never came a word of chiding from them, love,
Speaker 1: she said, when she had regained her breath. The past
Speaker 1: struggle was sharp and torturing. The future struggle will be
Speaker 1: crueler still, What a great love yours was to wait
Speaker 1: and trust for so long? Would that mine had been
Speaker 1: as powerful, poor weak heart that could not endure the
Speaker 1: tones of a wild fear. Throbbed through all her speech, strongly,
Speaker 1: yet with insufficient power to prevent her feeling the tenderness
Speaker 1: of those moments. Often timorously raising her head from my shoulder,
Speaker 1: she looked about, and then turned with a soft, inarticulate
Speaker 1: and glad murmur, to hide her face on my bosom.
Speaker 1: I spoke fervently, told of the years spent away from her,
Speaker 1: How when working in the diamond fields she had ever
Speaker 1: been present in my fancy, How at night her name
Speaker 1: had fallen from my lips in my only prayer, how
Speaker 1: I had dreamed of her amongst the greatest in the land,
Speaker 1: the richest, and I dareswear the loveliest woman in the world.
Speaker 1: I grew warmer still. All the gladness which had been
Speaker 1: constrained for so long now burst wildly from my lips.
Speaker 1: A myriad of rich ideas resolved into words, which, being spoken,
Speaker 1: wove one long and delicious fit of passion. As we
Speaker 1: stood together, the moon brightened and filled the chamber with
Speaker 1: a light like the days. The ridges of the surrounding
Speaker 1: moorland stood out in sharp relief. Rose drank in my
Speaker 1: declarations thirstily, but soon interrupted me with a heavy sigh.
Speaker 1: Come away, she said softly, I no longer live in
Speaker 1: this house. You must stay with me to night. This
Speaker 1: place is so wretched now, for time that in you
Speaker 1: and me has only strength and love has wrought much
Speaker 1: ruin here. Half leaning on me, she led me from
Speaker 1: the precincts of Breton Hall. We walked in silence over
Speaker 1: the waste that crowns the valley of the Whitelands, and,
Speaker 1: being near the verge of the rocks, saw the great
Speaker 1: pine wood sloping downwards, lighted near us by the moon,
Speaker 1: but soon lost in density along the mysterious line where
Speaker 1: the light changed into gloom. Intricate shadows of withered summer
Speaker 1: bracken struck and receded in a mimic battle. Before us
Speaker 1: lay the priest's cliff, the moon was veiled by a
Speaker 1: grove of elms, whose ever swaying branches alternately increased and
Speaker 1: lessened her brightness. This was a place of notoriety, a
Speaker 1: veritable golgatha, a haunt fit only for demons. Murder and
Speaker 1: theft had been punished here, and to this day, fireside
Speaker 1: stories are told of evil women dancing round that druid circle,
Speaker 1: carrying hearts plucked from gibbeted bodies. Rose, I whispered, why
Speaker 1: have you brought me here? She made no reply, but
Speaker 1: pressed her head more closely to my shoulder. Scarce had
Speaker 1: my lips closed. Ere A sound like the hiss of
Speaker 1: a half strangled snake vibrated amongst the trees. It grew
Speaker 1: louder and louder. A monstrous shadow hovered above. Rose from
Speaker 1: my bosom, murmured, Love is strong as death, Love is
Speaker 1: strong as death. I locked her in my arms so
Speaker 1: tightly that she grew breathless. Hold me, she panted, you
Speaker 1: are strong. A cold hand touched our foreheads, so that benumbed,
Speaker 1: we sank together to the ground, to fall instantly into
Speaker 1: a dreamless slumber. When I awoke, the clear gray light
Speaker 1: of the early morning had spread over the country beyond
Speaker 1: the hell Garden. The sun was just bursting through the clouds,
Speaker 1: and had already spread a long golden haze along the horizon.
Speaker 1: The babbling of the streamlet that runs down to Holkton
Speaker 1: was so distinct that it seemed almost at my side.
Speaker 1: How sweetly the wild thyme smelt phil with the tender
Speaker 1: recollections of the night. Without turning, I called Rose Pascal
Speaker 1: from her sleep. Sweetheart, sweetheart, waken, Waken, Waken, See how
Speaker 1: glad the world looks, see the omens of a happy future.
Speaker 1: No answer came. I sat up, and looking round me,
Speaker 1: saw that I was alone. A square stone lay near.
Speaker 1: When the sun was high, I crept to read the
Speaker 1: inscription carved thereon. Here at four cross paths lieth with
Speaker 1: a stake through the bosom, the body of Rose Pascal, who,
Speaker 1: in her sixteenth year wilfully cast away the life God gave.
Speaker 1: End of the Return by Robert Murray Gilchrist