Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 September 1895 — RHYMER'S ROMANCE. [ARTICLE]

RHYMER'S ROMANCE.

I made Martin Rayner’s acquaintance during my last term at Oxford. He came up for commemoration to stay with a friend of mine at Balliol. and I met him at luncheon in the latter’s room. A large party was assembled to do honor to the distinguished norelist. I believe most of us were disappointed in him. We expected to find his conversation as brilliant as his books. Every' time he .opened his lips we pricked our ears for something striking. And it did not come. He talked little, and that little by no means above the common level. Jones, the hero of our debating society, could have given him points. The general verdiet was that, as a lion at luncheon. Martin Kayner had failed. In the middle of July—a month or so after our last meeting at Oxford—l had a letter from Rayner asking me to spend 'a few weeks with him at his country cottage in Somersetshire. I gladly accepted the invitation. Rayner lived on the eastern side of that delightful country, near where it adjoins the Wiltshire border. It was a quaint little hamlet, live miles from a station and seveu from a town. It lay in a hollow among wooded slopes and undulating pastures. Away down the valley eastward ran a' nameless little river, showing on sunny days a silver patch berg and there among the meadow's, until it loss itself in the distant shadows under Salisbury plain. It was just the spot for a poet; a very paradise for a dreamer. A sleepy stillness held possession everywhere; a silence jjiftt to me, a Londoner, was positively startling. During my first few days with Rayner, I could not get rid of the impression that something had stopped in the earth’s machinery'. It made me feel “linked,” as they say down there. But, of course, I soon grew accustomed to it. And, besides, so much of an absorbing nature happened to me there as quite to withdraw my notice from external surroundings. However, I must not anticipate, I arrived at Rayner’s on a Saturday eveniug. The next morning broke fine and pleasant, and Rayner took me to the village church. This place of worship was a queer little building, more queer than pretty. The architecture was mixed. It represented nearly every order from early English to early Georgian. There were also repairs executed after a still more modern style. By what title to dignify the latter Ido not know. I should imagine, however, that it had been especially invented by some enterprising local builder. The service was equally hybrid. Old fashioned and new faugled. I should have fallen fast asleep, but my attention was attracted to a rustic beauty in a neighboring pew. 1 am not generally at all susceptible to female charms, but the girl’s face struck me at once. I have never seen another in - the least resembling it. I do Dot think it conformed to the proper canous of beauty; but I cannot be sure. When you see a sj*endid sunset you do not.stop to consider whether the details of the’ landscape which that crimson glory floods are ht theth selves artistic. I was conscious of two glorious eyes, of a sweet expression thereupon reflected, but of nothing else. It created rather an odd sensation. If you believe me, it raised something of a lump iu my throat After service was over Rayner and I stood waiting outside the church door. It was his custom, he told me, to have the vicar and hut family dine with him every Sunday, and they always walked back together.

“We are very intimate,” said Raynlir. “I am godfather of two of his children. They regard me as one of the family.’’ I heard this with some surprise. That obvious dullard of a parson seemed hardly the sort of a man with whom Rayner should be intimate. But of course I did not express my surprise, merely asking of whom the vicar’s family consisted. •‘His wife, a daughter and three sons,” Rayner told me. “But here they come. I must put you through the ceremony of introduction.” I looked toward the church porch. I scarcely noticed the others. My eyes were fixed on one face. So my rustic beauty was the vicar’s daughter, and I was about to make her acquaintance. An unaccountable excitement came upon me and robbed me of my usual self possession. I hope I did nothing idiotic.

I was sure now that she did not conform to the canons of orthodox beauty, either in face or figure. Her nose was of no recognized artistic shape. I imagine that her mouth was too wide by half an inch at the least. She had an appearance of lankiness (hateful, but indispensible word) which would have completely spoiled her for a sculptor’s model. But her eyes and the expression of her face! This pen shall not venture to portray them. The soul that beamed through those bright windows, and saw an outside world on which truth and purity and gentle innocence were alone reflectedf, imparted itself to all her smiles and looks. We had a pleasant luncheon. My chair was between the vicar’s daughter and the vicar’s wife. Politeness constrained me to address much of my conversation to the elder lady, in whom I soon became interested. She talked well, and in a very pleasant voiee. Her manner was gentle and refined. Her face was lined and careworn, but there were still traces of beauty visible. I should say that many years ago she resembled what her daughter was now. f At*about 8 o’clock the vicar’s curate, a fellow named Millington, was announced. He bad charge of a district church some miles away, I was informed, but he generally came over to join Rayner’s gathering in the afternoon. He differed greatlv in appearance from his vicar, for be 'was

scrupulously dressed and careful J groomed. I thought him a good-looking man in his way; but I did not admire the saintliness of aspect into which be had trained his face, nor his confidential deference of manner when be addressed the ladies. He was a gentleman, however—- ! which always goes for something—aDd a pleasant enough fellow to talk to. I can imagine that he was quite a godsend in that benighted neighborhood, where gentlemen of any sort were rare, and cultured gentlemen almost unknown. He took an early opportunity of coming over to Miss Darby’s side. She seemed pleased to see him, and was soon in animated conversation with him. I thougbt her face less beautiful when animated. I joined her young brothers and made friends with them. They were nice youngsters and well mannered. Two hailed j from Winchester and one from Wellington, i But, of course, he must have more money j than I thought, to be able to send his sons to such good schools. I talked and chaffed with the lads for half an hour. Then the youngest of them noticed that my eyes were constantly seeking the corner where Millington and Miss Darby were still conversing. “Ah!” volunteered the school boy with a grin, “it’s a regular ease between the curate and Bee.” V v I could have struck the lad. His remark was in such atrocious taste. But* I looked at the father and then excused the son. Even Winchester cannot obliterate innate vulgarity. Miss Darby was still particularly animated. I was sure now that when animated her face looked almost plain. During the next fortnight I saw a good deal of the Darbys. One day we took them for a picnic; another we met them at a garden party; another we dropped in at the vicarage to tea and so forth. On all these occasions I found myself a constant attendant at Miss Darby’s side.

As she came to know me better she laid aside her shyness, and talked with less reserve. Without doubt she was a charming girl. When her face was lighted up iu conversation it disclosed fresh beauties passed unnoticed from a distance. That is how I came to make ray mistake about her face being less beautiful in animation. At close quarters the mistake is impossible. Certainly that youngest brother of hers was full of vulgarity under his educational veneer. I heard him whisper to a grinning friend that “Millington’s nose was getting out of joint.” I had, however, grown accustomed by this time to the urchin’s lack of breeding, so it jarred upon me less than before. Our last picnic was memorable. It took place at a spot called Heaven’s Gate, which is one of the show sights of that district. I have only the faintest recollection of what Heaven’s Gate is like. I'dimly remember being called upon by the vicar to a supprb view—by some one else to guess the dimensions of certain mammoth trees which stood near the crown of the eminence. An antiquarian gentleman regaled me with the history of Longleat House from the time of its first construction. lie pointed out to me in detail its architectural splendors, indicating them by pokes with his stick towaril where that majestic pile lay in the hollow below. I nodded und looked intelligent. The good gentleman was satisfied ; but I neither heard nor saw. My eyes and ears were already bespoke. It was useless for the vicar to descant to me upon the glorious effect of the sunlight upon these sylvan glades. I myself was in sombre shadow. My suu had gone behind a cloud. “I say," whispered Miss Darby’s youngest brother, giviug me a nudge, “ain’t that beggar .Millington boring Bee, just ? He’s quoting Tennyson to her by the yard. I overheard him. What Tommy-rot the chap did write to be sure!”

It occurred to me that I had been rather severe upon this lad. After all, his slang was the slang of all schoolboys. I sup- j pose 1 must have talked the same jargon once myself. When one realizes that one ha 3 done a fellow creature an injustice, one’s heart naturally reacts towards him. My heart reacted towards this urchin now. We sat down to eat round a cloth spread upon the around, all among the ants and beetles. A literary young lady with intense eyes fastened upon me and endeavored to draw me into a discussion about the English poets. I talked to her at random. I said things which made tier open her intense eyes. I believe I ended by asserting that I hated all the English poets —particularly Tenuyson. “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “lam afraid you are a dreadful Goth, Mr. Vivian.” “Yes,” I assented cheerfully ; “a regular Vandal. It’s constitutional, don’t you know? A fellow can’t help it. I’mjnot one of the intellectual sort, I’m sorry to say. Now Millington over there, who is awfully cultured, you kuow, and steeped in poetry to his finger tips. He can quote Tennyson by the yard.”

“Oh, how delightful,” she exclaimed. “Do you know Mr. Millington? Will you introduce him to me after luncheon ?” “With pleasure,” I said cordially. I didu’t forget. Immediately luncheon was over 1 buttonholed the curate. “My dear fellow,” I told him, “there is an awfully nice girl here who is dying to make your acquaintance. She has heard so much about you, dou’t you know, and your preaching, and all that. Nothing will satisfy her but an immediate introduction. Come along.” Millington was very vain. I knew my message flattered him. He left Miss Darby’s side with some reluctance ; but he left it. I introduced him to the intense eyes, which fasteued upon him instantly. It was clear that he was booked for the present. Then I repaired to Miss Darby’s side. The company was breaking up into twos and threes.

“Shall we,” I suggested to her, “take a short stroll through these beautiful woods ?” She assented. We roamed away together. Ido not quite know what came over me. I wished to make myself pleasant, but I could hardly saw a word. She, too, was silent, and seemed embarrassed. For my part. I seemed as awkward as a plowboy. This sort of thing could not last. Something did happen. After awhile we returned to the summit of Heaven’s Gate. Certainly the view from the eminence was superb; Longleat House, in the hollow beiow, was architecturally splendid, aud the effect of the sun,' light on these sylvan glades was very glorious. * * * * * “Now, then, Vivian, out whit it,” said Martin Itayner to me, as we sat over our pipes that eveuing. “Out with what?” 1 stammered, coloring. “You know well enough. What were you saying to my little godchild all that long time this afternoon—eh ?" “I—l—the truth is,” I answered, hurriedly, “I couldn’t help it, Rayner. I’m no match for her, I know, and I haven’t a penny of fortune. I—l—suppose I ought not to have spoken. But I couldn’t help it. I —I—asked B—Miss Darby to marry rue; and—and—she said, ‘Yesl’” Rayner did not speak. I looked up into ’bis face, fearing that he was vexed. I need have felt no apprehension. His eyes were bright with fender kindliness. ‘‘My lad,” he said, in answer to my

look, “I give you joy. I can share yonr feelings. I, too, have had my little romance. When I was about your age I fell in love. Her name was Bee also. Like yon, I had no fortune. Unlike you, j I was afraid to speak. But I thought—l | hoped—she knew that I loved her. Cir- ! cu instances took me to another part of ! England. I did not return for three years, j When ! returned I found her married.” There were traces of strong feeling on Raynor’s face. It was clear that this event was still very real to him after twenty-five years. “Things had happened in the interval of which I was not at the time aware. Her father had lost all his money. They were a large family of children. And there was a suitor ready to take Bee as soon as she would have him. He was a : young fellow—a clergyman, with an asi sured position and a tolerable living. He had the ear of her parents, who, no doubt, believed that they were consulting her happiness in promoting the match. It ended as they wished. She married him.” Rayner paused a minute. A light was beaming in bis eyes which imparted to them an expression of sublime tenderness. “Vivian, she was—she is still —my only love; but now in a different, in a higher sense. The old, fierce passion died long ago. From its ashes has risen another, sweeter sentiment. Why do you suppose I have buried myself in this distant corner? ’Twas she that drew me here, my lad. To guard, to cherish her has been my single aim for twenty years.” “I—l—do you mean—” I began. “Yes,” he interrupted me; “you have guessed it. After twenty years I love her more than ever, but it is with that tenderness which we feel toward the spirits of our dead. She is one of my dead, Vivian. She is the angel that hath reached me down her hand and lifted me from the slough of a desperado’s life.” I have never seen a face look more beautiful than old Rayner’s then. His words had stirred me deeply. We both sat silent. At last Rayner spoke.

“My lad,” he said earnestly, “do you kuow I wanted you to love the little Bee ? I have spent a year or two seeking some man worthy of her. I believe I have found him in you. You cannot think how glad you have made me, Jack. And really I was growing anxious. , She has seen so few men, and that handsome humbug, Millington, was always hanging round her. But it is all right now. Your hand, Jack. And mind you, make her happy.” Next morning Rayner ealled me into his study. “You are going to see her father to-day. He thinks you are an eligible young man with a comfortable fortune. So you are, for you must accept this.” He handed me a pink slip of paper. I glanced at it. I could not belie ye my eyes. It was a check for jE20,000. “No! No!” I cried, utterly overcome by this extraordinary instance of my friend’s generosity, “It is impossible, I-I-” “You must accept it,” lie said, very earnestly, laying his band upon my shoulder. “I am a wealthy man now, you know. And I want you to marry the little Bee at once. God bless you, Jack.” I wrung his hand. I could not speak. My eyes were full of tears. Rayner’s face beamed upon me with a beautiful smile. I knew who had evoked it; ’twas she ut whose feet he laid this tribute—the spirit of the dead.