The Moon Rock

The Moon Rock, by Arthur J.
Rees

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Title: The Moon Rock
Author: Arthur J. Rees
Release Date: June 3, 2004 [eBook #12509]
Language: English
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THE MOON ROCK
By

ARTHUR J. REES
1922

"There is no help for all these things are so, And all the world is bitter
as a tear, And how these things are, though ye strove to show, She
would not know."
--Swinburne
CHAPTER I
The voice of the clergyman intoned the last sad hope of humanity, the
final prayer was said, and the mourners turned away, leaving Mrs.
Turold to take her rest in a bleak Cornish churchyard among strangers,
far from the place of her birth and kindred.
The fact would not have troubled her if she had known. In life she had
been a nonentity; in death she was not less. At least she could now mix
with her betters without reproach, free (in the all-enveloping silence)
from the fear of betraying her humble origin. Debrett's Peerage was
unimportant in the grave; breaches of social etiquette passed unnoticed
there; the wagging of malicious tongues was stopped by dust.
Her husband lingered at the grave-side after the others had departed. As
he stood staring into the open grave, regardless of a lurking
grave-digger waiting to fill it, he looked like a man whose part in the
drama of life was Care. There was no hint of happiness in his long
narrow face, dull sunken eyes, and bloodless compressed lips. His
expression was not that of one unable to tear himself away from the last
glimpse of a loved wife fallen from his arms into the clutch of Death. It
was the gaze of one immersed in anxious thought.
The mourners, who had just left the churchyard, awaited him by a rude
stone cross near the entrance to the church. There were six--four men, a
woman, and a girl. In the road close by stood the motor-car which had

brought them to the churchyard in the wake of the hearse, glistening
incongruously in the grey Cornish setting of moorland and sea.
The girl stood a little apart from the others. She was the daughter of the
dead woman, but her head was turned away from the churchyard, and
her sorrowful glance dwelt on the distant sea. The contour of her small
face was perfect as a flower or gem, and colourless except for vivid
scarlet lips and dark eyes gleaming beneath delicate dark brows. She
was very young--not more than twenty--but in the soft lines of her
beauty there was a suggestion of character beyond her years. Her face
was dreamy and wayward, and almost gipsy in type. There was
something rather disconcerting in the contrast between her air of
inexperienced youth and the sombre intensity of her dark eyes, which
seemed mature and disillusioned, like those of an older person. The
slim lines of her figure had the lissome development of a girl who spent
her days out of doors.
She stood there motionless, apparently lost in meditation, indifferent to
the bitter wind which was driving across the moors with insistent force.
"Put this on, Sisily."
Sisily turned with a start. Her aunt, a large stout woman muffled in
heavy furs, was standing behind her, holding a wrap in her hand.
"You'll catch your death of cold, child, standing here in this thin dress,"
the elder lady continued. "Why didn't you wear your coat? You'd be
warmer sitting in the car. It's really very selfish of Robert, keeping us
all waiting in this dreadful wind!" She shivered, and drew her furs
closer. "Why doesn't he come away? As if it could do any good!"
As she spoke the tall form of Robert Turold was seen approaching
through the rank grass and mouldering tombstones with a quick stride.
He emerged from the churchyard gate with a stern and moody face.
"Let us get home," he said, and his words were more of a command
than request.

He walked across the road to the car with his sister and daughter. The
men by the cross followed. They were his brother, his brother's son, his
sister's husband, and the local doctor, whose name was Ravenshaw.
With a clang and a hoot the car started on the return journey. The
winding cobbled street of the churchtown was soon