VICTOR MOREDANT OR, THE LOST SHIPS.

Clutha Leader, Volume I, Issue 16, 22 October 1874, Page 4

VICTOR MOREDANT OR, THE LOST SHIPS.

TALJE OF FIFTY YEAHS AGO

CHAPTER Vl.— Continoed.

■•" That embrace afld kiss formed the |efeWi and sacra went of their newly - relationship, and with therii | v&hished the former barrier of 9ocial :distinotionV which Jack, by his conduct towards herj had never forgot or overstepped. It T was necessary, in order at Olive's plan - should be realised, that it should no longer exist, and, prompted by the instinct of her nature, she had taken the one effectual means to terootfe it.

"Wow,/ Jack, I am happy — quite, quite happy," -murmured Olive. And her face did not belie her words, for it had a brighter expression than it had Shown since her father died. She seemed as if she had got rid of a heavy dL«agreeable burden which had been weighing her down. And in truth this was the case*, for the position in which she had been placed by her father's will in relation to ber cousin Victor had been to her a sotirce of intense annoyance. It haunted her day and night with a kind of horror, and the nearer they came to Beechwood the more did her" dread Increase. But now, suddenly, and very unexpectedly, the cause of her trouble was removed, and she felt like one from •whose spirit a great weight had been lifted, and grew gay and animated: The natural sprightiiness and happiness xif'her nature manifested itself- — her eye sparkled, her cheeks flushed with joy, her countenance became radiant with contentment, and in the fulness of her inward satisfaction she again exclaimed —

"Oh, Jack, 1 am so happy." " And so am I, Miss 01 " " No, no, not Miss Olive ; but May, May, May, you dt*ar?good Jack. *' Lor' sake, I shall never remember it. Olive 'ull come alms -out. When J ship in a new vessel it's alius weeks or I can call it 'by anything but the "name o' the one Ilastsailedin."

" Ah, but you'll soon learn to forget Olive for May, for if we are spared you •will know me far, far longer under the latter name than you have done under the former.

" And do you mean never to be Miss Olive again ?" asked Jack, with a serious look. "It seems so -awful 'to let them two have all your -property." " What of that if I trm happy ?" she answered with a smile. •*•* Let them enjoy it as far as they can, though I fear their enjoyment cannot be very great. A union formed on sutih a basis as theirs must be, can 'never bring happiness — at least, not such happiness as I should care abbut."

" Nor I neither," responded Jack, • very emphatically. " But, Lor'," ! he • ndded, •' what a wicked trick Miss Julia > is playing." •* Dreadful ; and yet the temptation • -before which she had fallen is a -strong -one. Believing me to be dead, and -•seeing how easy it was for her to per•eonflte me, what a dazzling advantage appeared before her ! By my death ghe was rendered friendless and utterly dependent on her own exertions ; but by this fraud, so easy of execution, she •escapes poverty, and obtains rank, wealth, and position." " You would never have done it," observed Jack.

" No ; but Julia and I are differently constituted. The very last conversation we had together, which was on the deck of the Cynthia at the very time the fire broke out, proved this, for she rallied me on my absurd feelings, as she called them, in view of going to Beechwood, and spoke as if she would have no scruples in such a case. Well, well, she seems to have found a congenial mind in my cousin Victor ; and though I do not expect, still I wish them to be tiappy."

" Because you are an angel o' goodness, Mi — May, I mean " — said Jack, regarding her with great and fond admiration.

** Indeed, I'm no such thing j I .am ••very selfish, Jack." Jack shook his head with an air of the most stubborn incredulity. l( Ah, but it is true, for my charity towards Julia is due to the good service she has done me by delivering me from an oppression that made me miserable."

But Jiack only shook his head tbe more, and was not one whit moved by the self-depreciating sophistry of his fair companion.

It was now late, and after a nice hot supper had been ordered in and partaken of they parted for the night. On the following day when the coach reached the Den burn Arms on. its way to Glasgow they took their seats therein, and proceeded on the last stage of their long eventful journey.

In a small, humble, but very clean apartment in Ship Row sat a little, woebegone woman, bending over the embers of a decaying fire, rocking her body to and fro, and moaning in her sorrow. This was mary, Jack Blossom's wife ; andflhe was mourning the loss of her husband with all the bitter intensity of a widow's bereavement. The intelligence of the destruction of the.Cynthia iiad fallen upon her like a crushing blow, for she loved Jack with an affection which such a brave, honest fellow deserved. And though, like every

sailor's wife, she had her fears and forebodings when Jack was* away -on his ■long roya-ares, his fortune on. the deep had hitherto been so favourable -that the despondency to* which she had given way during the first years after ;th*eir marriage had gradually left her, and she tried to cheer her loneliness with anticipatory thoughts ' of his -return. She would have been helped in this had offspring come to bless their union ; but Providence' had seen meet to make that union childless, and Mary had to rely on her own resources for comfort and consolation.

. • These resources lay in the natural modesty of her nature," and tbe strength, tenderness, and considerateness of her wifely love. Besides keeping hfer house and person spotlessly neat and clean, she engag-ed herself all day long in knitting or sewing for her absent Jack ; and the piles of stockings, shirts, handkerchiefs which she had stored away in chests "and drawers were ample enough to stock a small shop. But though she provided these things far beyond Tack's needs, it did her good to be thus constantly preparing them. It kept her from wearying — it kept warm, leving thoughts of Jack always in her mind; and it satisfied her to think that while she was braving the dangers ofthe deep for her sustenance she was busily em-

ployed for his comfort. Thus the periods of his absence on voyages were passed by the solitary one, her loneliness being lightened by an occasional visit from a neighbour ; and then when Jack came home he brought the joys of a new honeymoon with tim, sufficient, she thought at the time, to compensate for the months of solitude she endured.

Such was Mary Blossom— blyth, cheerful, hopeful, and ever busy, the well-springs of her nature being in her absent sailor. Alas, the day* then, when the news reached Glasgow of the wreck of the Cynthia. Eager tongues, yet with pity and compassion in their tones, came to her with the tidings, the heaviest part of which fop her lay in the terrible declaration that Jack Blossom was not among the few who had been saved. Oh^the blank stony look of despair that came upon her face, and the cold, deadly chill that fell upon her heart. * The light of her life was quenched in a moment, and the rest of her days must be passed in darkness — within the valley of the shadow of death.

As days passed on the terrible news was confirmed, and Jack's death in the burning ship authenticated. Thus any faint hope that remained was extinguished, and she sat her down, silent and motionless in the house of her mourning. The one or two neighbors who knew her came in and tried to comfort her ; but though they went about the work in a better spirit than that manifested by the friends of Job, who came to him with a like purpose, their well-meant words failed to penetrate the gloom of her soul, to give either light or consolation, and they had to leave her as •they found her, bent over the fire, rocking* to and fro, and mourning heavily for the dead nnshrouded one lying at the bottom of the sea. *

This was her attitude and occupation in the gloaming of what had been a dull December day, when her brooding grief was invaded by the sudden entrance of Mrs. Young, her neighbor on the same landing. The Jatter's quick step and the brisk tone of her voice when she spoke, so very different from her usual demeanour when she paid her condoling visits, should have surprised Mary had her grief not been so absorbing, and still more would she have been struck by the excited agitation and animation of her countenance had she looked up. But this Mary did not do, and when Mrs Young spoke strange words of cheering hope they had a jarring sound upon her ears. By and by, however,' it struck her that 'her friend's words had a peculiar significance, aud meant more than the speaker wished to express all at once. Then Mary raised herself with a startled look, and gazed at the other's face. What she saw there startled her the more, and springing wildly up she clutched at her with trembling bands, and demanded to know what she meant.

Mrs Young's object was to prepare her for the joyful news with which she was freighted — to break them gently to her, lest the sudden revulsion should overwhelm her j but her own agitation was too great for the requisite self-com-mand, and with every desire to do the opposite she bungled her mission not a little. She meant to speak first of the possibility of Jack having been saved, then of its probability, then of its certainty, then to tell her that he was coming home, that he had actually reached Glasgow, that he was in her house waiting to burst in the mpment Mary had been prepared to receive him. But the other's wild, frenzied vehemence made such gradual stages of the communication impossible, and the truth burst on Mary's brain like a blinding flash of lightning. She flung up her two hands in the air, and uttered a piercing scream ; the door flew open, and Jack bounded in just in time to be seen and recognised by her, and to receive her in his arms, ere she became insensible. Oh, the unspeakable trarisport to which she awoke when kissed back-to consciousness by his quivering lips t Oh, the bewildering, the unrealisable, the almost unbelievable- bliss which filled her being as she clung to him, flung her arms round him-, gazed into

his fkce t )ibieMd to Wy'oicie, anid understood that,' it was a , reality ; arid J no vision. '-"-* ' „ "" '''"'. ' ' '

It was, many, very many minutes ere any rational words' of. communication and response could piass between: them j 4mt at length'' the first snrgihgs of the wave of transport' Subsided' so far as to enable Jack riapidly to tell, and his wife to listen to, thestory of his adventures in the company of" Olive Moredant. Olive's personal story was also necessarily and purposely iriwoven with the narrative 1 ; and the moment Mary was made to understand the arrangement that had been come to between Jack and Olive, the* signal was given, and Olive herself came into the room, where she was instantly folded in Mary's arms and infld there in a deep, strong, motherly embrace. We take it tip upon us to say that, without exception, this was by far the happiest fireside that night in all Glasgow.