LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 58, 6 August 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

DENNY’S INTENTIONS

In Four Chapters. Continued.

‘ Oh, of course. I had a motive; it wasn’t likely I should give you seventy-five pounds a year—and really, Blake, you’re very little use to me—unless I’d had a motive. Well, old Denny has humbugged us both, and we must begin again on a different footing. You must put your shoulder to the wheel, Blake, and try again, It’t no use your stopping with me ; 1 couldn’t afford to keep you, and there’s no prospect before you.’ ‘ Of course, I wouldn’t stop with you after what I have heard,’ said Charlie slowly. ‘l’m obliged to you for speaking out so plainly. It isn’t a pleasant thing being humbugged. I shan’t trouble you again, I assure you, Mr Hutton. Good bye. I daresay you’ll send Mary home.’ ‘ Oh, nonsense ! Stop, and have supper, and so on.’

Blit Charlie had already disappeared in the shrubbery ; Hutton heard the branches cracking, and then a footstep on the path leading to the river. Hutton listened intently for a while, but heard nothing more. * He won’t go and do anything foolish, I should think. Well, it’s no business of mine. It’s precious lucky I found it all out before Fanny and he came to an understanding.’ ‘ What have you done with Charlie ?’ said Mary Blake, as Mr Hutton entered his drawing room, blinking and winking at the brightness of the light, in contrast to the dark summer house.

‘ Oh, Charlie’s gone home, I fancy,’ said Hutton. ‘ He had a headache, I think, didn’t feel very well.’ Fanny looked uneasily at her father. ‘ I think I’d better go home too,’ said Mary, rising from her chair a little alarmed : perhaps Charlie really had been hurt by the upset, and was now feeling it. Oh, don’t go, don’t go,’ said Hutton. ‘There’s nothing the matter with Charles, to take you home. Ellis shall put the old mare in the dog cart, and drive you home by-and-bye. I want a rubber, and if you go away, I shan’t get one. Oh, I’ve always got a motive. Selfish fellows we lawyers, aren’t we V

< It’s all right,’ whispered Fanny in Mary’s ear, as she went to get out the card-table : ‘ Charlie and the governor have had a little bit of a tiif, I fancy, but it will blow over.’ Nevertheless, the whist was not successful. Tom was Mary’s partner, and they both played shamefully. Fanny seemed in a sort of maze, constantly played false cards, and forgot all about the trumps. Hutton pished and pshawed, and finally threw down his cards—they were very bad ones—and vowed he wouldn’t play with such a set of people. At that moment a servant came in and announced that Mr Denny was waiting in the hall to speak to Mr Hutton on business of great importance. Hutton wont down stairs grumbling at being disturbed. ‘ Oh, Mr Hutton, where is he, how is he ?’ cried Denny, who seemed to be in a state of the utmost anxiety. 1 Is he dead ? Tell me the worst at once. I can bear it ; only tell me.’ ‘ Whom do you mean ?’ ‘ Blake—young Blake !’ ‘ Why, he’s as well as ever he was, I expect. Suffers from nothing but consumption of victuals.’ 1 When did you sec him 1 Quick,when did you see him V 1 Half an hour ago—in the garden here.’ ‘ Heaven be praised !’ cried Denny, sinking into a chair, and clasping his hands. ‘ lie wasn’t hurt, then V i Hurt. Why sbould he be hurt ?’ 1 Oh dear, ray carter brought me home such a tale. He’d been for a load of roots to

Farmer Rogers, and when he was there a bny came in with such a lamentable story! He’d seen Mr Tom driving in his :log-cart, and Mr Blake with him, and Miss Fanny ; and all of a sudden the horse twisted round, and they were all pitched out and smashed almost to pieces. I didn’t hear it till just now, and then I ran up as fast as ever I could. But lie’s safe, you say? Oh, I’m so thankful, Mr Hutton ; and yet I had a sort of confidence in all ray trouble, sir; I thought the Lord wouldn’t desert me after all these years ’ 1 You don’t ask after Fanny and Tom, then,’ said Hutton grimly. 1 0 dear me, yes ; I ought to have mentioned them, they ben’t hurt, though, be they, Mr Hutton ? Perhaps ’twas all a lie my carter told me.’ ‘ I have heard nothing at all about it; but I’ll go up-stairs and ask.’ ‘ Tom,’ he said, putting his head into the drawing-room, ‘ have you had a spill today ? ’ ‘ A bit of one, father,’ said Tom, looking rather sheepish ; ‘ the chestnut bolted—wild little beggar,’ ‘ Did she cut herself at all ? ’ ‘ No, father,’ ‘ Any damage to the harness or dog-cart! ’ ‘Not a bit; only Fanny and Charlie pitched out into the hedge.’ 1 You should have told me about it, Tom ; but it’s well it’s no worse,’ Hutton went down to Denny again. ‘ It seems there was a bit of a spill,’ he said ; ‘ nothing serious : young Blake was pitched out, but Come in here, Denny,’ he cried, opening the dining-room door, ‘ and have a glass of grog.’ Denny, although a very abstemious man, never objected to a stimulus at somebody else’s expense. He followed Hutton into the dining-room, and took his seat in an easychair, whilst Hutton busied himself at the buffet in mixing him some spirits and water. ‘ I’m very much obliged to you, Denny,’ said Hutton, ‘ for putting me right about your intentions with respect to Blake. I d got it into my head you meant to make him your heir, and so had he ; for what do you think he’d the impudence to ask me tonight?—why for leave to pay his addresses to my daughter Fanny ! ’ ‘ And what did you say to him ? what did you tell him ? ’ cried Denny, breathless with anxiety. « Why, that I wondered at his impudence. A fellow without a penny, and never likely to have one. My word, he opened his eyes when I told him your intentions about him.’

‘ What 1’ cried Denny, jumping to his feet: ‘ you didn’t tell him that ? O Hutton, you’re a fool, fool, fool! He’ll go away to Africa now. and I shall lose my farm. O dear. O dear ! Where is he, Hutton ? Where is he now ?’

‘ I don’t know ; he left me when I told him that—bolted off towards the river.’ ‘Towards the river 1’ screamed Denny, ‘ Why didn’t you stop him? Don’t you see? are you a fool ?—he loses his gal and his expectations all at a blow ; and he goes and throws himself into the river ! O dear, O dear, O dear, it’s all over with me now ! I shall never get over the loss of the Manor farm.’

Hutton looked at him doubtfully. Certainly Charlie Blake had had more than one misfortune that night ; and what Denny had suggested had occurred to him as possible, in a sort of inert, uneasy thought; but after all it was no business of his. Denny was interested in the matter. Let him look to it.

‘ There’s none of you care for him like me,’ said Denny, looking reproachfully at Hutton; ‘ although' you pretend to be his friends—driving him to despair like that, Hutton, if anything has happened to him, I shall look to you to make it good !’ ‘ You may look as long as you like,’ said Hutton, with a sneering laugh. ‘What nonsense you talk, Denny, as if a fellow would go and throw himself in the water for nothing.’ ‘ Ah ! you haven’t studied him as I have,’ cried Denny ; ‘don’t you tell me about him. Come, I’ll go and look after him myself, and won’t trouble any of his fine friends ; only tell me the way he went.’ Hutton directed him to cross the shrubbery, and make his way out of a little iron wicket, which opened on a field-path leading to the river bank, ‘Depend upon it, he’s safe at home by this time,’ said Hutton, letting him out of the hall door. ‘ He’s not at home, I tell you,’ cried Denny. ‘lf anything has happened to that young man I shall blame you.’ The night was clear and moonlit, and the river could be seen from the iron wicket winding through the river valley in many a curl and fold. There was no one visible along the river banks. A few cows were lying on the grass by the river ; a horse was standing by the railings in a sort of halfdoze, bats flitted about, and sometimes a frog lazily croaked from the ditch. But there was no other sign of life. Denny marched along till he came to the river bed, and looked carefully up and down the stream.

But ns lie stood looking here and there, expecting ho hardly knew what, he heard a sound that seemed like a suppressed groan, and turning hastily round he saw, under the raised embankment of the bridge that carried the road over the river, a figure lying still and motionless. Denny turned quite faint and shivery, and made his way quickly to the spot. When Charlie left Mr Hutton, be felt a great lump in his throat, and a sensation of trouble and oppression all over him. He had been altogether humiliated and put to shame. He had found that the only value attached to him was as a sort of animated title-deed ; that he had not only been deceived, but made a fool of ; that he would be a laughing-stock for everybody. At one blow, all his hopes had been destroyed, all his self-respect. It was a very bitter thing this for him to thole. All kinds of mad revengeful thoughts rose within him. He would go and do something desperate. It was better to be infamous than ridiculous. But as he came to the river-brink, the stillness and quiet of the night, and the beauty of the scene around him, came upon him with tranquillisiner and soothing effect. There were many things, after all. of which no misfortune could deprive him. He sat down by the river-brink and began to smoke a pipe, but finding that the nightbreeze swept chillily along the river-side, he took shelter under the bank that carried the road up to the level of the bridge, and began to chew the cud of bitter regretful thought. The night was so still and tranquil that he had no desire to seek the shelter of a roof.

It was better to lie there in the open, watching the twinkling stars, and the gleam of the moon on the ripples, than to sit and stew over his troubles in the dull solitude of his room. But after a while he got quite chilly and benumbed, and thought of starting homewards, when he heard a footstep approaching, and saw in the bright moonlight the gaunt form of Denny coming down the path towards the river. He watched him, wondering what the old man could be doing here at night, and he wondered still more when he saw him groping and peering among the rushes. But in a moment it struck him—Denny had come down from the Limes ; he had been to see Hutton ! The two old rascals had put their heads together, and Denny had heard of his rejection. And he thought that he, Charlie, had thrown himself into the river ! The idea of the old fellow’s trouble and perplexity amused the lad greatly, and it struck him, too, what a wonderful pull he had upon him, in his selfish dread of losing sight of his Charlie and his lease together. ‘ Is he asleep, or is he —oh. he cannot be—dead ?’ whispered Denny to himself, as he stooped down and touched Charlie on the shoulder. At this Charlie began to revive, stretched himself out, gave a groan or two, and turned on his elbow. ‘ That’s right, my dear lad. Oh, you’re coming on finely. You remember me— Denny, your good friend ?’ ‘ Friend !’ said Charlie, with another groan; 1 1 have no friends.’ ‘Oh yes, you have ; there’s me—there’s Denny. Never mind what that rascal Hutton told you ; it was all a lie. I’m more your friend than ever, Charlie. Rouse up, ray dear lad, rouse up. You shall have your gal, and everything shall be all right if you’ll only speak to me.’ ‘ It’s too late,’ said Charlie, wildly, springing to his feet, and staggering off towards the river—it’s too late now.’ Denny panted after him. ‘ Stop, Charlie, stop. What’s the matter? You haven’t taken poison, have you?’ he cried shrilly, as the agonising thought struck him. O dear, O dear, O dear ! You shall have stomachpumps, mustard and water, everything if you’ll only tell me. Have you taken poison, Charlie, my boy ?’ ‘ I tell you it’s too late,’ gasped Charlie ; ‘I must drown my misery and tortures in the weir ;’ and he set off at a trot along the rivi r bank.

‘ To the weir ! ’ shrieked Denny, shambling after him. ‘Charlie, stop! 0, Charlie, for my sake, for my sake ! ’ The noise of falling waters was now plainly to be heard, and in a few momenta they came to a broad sweep of greensward, where there was a steep embankment of stone, and a swirling pool of dark waters striped with foam. Charlie stopped here, and folding his arms on his chest, confronted Denny with haggard stare. ‘ It’s no good saying anything to me,’ he said ; 1 I have made up my mind. Leave me alone, or prepare to share my fate.’ There was a painful pause, and then an altercation, Denny was successful in persuading Charlie to desist from his intentiop. ‘ There’s nobody in the world,’ he said, ‘ I care about but you. Let us leave that nasty pond ; come this way, come this way ! I’ll make my will to-morrow, Charlie; and you shall have everything—everything ! ’

Charlie consented to live on these terms, and finally saw old Denny home to the Manor farm ; for the poor man was quite knocked up with the efforts and troubles of the night. Then he made his way home, making the woods ring with his laughter. [End of Chapter lII.] To he continued.