LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 89, 12 September 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ACROSS THE SANDS. In Two Chapters. Chapter I. Con finned. The symptoms wore, if anything, less startling than those that dwelt in Margaret’s memory ; and if professional aid coaid avail then, surely it would do so now. There was a good doctor at Wood End, a surgeon, but with a physician’s diploma from some northern university, and him she had consulted more than once on Alice’s account. ‘ Keep quiet, please, and do not crowd round the sofa so much. Let her have air. I will go to Or Smith myself,’ Margaret made the best of her way along the straggling street of the village, and found the doctor at his own door, in the act of setting foot on the step of his gig, drawn by the well-known brown horse with the white streak down its face, familiar in park and hamlet throughout that country-side, ‘lam glad, Miss Gray, that you have caught me,’ said the good-natured surgeon ; ‘ 1 can spare a few moments to visit your sister, and make up for it by sharp driving afterwards. lam called into the country, nine miles off, on rather a serious case ; old Archdeacon Allport down again with his old enemy the gout, and they fear it is determined to the head this time.’

So saying, he hurried to the cottage, and by a rough but kindly assertion of his despotic authority in such instances, cleared the house of all the well-meaning but useless volunteers who encumbered it, only leaving Nanny and an especial ally of hers, the widow of a fisherman, and whom he knew to be more helpful and less garrulous than most of her class.

‘ There is no immediate danger,’ said the doctor, after his inspection had come to a close, and Margaret could have blessed him for the welcome words; ‘but these seizures, even when least severe, are among the very gravest disorders which we medical men have to deal with, and the rather that they only occur where the constitution is peculiar, and the general health weak. You arc too brave and too sensible, Miss Gray, to render it necessary that I should disguise the truth from you. I will write a prescription—l cannot furnish the ingredients, for, unluckily, I have them not in my surgery—which can be properly made up at Cooper s. the principal Stourehester chemist, whose address in the High street you know. Your

sister ought to take it as soon as possible—the earlier the better: and on its being promptly supplied, say in the course of ?. couple of hours, depends—nr rk me, not le-" n C'lvery—she will probably recover—hu* Hr quick and certain return of her poweis of speech and of movement. A great shoe’: might bring her round. without help from the pharmacopoeia; but this is best and safest. It is a potent preparation, compounded of drugs, poisonous for the tnos part, and such as no respectable chemist would give you without medical warrant; but, see! I have written ray name and ad dies.'. in full, and they know my handwriting at Hooper’s well enough. Now, I must go, o the Archdeacon’ And an instant afterwards, the roll of wheels told that the doctor was speeding on his road. Margaret only bent forward to kiss Aline’s eold cheek, then caught up the precious sheet of paper, marked with cabalistic characters, at the foot of which was appended the signature of George Haynes Smith, Holly Lodge, Wood End, and turned to the door.

‘ Take care of her, Nanny, while I am gone, she said earnestly; ‘and remember the doctor’s desire, that air should be admitted in plenty, as at present, and that no one should come in but yourself and good Mrs. Brooks there. I shall be back again with the medicine as soon as I can.’

‘But jou are not going, Miss Margaret, out across the sands again?’ cried Nanny, aghast. ‘ Why, any one can see there’s a storm coming on that it would be hard for a man to face, let alone a lady like you. Better wait till I can run up to Farmer Burnett’s, on the hill, and beg him to loan you his gig, or, anyhow, a spring-cart and horse and a lad to drive it, and so go round by Battle Bridge; though, as ill-luck will have it, it happens to be Fettlesham marketday, and the master and mistress’ Btit already Margaret had got beyond reach of the old woman’s voice, and was speeding rapidly onwards, crossing the Stour by the stepping-stones, and taking her solitary way across the darkling sands. Chapter 11. Swift of foot and strong of will, nerved, too, by the thought of Aline’s peril, Margaret flew rather than walked on her way to Stourchester, The hollow roar of the sea, nearer than before, which told that the tide had turned ; the scream of the sea-birds ;the boding shriek of the wind, that freshened fast ; the sable blackness of the clouds, that hung like a giant’s pall above the measureless waters —all seemed indifferent to her. Aline was ill—dying, perhaps—and her life might hang upon a question of minutes. Just as Margaret left the sands, to ascend by the hollow road, between high banks, that led up into Stourchester, the storm broke, and the heavy rain—she had left her cloak, wh re she had dropped it, beside the couch of her sick sister—chilled and wetted her, but she scarcely felt it as she pushed steadily on. How impatiently did she wait while careful little bald-headed Mr Cooper, who had served half the country with drugs for the better part of a century, settled his goldrimmed spectacles to read the prescription and to verify the autograph. And when the chief assistant was demurely busy in the preparation, adding one ingredient to another, plying the pestle, filtering, compounding, what agony it w\s to Margaret to linger there—for hours, as it seemed, listening to the slow ticking of the methodical clock below the bust of Jeuner, and with all her thoughts, her very heart, far away across the Stour, at the side of Aline’s bed of pain. “You’ll go round V>y the road, miss, of course,’ said the old chemist, as he put the little packets into her hands ; ‘ no one would think of risking the short cut by the river now.’

Margaret muttered something inarticulate, and hurried out. The black clouds were flying fast overhead. It was almost dark. A dull roar, as of wind and sea iu unison, was audible even in the streets of Rtourchester. Few people were to be seen in the streets, the very stones of which shone as the sheets of rain beat on wall and pavement. What was that ? The first red flash of lightning, followed, after a pause, by a long and hollow roll of distant thunder. Margaret stopped, and for an instant hesitated. Olose lay, across the street, was the well-known yard of the principal liverystable keeper of the place. If she could get a carriage there, no time need be lost, and she need not face the passage by the sands. ‘ Can I have a fly at once—or a carriage of any sort ?’ she asked hastily.

‘ Very sory, miss,’said the man, who knew her ; ‘ but we have nothing in. All our carriages have been bespoke—some for the Oddfellows’ fete, some for the picnic of Sir John’s over at Cloverley. If you cmild wait for half an hour, or maybe, three-quar-ters’

Impossible ! She could not wait ; and so, without further attempts to proceed by the safe but circuitous route of Battle Bridge, she hurried through the street, struck into the hollow way that led to the sands, and pushed on resolutely through the blinding rain and gathering gale. Meanwhile it was an anxious time for the watchers beside Aline’s conch of sickness, as they listened to the shriek of the wind as it whistled among the boughs of the swaying poplars without, and to the sullen moan of the risins: sea. Presently the rain began to beat, thick"and heavy, against the walls and windows of the cottage, and then the ominous growl of the far-off thunder added its menace to the already threatening voice of the impeding storm. ‘ Won’t she stop in Stourchester —or go round by the bridge, anyhow?’ acked the fisherman’s widow, shading her eyes with her wrinkled hand, as a brighter flash lit up the gloom of the fast deepening twilight. ‘Not she,’ returned Nanny decisively. ‘ Rhe never seems to know what fear is, and where Miss Aline’s concerned, I believe she would go through fire itself. The tide mustbe on the turn by now.’ ‘ The wind blows harder and harder. The sea will run in to-night like a mill-race,’ said the other woman ; ‘ Lord have mercy on Miss Margaret if she's out in the sands then.’ There was a long and painful silence. It was broken by the fisherman’s widow, who had drawn ' near to the open window, through which the rain was driving fiercely, < ’Tvvas just such a night as this—you mind it. Nanny ; we were young ourselves, then, both of us—when Ram King and Will Atkinson. and two other young chaps, that had been over at Rtourchester Fair, tried to cross They were fisher-lads, and knew the coast ; and" they’d never have done it but for the drink, that made them fool-hardy, and the jeering and flouting, and daring them to shew their mettle, of some of the publichouse'company. I remember that two of

them were found in the stake-nets, next day* entangled among the meshes, just about lowwater mark—hut poor Sa-a and Will were never seen d- nl oi alive—lt was thought the bodies were washed out too far to sea ever to touch, beach again. Harken ! how the waves are getting up, 1 yond the Point. Twas a sin. Nanny, not to stop that poor girl from going to her death ; we ought to have held her hack by force if need was.’

‘ How could I?' said Nanny disconsolately, 1 She’s that quick, she was gone like the olink of an ; and, besides. Jenny, she is not one to be easily hindered when she’s set upon a thing. I should’t care to thwart her where this poor young thing’—pointing to Vline’s passive figure—‘ was in question.— But who’s this at the door?’

It was a man’s step, firm and rapid, that crushed the gravel of the narrow gardenpath, and a man’s hand that pulled the doorbell with unaccustomed force.

*ls Miss Margaret—is Miss Gray, I mean, at home ?’ asked the new-comer, in a clear, strong voice, that had something very pleasant in the ring of it. ‘lf so, please to say.’

But Nanny put her apron to her eyes, and began to sob aloud.

‘ Why, what is all this ?’ asked the applicant for admission, with a sudden tremor’in the rich voice that had sounded so bold and joyous but an instant before. ‘ Nothing wrong? No one here, or Speak I can’t you, and let me know the truth.’ ‘ It is Miss Aline, the younger of the two, that’s ill,’ answered Nanny, half frightened at the vehemence of the questioner, who now drew a deep breath, as if relieved of a cruel apprehension.

‘ Yes, poor thing, she was always delicate,’ he said. ‘lt is nothing serious, I hope. I am sorry I made so much noise in arriving. Perhaps you would tell Miss Margaret, who is with her sister, of course, that a friend from abroad—or, better, say that Mr Darrell —Frank Darrell ’

Rut his speech was interrupted by a fresh outburst of sobs, in which, from sympathy, Nanny’s friend and fellow-watcher, whose sun-browned face now appeared in the passage, as she came forth, caudle in hand, joined her. Servants often know a great deal more of the antecedents and the inner life of their employers than the latter would deem possible, and Nanny, who was both warm-hearted and inquisitive, was familiar enough with the name of the young sailor, who was supposed to have been lost at sea. She wrung her withered hands in genuine distress.

‘ God be good to her, poor dear young lady,’ broke out the poor old woman passionately. ‘lt does seem hard, just when she would have been so happy ! You are Miss .Margaret’s sweetheart, sir’ a’e you not 7’ ‘ Yes ; and I have come back to claim her as my wife,’ answered the visitor hastily. ‘ But, tell me, good women, what is wrong—with her, I mean. Your hints torture me.’ It was old Jenny Brooks, the fisherman’s widow, whose husky voice replied: 1 She has gone across the sands, gone to Stourch ester, sir, to fetch some doctor’s stuff, that Dr Smith ordered for her young sister, lying speechless in a swoon, in the parlour here ; and the tide is coming in, and the storm coming on, and’ The visitor staggered as if he had received a blow, and leaned against the doorpost for support. Twice he tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and he stood staring at the two women, as if he hardly knew the meaning of the evil tidings that had greeted him. A handsome, manly young fellow he was, with brown hair that curled crisply around a broad forehead, somewhat bronzed by the hot sun of the tropics, and a mouth and eyes that expressed at once gay goodhumor ard determination not readily to be shaken. He was pale enough now, however, to warrant the compassionate looks of Nanny and ler friend, as the former whispered ; ‘ You should have broken the news to him a bit. He takes it to heart poor fellow.’ But Frank Darrell, the anguish: of that moment once over, soon regained the sence of mind that was due to habitual fargj liarity with danger. ‘Never mind me!’ said the young man horsely; ' time is precious ; so answer me straight to the point, my good soul. Has the tide turned yet 7 And which is the road to the sands 7 One thing more—who in the village has a boat ready to put to sea at five minutes’ notice. It is work that would be well paid.’ ‘My husband’s cousin, Jasper Venn, has his coble beached this side of the headland, ready for launching, and his sons are at home,’ answered Widow Brooks. ‘ But lam not sure in this dirty weather’ ‘ Leave that to me!’ said Prank impatiently ; ‘only guide me to his house, and then shew me the shortest way to reach the sands.’ To be continued.