LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 103, 29 September 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE INITIALS ON THE TREE.

Concluded

'Tell me,' he answered; 'speak to me just as you would to an elder brother. See, you are not afraid now ?' As he bent towards her, she raised her eyes. It was impossible to fear, when she looked into his.

' I—l have not meant to be deceitful.'

' 1 here is no need to assure me or thai Maud. But wait a moment. Let me tell you something—something that will make it easier for you to speak. I know more than you suspect. I know all —' 'Not all? Not about my mother ?' cried Maud, hardly knowing what she said. ' Yes ! But for your sake,' he added, hurriedly, as Maud buried her face in her hands and broke into choked convulsive sobbing, that she strove vainly to subdue, ' I have shielded her. The promissory note was brought me to buy up. A business man would not have expected anything else. I bought it at once; but without betraying Mrs Milton—'

' Oh, thank you, thank you !' cried Maud, looking at him for one moment with inexpressible gratitude, and then hiding her face again in her hands, in shame and horror. He paused an instant, pity in every look ; but regarding her with that same encouraging sniiie. ' I have asked you to be my wife Maud, ho went on quietly, 'Your mother told me only that you once had a girlish fancy for another. Wait, child ' (for she involuntarily shrunk away from him), ' wait; you are not afraid of your friend ? If there had been no stronger feeling than a fancy than to combat, Maud, I should not hesitate. I think that in time I might teach you to care enough for me to make your life pleasant.' He stopped again, for he knew that his voice began to sound unsteady, but stopped no longer than might have served to draw breath ; then spoke as gently and as firmly as before.

'But there is more than that, Maud, and I am thankful I have seen it: else, in my selfishness, I might have done a great wrong to your heart and to my own soul. But there is time yet. So if you will, you shall tell me everything about yourself and Rupert Allington.' She now gathered confidence and composure, and she did tell him; told the whole little history, wondering at her own calmness.

'And now?' he asked, when she had finished.

' Now?' she repeated, trembling. ' Yes; what do you mean to do now?' • 1 cannot answer,' she said. ' Oh, Mr Stuart, I want to do right. But I can't put him out of my heart. I can't forget!' ' Will you keep your promise to me? Will you trust me entirely, no matter if what I ask sounds unreasonable?'

She replied only by a movement of her head.

' Then let everything go on as it has been doing. Trust me just as would your brother—no less, no more.'

' 1 will,' she whispered. ' I will.' ' I shall never claim an unwilling wife—you may be sure of that. I know you would try to do what was best. But I want you to be happy. There is no Avish in my heart so strong as that. Do believe me, Maud.'

She did wholly, and she tried to thank him; but the tears came up again and choked her.

'We understand each other now,' he continued. ' I shall explain in my own way to your mother. You will not be troubled. Treat me as your truest friend, and leave the future to Providence.' She could not understand his full meaning; but she knew that she could trust him.

Winter came spring—summer. Mr Stuart continued a frequent visitor at Mrs Milton's. The days glided so smoothly by that Maud might have been almost happy if she could have heard from Rupert; but it was hardly time, as yet, for a letter; and she was not certain, even if one came, but that her mother would intercept it. Mrs Milton appeared perfectly satisfied with the course affairs were taking, and was kindness itself to Maud. What had been said to her the girl never asked. Strange to say, after awhile, Mr Stuart's society was her one consolation. Somehow, whenever she looked in his face, her courage came back, and she could have faith to believe that the end was not yet. One lovely evening, in the late summer, Mr Stuart joined her, as she stood in the garden. ' Maud,' he said, abruptly, ' there's a steamer in, with Australian passengers ' She interrupted him by a little cry. She knew now what he had meant by his promise, that night, when she had told him the truth about her girlish past. A few minutes later she comprehended the full change which had come upon her life ; for Rupert Allington was holding her in his arms. Douglas Stuart walked away, and left them together. After awhile they were both calm enough, so that Rupert could tell her of the telegram which had summoned him home ; of the offer he had received of a share in a well-established business, which would enable him to claim his wife without delay: 'and all,' he said, 'through Mr Stuart.'

iVmglas Stuart had, indeed, redeemed his pledge. This man never won battles, or founded monarchies ; nor was he considered by his friends a remarkable person, in any way. Still, I often think, that Avken we see each other, face to face, in another world, many a renowned hero will hold a slight place compared to his. For lie earned that place—he is dead, alas ! by the cheerful sacrifice of all that is hardest here to relinquish, the one love of his life. In the depths of the forest, at Beechworth, there is a mighty tree, on whose trunk may bo still seen, though years have passed since they were cut, the initials of Rupert and Maud, within a true-lover's heart. Often, as the afternoon wears on, two persons, a husband and wife, go there, and look at it, and then lovingly at each other, and think reverently of one who is dead. They are now the owners of Beeehwood, Douglas Stuart having left it to Mrs Allington.