LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 112, 9 October 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

SWEET NELLY HUNTINGDON. Continued. ‘ And did Mr Huntingdon evince any curiosity about your lameness?’ Captain Wellesly asked presently. ‘ No ; but he forbade me to come near the lower part of the wood any more, because Lord Langholme is coming home,’ said Nelly, regretfully. ‘And I know it was very wrong of me to come to day, but ’ ‘ But you knew I should be dreadfully miserable and disappointed if you did not, and you are much too tender-hearted to inflict pain on any one,’ uttered the young man, softly.

Nelly blushed with pleasure at the thought of being able to disappoint or make this handsome stranger happy. ‘ But why should you be so implacable against Langholme he went on. ‘lf he never had an unkind thought of or wish to harm any of your family, why should you object to see him?” ‘ Because I hate him, without even knowing him. I suppose it’s a sort of instinct. I would not speak to him for all the world. ’

‘ But suppose,’ said Captain Wellesly, a smile playing round his lips and just visible under the curve of his chesnut moustache—- ‘ suppose it had been Langholme instead of me the other day ?’ ‘ I should have d:VI of shame, cried Nelly, impetuously, ‘ and if I had died of

the pain, too, I would, not have let him touch me.’ Then she glanced up with a sudden misgiving. ‘Oh no! she whispered, with a reassured smile ; £ Lord Langholme isn’t the least bit in the world like you.’ .‘Well then, Miss Nelly, we wont talk about him any more, only do try and think a little more kindly of him, for my sake, won’t you ? ’ It would be very sweet to do anything for his sake, thought Nelly, and, after all, she had no great personal enmity towards her neighbour. And so the young people chatted away together, and the time sped on as swiftly as it always does when one would fain have it lag and linger, mowing up all the bright, glad-hued flowers with quick-flashing scythe, and grinding slowly and painfully over the ploughed furrows of pain and weariness. , , , * It is half-past seven ! ’ cried Nelly, starting up at last, after a little glance at the little gold toy hanging by her side. ‘I must go at once. Good-bye! ’ she said, stretching out a little ungloved hand ; I don’t suppose I shall ever see you any more.’ And the lovely, innocent eyes, all unused to concealment, grew quite humid at the thought, and the red mouth quivered perceptibly. ‘ Don’t say that ! ’ cried the young man, with a quick flush. * You won’t be so cruel, Miss Nelly? Do give me something to look forward to—only say you’ll come again to-morrow. ’ ‘I dare not,’ murmured Nelly, with frightened eyes. ‘ Papa would never forgive me ; and suppose some one saw us and told him ! I think he would shut me up all the rest of my life. ’ ‘ But he cannot think you are always going to stay with him. ’ _ ‘ I don’t suppose bethinks at all about it,’ said Nelly ; ‘ and, of course, I shall be an old maid ’—this quite emphatically. ‘ Oh no you won’t! You are much too sweet.’ ‘ Butl never see anybody, except papa and Sir John Swayne. ’ * Who is he!’ asked Captain Wellesly, jealously. ‘ An old bachelor, with a wig and false teeth,’ laughed Nelly. * Ah ! then I shall not be afraid of him. But promise me to come again to-morrow ;’ and she promised. Was it fancy, or did he whisper under his breath, ‘You darling?’ Nelly could not be quite sure, but she went in to dinner very happy. Chapter V. II n’y a que la premier pas qui conte is a sapient aphorism for which we are much indebted to our neighbours over the water, and a further corroboration of it was that, as days went by, each summer afternoon found Nelly and her new friend by the brook side. At last there came two days and nights of pouring rain, which kept the lovers apart, and taught them how dear they had become to each other. Captain Wellesly went down to the brook, not daring to hope, and yet unable to stay away ; but poor Nelly, who would not have minded in the least being soaked to the skin, could not invent any excuse plausible enough for putting her dainty feet outside the door-step. So she wandered about very unhappy and disconsolate, looking such a picture of misery that Wilson felt it incumbent on her to chide severely. But the third day it was fine, and even before the appointed time Nelly went with a light heart and bounding step to keep her tryst. He was first even then; but oh! blank disappointment! the brook had swelled into a river, ever so deep and strong, and lovers have an absurd mania for being close together. ‘ What is to be done ? ’ said Captain Adrian, ‘ Oh ! I suppose we can talk just as well from here,’ said Nelly, rather blankly. ‘No we can’t, darling,’ answered the young man, emboldened by distance. ‘ I shall come to you.’ ‘ But you can’t! ’ ‘Can’t I?’ and in a moment he had jumped into the water up to his waist, and was wading through, finally presenting himself at her feet dripping like a water spaniel. Rash and inconsiderate youth never thinks of rheumatism. ‘ Oh how could you !’ cried Nelly, reproachfully. ‘ It’s only what I often do when I’m fishing,’ he answered, laughing. ‘ But since you seem to think so much of it, won’t you reward me for my exploit ?’ this with a very shy glance for such a self-possessed young gentleman. He bent down over her, and she half turned away, rather frightened and exceedingly bright - coloured. His lips jusu brushed her cheek as though not content with that for a resting-place, and then paused somewhat lower down. ‘ Oh don’t!’ cried Nelly, deeper crimson than ever. ‘ I could not help it,’ he said, penitently. * Don’t be angry.’ The same evening at dinner Nelly received a piece of intelligence that made her utterly and hopelessly miserable. * Sir John Swayne was here to-day,” said Mr Huntingdon, “and brought a letter from his sister, asking you to spend a week with her.’ ‘ Oh papa !’ cried Nelly, trembling, and very white ; “ please, I don’t want to go.’ ‘ Nonsense !’ uttered her father, sharply. * You will grow up like a young savage here without any women’s society, and, besides, I would not on any account offend Miss Swayne. Yon are to go to-morrow morning., ‘lndeed, papa, i can’t!’ cried poor Nelly, growing quite desperate at this last piece of intelligence. ‘ Why not ?’ asked Mr Huntingdon, with a frown. ‘My dress,’ murmured Nelly, quite at her wit’s end for an excuse. ‘ I have already consulted Wilson on the subject, and she tells me your wardrobe is in perfect order.’ ‘I don’t want to go, papa, please,’ cried Nelly, despairingly, with big tears in her eyes. ‘ You will do as I desire,’ returned Mr Huntingdon, so sternly that Nelly dared not appeal any further against his command. So the poor child went to her room and sobbed bitterly, and all that night she scarcely closed her poor swollen eyelids. She could not let Captain Wellesly know, and he would think all kinds of dreadful things of her, and when she came back from her hateful, miserable visit to that prim old maid, Miss Swayne, he would be gone, tired of waiting for her, and she would never see him again. Oh ! the miserable blank and dearth in her life henceforward for evermore, after haring once tasted how sweet it might

be made. But there was no help for it ; go she must; and accordingly the next day, heavy-hearted and heavy-lidded, the poor child got into the carriage, and was driven off to the Larches. The days went on, and Adrian Wellesly, going every day to the brook-side, and never finding the little white rose who had grown so dear to him, was almost beside himself. Men bear the thwarting of their loves so much worse than women ; the latter accept suffering as their doom, and learn patience soon enough. ‘ How should he live without this pure innocent darling?’ he asked himself a thousand times, with bitter impatience ; ‘ this little tender flower, that was so infinitely sweeter and dearer than any woman he had ever seen in his life before ? ’ If she could be his own-all his own ! And why not ? Was her gloomy old book-worm of a father to .-hut up this treasure all her sweet life long, making an unutterable dearth for some man who would be willing to give all he possessed for a pearl of such price. No ! he told himself resolutely, with a quicker beating of his strong young pulse ; he would go to her father, and ask her at his hands. Why should he be denied ? Captain Wellesly never doubted in his own mind but that -Mr Huntingdon had heard of the meetings by the brook, and taken measures to prevent their seeing each other again. He pictured to himself a thousand times his poor little darling, with wan white face, shut up in that gloomy house, looking out wistfully towards the path leading down to the brook, and crying perhaps—crying bitterly. ‘ I can’t stand it any longer,’ cried the young man, half mad with pain and longing. ‘ I will go to-night.’ Chapter VI. Nelly had returned from her dreary visit to old Miss Swayne after a dull formal century of worsted work and tedious commonplaces, dull dinner parties, and insufferable visits to the haunts of fogeydom. She was sitting at dessert with her father in the twilight, her head half turned from the table, and looking wistfully out towards the beech avenue. The figure of a man had just come in sight—a tall stalwart figure—and she watched it curiously. So few men over came to the hall. Presently her pulse began to quicken, her knees to tremble, as the form came near enough to be distinguishable. A great terror took possession of her. She sat quite still, unable to stir ; her breath coming thick, her heart beating quick and loud through the silence. Voices in the hall, footsteps, then the door was thrown open, and the servant announced — ‘ Lord Langholme!’ Nelly sprang up with an irrepressible cry. Mr Huntingdon faced round with a haughty stare, and Adrian Wellesly Langholme came forward with a slight flush on his handsome face, but in no wise disconcerted or abashed. ‘ I must apologise for my intrusion, ’ ho said, looking full at Mr Huntingdon; and then he went quickly towards Nelly, who stood terrified, aghast, as if she saw some terrible apparition. ‘ Lord Langholme ! ’ she muttered, her white trembling lips almost refusing their office. ‘Yes,’ he answered, taking her hand; but it fell cold and nerveless from his grasp. ‘ May I ask some explanation of this ? ’ said Mr Huntingdon, white to the lips, and speaking in that icy voice which was more terrible to hear than the fiercest burst of passion. ‘ I love your daughter, sir,’ uttered the young man, quite simply; ‘ I want her to be my wife. ’ ‘ And I utterly decline any or every overture from you or any member of your family, and I request you to leave my house this moment. ’ The words were as measured and passionless as if the speaker had declined to accept some farmer for a tenant. ‘ Surely,’ said Lord Langholme, warmly, ‘ you will not allow your daughter’s happiness to be influenced by any old family feud that may have existed between our houses ? I come to you, honestly and straightforwardly, to ask your daughter for my wife. I love her dearly; if you give her to me, I swear that neither she nor you shall ever have cause to repent trusting me. ’ He spoke with the warm light coming full into his handsome face, looking, as he stood there, the very incarnation of all honesty and chivalry. To he continued.