LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 339, 14 July 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE WIDOW CASE. A Dear. Hunt. ( Concluded .) ‘ Probably get very spirited,’ suggested Miss Hosford. I thought it but too proable ; but all that was left for me now was to take the returning milk train at halfpast eight ; the accommodation shrieked past as we were talking. So I strode back my mile and a half to the station, thence to the tavern for something to eat, and at the due time took that milk train, and was landed in Pittsfield. But there was no Mrs Case to be found there. No such person at the hotel. Nobody had seen her at the minister’s. The station-master had gone to bed by the time I thought of questioning him, I could see him, however, early in the morning, for the down milk train left at half-past five. By this time it was well into the night, but I was too tired and anxious too sleep. The musty little bedroom of the tavern did not invite repose ; it was a hot May night, and I had a feather bed. I heard the wheezing wooden clock in the hall strike every hour but four, five and six. I fell asleep just when I ought not, and the milk train went without me. There was an accommodation train at eight, however, and by questioning the station-master till he was cross, I discovered that a lady in a black dress, with red hair—(Oh!) —had bought a ticket for the afternoon accommo-

elation the day before. Of course she had gone back to Great Barrington, so I steamed off for that place at eight, and again hunting up Miss Hosford, found her as anxious as I was myself when once she had heard my story, for she had neither heard of Lora nor seen her. The express train went in an hour. I went back to Canaan therein, as sad and mad as a man might be. To-day should have been the day after my wedding day, and where was I ? My bride was lost, my appointment to be at H to-day entirely broken; what would become of the flowers, the friends, the dinner, my dear old cousin from New York, who was to arrange all, and be there to meet us ? It was the proverbial slip between the cup and the lip. And worst of all, there was Lora, I had made up my mind to go back to Canaan and wait, and Miss Hosford promised to telegraph me at once if she heard of her. On the way down I noticed a slight fuss in the cars. People began to talk eagerly. Somebody said the express train up had run over a cow just above Canaan, and was off the track. We were at Sheffield, and must wait there at least four hours, the conductor thought, as the engine and cars would need to be replaced on the track. I had an old college friend in Sheffield, so I hunted him up, and stayed with him overnight rather than go back to Canaan at midnight, and run my chance of getting into a tavern there. Of course we sat up late' talking. Of course, too, exhausted with anxiety I slept over both morning trains, and only reached Canaan in the late afternoon, and it was Saturday. I flew to the telegraph office, but the operator was not there. Somebody told me that the train yesterday had broken down two telegraph poles in running off the track; and, though fortunately for the train, the poles fell away from the track, unfortunately for me, the wire was broken. Nobody noticed it, for all were busied with the train, and now they had just got about mending it, and the operator had gone to look on. What a Sunday I passed! Was fate against.me? I found myself getting superstitious. I went to church three times, and sat in the next pew to Aunt Fyler, who surveyed me with a glare of triumphant malice. I distinctly heard her say to another old woman on the meeting-house steps: ‘ I told ye how ’twould be. I do hope Lorainy’s learnt her lesson. When folk’s aunts make a will willin’ away their property to forrin missions, ’tainst so dreadful pretty to marry ’em, you’d better b’lieve H’m! I’ve seen young fellers before, I guess. ’ I let her rave. I did not care for her. I went to the tavern after evening meeting, and went to bed. I did not know what else to do, and all night I dreamed Aunt Fyler was trying to marry me herself; but she wanted Lora to be bridesmaid, and couldn’t find her. But next day—oh, blessed morning I —l had a telegram from Miss Hosford: ‘ Come on first train.’ Do you think I overslept that time ? I confess to being a little troubled on the way as to the frame of mind I should find Lora in, that remarkable little woman had so many changes in her ‘ infinite variety.’ I thought I was prepared for anything; but I never was more astonished in my life than when she threw herself into my arms, sobbing like a tired child, and whispering in my ear,. ‘ Oh, I’m so glad ! so glad ! so glad I I’m tired and scared to death !’ Heavens and earth ! She had never kissed me once before of her own free will, and here she was acting like a pleased baby. And oh, how pretty she was ! ‘Lora dear,’ said I, becoming suddenly conscious of my being the head of this helpless female. ‘ Sit down, darling, and don’t cry. I’ll take care of you now.’ The unaccountable creature gave a wicked little giggle that made me shake in my shoes. * Miss Hosford,’ I went on, as that estimable young woman opportunely entered the room, ‘ have you got a clergyman here ?’ A smile flickered over her face as she replied, ‘Oh yes, we always keep one in the parlor closet.’ Lora choked down another naughty little with her handkerchief, but I went on, sternly. ‘ I mean in the village. ’ ‘ Yes, we generally do have them in New England, you know.’ ‘Will you be good enough to direct me to one ?’ ‘ I would if I could ; but our minister was taken ill last night with pleurisy, the Methodist parson went off to Conference on the milk train, and yesterday was father Walsh’s Sunday at Hammerton. I’m afraid he isn’t home yet.’ ‘ Frank,’ said Lora, with a great sob, ‘I don’t think we shall ever be married !’ ‘ I do,’ was my stern rejoinder. ‘ I have hunted you all over Pekin : I have been the derision of nine other Widow Cases ; I have broken my leg ; I have braved Aunt Fyler’s awful countenance ; I have chased you up and down in railway cars; I.have hunted you from pillar to post a whole year, and at last persuaded you to love me—and now I will marry you, whether or no !’ ‘ Good gracious, Frank!’ screamed Lora, while Miss Horsford regarded me with wild amazement, ‘ are you crazy ? What do you mean ?’

‘ Just what I say. Go put your bonnet and things on right away; we must take the express train for Pittsfield, and be married this afternoon. I’ll tell you the whole story on the train. ’ She disappeared, and came back very soon, looking like a well-dressed angel in the gray silk and hat; but Miss Horsford would cover her up in one of those hideous things called a linen duster. _ II did not care, though, what she wore, if we only reached Pittsfield and Joe Plunkett’s parsonage in safety ; and this time we made it out. Once married and on the way to H , I told Lora all about my hearing her history in the cars, finding her picture, and not finding her, up to the time of our meeting in Canaan. I did not tell her my trouble at discovering her red hair —you never know how a woman will take that sort of thing. I think I was wise not to. We reached H late at night, and proceeded to my own house. It was all ready for us, servants and stores of fresh flowers, but my good old cousin had been called away that morning to New York, It was just as well; for when lat last actually succeeded in persuading Lora to believe that house and all were mine, and money to live in it comfortably besides, instead of being awed and modest, or even overcome with emotion, she then and there boxed my ears, and declared in strenuous terms that she never would have married me if she had known it,

* But you have,’ said I; ‘so don’t discuss the matter, my dear. My ears tingle painfully,’ Of course she only laughed, and in the most unsympathising manner asked for some supper. Still, I don’t think she regrets it. lam sure I don’t. She sits there in the bay window in the deepest blue gown, falling in soft folds about her, and lit up with delicate lace and the rest of that set of sapphires and diamonds which belonged to my grandmother (reborn Tiffany!). My dear hunt is over. I found the Widow Case. I also found Mrs Goddard. A LAST LOVE AT PORNIC. [Temple Bar,} Mr Rutterby had come by diligence from Paimboeuf. There was no traveller but himself, so they had used the * supplement.’ " The * supplement ’ was like a phaeton, -with back-seat always covered by its head. Mr Rutterby had sat in the back of the supple - ment, and the blue-bloused driver of it sat in front. The blue-bloused driver had held the reins loosely—the horses were steady, and knew their road over the hill from Paimbceuf to Saint P6re-en-Retz, and on from Saint to Pornio by the sea—and he had leant back half the way to talk to the one traveller ; and as Mr Rutterby was quiet and reserved, the driver had chattered at will. Before the Bay of Biscay came in sight —or the little blue bay out of the Bay of Biscay round which Pomic rises Mr Rutterby could have passed a creditable examination in his chaioteer’s history, but the charioteer knew nothing of Mr Rutterby. At last, however—having exhausted conversation on his own affairs—he turned his attention to the passenger’s. *Do you go to Pornic to amuse yourself or to be a gentleman’s valet ?’ ‘Not to be a gentleman’s valet,’ said Mr Rutterby, with a quiet smile at the comers of his mouth. He wore a shabby overcoat; he was faithful to an old portmanteau; and he had an income of seven thousand a year. ‘Then you go to amnse yourself! You cannot amuse yourself at Pomic. There is no theatre, no billiard-table—no pretty women. Aha! It is at Nantes that you can amuse yourself. Nantes! What a cityl Ma foi —an inconceivable city. But Pornic —you have made a mistake.’ * I am going on a visit to Monsieur da Malmy,’ said Philip Rutterby. ‘ Monsieur de Malmy!’ said the driver— De Malmy, though not rich, was a man of - social importance—and the driver was no longer a comrade. That air of companionship and brotherly equality is. welcome to travellers who hate gratuities and desire information. With it a gratuity is impossible, for a gratuity implies inequality. The driver was no longer sociable. At the top of the hill he was Mr Rutterby’s brother; at the bottom he was Mr Rutterby’s servant. This was Pomic, if Monsieur pleased. If Monsieur pleased, it might be anything else. At last the diligence drove up to the inn, and into its courtyard roofed with vines.. From the housetop on one side to the housetop on the other, this green roof stretched over the paved courtyard, a sunny canopy, yet protecting the yard from a heat too tierce. • ‘lt is like an echo of Italy,’ thought Mr Rutterby, as he got down from the * supplement,’ and Monsieur de Malmy kissed him on his cheek. Then visitor and host got into the host’s pony-carriaage, and drove out to Saint Marie, where the Frenchman had a chalet every year for the bathing season. ‘ And your son and daughter ?’ asked Mr Rutterby, inquiring for them directly he had been assured that Madame de Malmy was well. ‘ Alas ! dear friend, my son continues to disturb me. Lion’s expenditure is on the scale of a millionaire’s. I am a weak man to allow it, for it cripples me very much. Ondelette, too, must suffer for it. It will reduce her dowry; and the poor girl’s dowry - is small enough already. She has little but beauty and a name. ’ ‘ Well, that is much,’ said Mr Rutterby, pleasantly. ‘ Little’ —you mean—in the age in which we live. But never mind, never mind. I am not anxious to marry Ondelette. Ondelette is young, and can wait. It will satisfy me for her to be always with us. I should miss her here—miss her much more at Angers. I cannot play Bach’s preludes for myself. She must stay to play them to me, I suppose.’ And now they were in front of the full sea. 'The castle, and the little bay, and the many-shuttered town, rising tall on the hill side were left behind. They drove along the main road, out to Saint Marie, past villas and chalets set in pleasant gardens, where silvery grass plants grew a dozen feet high, and rose tree and lavender, petunia and geranium, vine, acacia and fig tree, flourished together in that genial sunshine and soft air of autumn afternoon. * The Bay of Biscay is placid enough today,’ said Mr Rutterby. But the summer lingers, his friend could have told him, and gives place only suddenly to winter and storm. • But here was the particular chalet which was home for the present. A creepercovered villa, with pretty front, bizarre and individual, like all the rest in the long and varied row set in their gardens along the mile of cultured coast from Pomic to Saint Marie. A glass door from the garden led straight into the little salon, and there sat Ondelette. She had just come in with a basket of blackberries, which grow in Pornic hedges big and rich as mulberries. *We will have them for dessert,’ said Ondelette. ‘You must not neglect them—my blackberries. They all came out of the lane leading to the Druids’ Stones, papa. w e must take Mr Rutterby to see the Druids’ Stones. Oh! but he doesn’t care for anything except art, I forgot. Whatever can you find to do at Pornic?’ ‘ You shall take me to see the Druidical remains, Ondelette,’ said Mr Rutterby. He called her by her Christian name because he was her father’s friend. He remembered the day when he had congratulated her father on her birth. He was thirty-five years her senior, for she was nineteen and he was four-and-fifty. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘that will bo for to-morrow. It will be a pleasant walk, at all events. The stones stand high on neglected ground. There are legends about them, and terrors. But I don’t myself care for legends and terrors; I assure you I prefer this dear little sunny garden of a Pornic. It is all one garden, in the eye of the Bon—from Pornic to Saint Marie.’ [To be continued,}