LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 356, 3 August 1875, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A SONG IN THE TWILIGHT. {Dublin University Magazine.) {Concluded.) ‘lt was to secure myself from the opposition of your friends to my suit,’ he said, with cool effrontery j ‘I have loved you, Emily, since the first moment of our meeting, and I believe,’ he added, trying to take her hand and draw her towards him, * that you love me j I knew we should meet with strong opposition from your mother, and that the only way to secure you—; He stopped short, silenced suddenly by the expression of her eyes; he read in them scorn and contempt, and something which made him curse his idiotic folly in having tried to win by foul means what might have been his by fair; he saw the half-awakened love which the girl felt for him die out, quenched for ever in her insulted pride. She pointed to the door, and said one word only —‘Go.‘ He smiled faintly, as though he would fain have believed that she was in jest, hesitated for a second, then moved a step to wards her ; but she never faltered now, and her expression of scorn was unchanged. * Go', she repeated; ‘ I know the harm you have done me, but that will be easier to bear than k the shame of having liked and trusted you.’ Before he could speak again, the seriousness of the situation was over, the door was opened, and, to his indignation, and to her surprise and relief, a waiter appeared, and announced that the carriage had come for Lady Emily Hare. * Stay,’ said Emily, as the man, having made his unexpected communication, was about to withdraw, ‘ I have been waiting here for my brother, but as the carriage has come, I shall leave Mr Herman to meet him and without taking any further notice of the crestfallen tutor, who received [his checkmate with many a [silent curse, she swept out of the room with apparent dignity, but feeling, with much humiliation, that she had no one to blame but herself for the peril she had been in. Her mother was waiting alone to receive her, and Emily explained as briefly as possible what had occurred, and, without betraying the audacious attempt of Herman to entrap her, suggested his] dismissal, on the plea that he had evidently but little influence over his pupil. ‘ So Sir Everard says, my dear,’ responded the Countess; * you did not know he had come back, did you ? He saw you at the hotel, heard you were there, I forget which, and suggested that the carriage should be sent for you at once, as he was sure you would not like to stay on there alone —and, indeed, it must have been rather awkward.’ And thus it was that Lady Emily learned how her sudden rescue had come about. With infinite tact Sir Everard, supposing that it would give Emily pain to allude to the events of the evening to him, left the castle again early the following morning ; he was gone even before Herman appeared with his sulky pupil, to receive his dismissal from Lady Nether wood ; and so determined was she that he should go at onee, that he was obliged to leave without again seeing Lady Emily, although he made every effort, short of asking directly for an interview, to do so. But, about a week later, as she was walking alone in a wood near the house, the man whom she thought she had loved, but whom now she both feared and hated, appeared suddenly before her, and, with wild, passionate words, appealed to her for forgiveness, declaring that only a life of devotion could atone to her for the wrong he had done. She stood as though she did not hear, and when he paused she once more told him to go, and he obeyed, muttering threats of vengeance as he did so; and then poor Emily, feeling both lonely and miserable, ashamed to think of the words to which she had listened, and yet assured in her heart that no stain could truthfully rest upon her good name, wandered on through the wood and down to the shore upon which the warm tide was rushing. Sir Everard Wilmot was again at the castle, and she did not wish to meet him until she had recovered her composure. But, an hour later, he found her out by the sea, and there, when he had beguiled her for an hour with pleasant talk, he asked her if she could be happy as his wife. With one backward glance to the love which it had been the dream of her girlish heart, not only to give, but to inspire, she left in his the hand he had taken, but the only gladness she felt was in the prospect of leaving the place which had grown hateful to her. The idea of loving the man who had won her never occurred to to her, she had looked upon him as too old, and too much her superior in intellect; and besides, even now no word of love fell from his lips, and the kiss which he bent down to give her, was as cold as the cheek upon which it fell, But he did think her very lovely, a woman to do credit to his taste ; and if for one moment he wished that she were less cold and full of self-control at that supreme moment of her life, he quickly relapsed into his usual calm content, and Emily never guessed from his manner that he had heard her name coupled with that of Herman, and that he knew nothing could so effectually give the lie to any slanders afloat as her marriage with himself. But the romance’of those two lives was still to come, , And so it came to pass that Lady Emily Hare became. Lady .Emily Wilmot, and passed at once from her seclusion at Netherwood Castle into the gay and brilliant world, of which her handsome and distinguished husband was so great an ornament; she fell into her place naturally, and was all the more appreciated because she was a novelty. ( And then after a season or two, when the, inexperienced and romantic girl had learned, to know her own power, she found herself a queen of fashion, her name would be given to a head-dress, and her approval was enough to bring a new colour into vogue ; invitations to her dinner and evening parties were eagerly hoped for; and for a ball, a concert, or a charitable bazaar to be under her patronage, was to ensure its success. ( But in the midst of these social triumphs there was a void in her heart, and a want ini her life which no gaiety could satisfy, and no popularity could fill; she had fallen desperately in love with her husband, and the conviction that he had married her fronj pity, and to save , her from Herman, made her life, outwardly so bright and happy, a burden to her. He was luadness itself to

her, she had not a wish ungratified, and he was very proud of her, but no caressing word ever passed his lips, and not even the intimacy of married life had broken down the reserve between them. And yet, had she but known it, she had grown dearer to him than his own life, but her excessive coldness and indifference of demeanour sealed his lips, and she never suspected how, in the thickest buzz of conversation, the low tones of her sweet pathetic voice were listened for by him, and that the mere touch of her dress in passing would thrill through him, and set his heart throbbing like a girl’s. Popular, and admired as she was, no action of hers caused him the slightest uneasiness; but, he was jealous of the past, he made up his mind that the worthless adventurer, Herman, was dearer to her than he had suspected, and he had a maddening suspicion that, in a carefullyguarded locket which she always wore, the likeness of the tutor was treasured. Once, half in jest, he had tried to see what the trinket held, but with a force in her slight fingers, which he could not resist, except by equal force on his side, Emily had withstood him, and, too proud to ask twice, he had turned coldly from her, and the incident, trivial as it was, widened the distance between them. It was autumn, four years had passed since their marriage, and they were at Sir Everard’s home in South Devon, the house was full of guests, and the host and hostess spared no pains to make the time pass pleasantly. One afternoon some of the party, being weary of badington and croquet, went for a row on the river which flowed through the grounds; and Sir Everard and Emily were in the same boat—indeed he was never far from her when he could be near. A merry girl of the party had been singing to her guitar, and when it became almost time to land, she was entreated for just one song more, something plaintiff to accord with the hour, for it was late in the afternoon, and the shade of the fine old trees which grew on the bank made twilight upon the water. The song began, a pretty, slow air with a pathetic melody in it which dwelt upon the ear j the singer was supposed to enumerate all the things which make up the happiness of life, and each verse ended with the refrain—But there is nought in this world like love. Sir Everard, who was watching his wife’s beautiful face, saw a quiver, as of pain, pass over it when the words fell first from the sweet singer’s lips ; at the end of the second verse her eyes filled with tears ; at the end of the song she looked up suddenly, met her husband’s gaze, but failed to read in it the secret of his heart. But his resolve was taken, he had everything which the world could give except love, and he determined, if possible to win that supreme blessing Jrom his wife by showing her how dear she had become to him. That evening she had never looked more lovely or been more brilliant; Sir Everard watched her as she went about among her guests, hardly able to believe that she was his by the closest of all human ties, aud full of dread that the barrier of long cherished hopeless love for another stood between them. And yet, if that were so, why did she look at him so wistfully that afternoon? was it because she felt that he had come between her and happiness ? Determined once more to try the effect he asked for the same song again, but before the end of the second verse, Lady Emily had slipped quietly from the room, and ere long her maid came in to say that her mistress was not very well and begged to be excused. It was past eleven before Sir Everard could escape from his guests, and then he went at once to look for his wife } her dressing room was lighted, and the maid who was in attendance in the ante-room, told him that her mistress was there asleep on the sofa j dismissing the girl, who looked surprised at his unwonted appearance, he softly entered the room, and went to Emily’s side. Her head was half turned from him on the pillow, and he gazed with all the rapture of a lover upon the beautiful white throat upon which there no ornament, except the velvet ribbon which held the much prized locket, and it seemed hard to Sir Everard that that obnoxious trinket should obtrude itself just then. Bending down closer, he saw tears upon her eyelids, and oh I what a jealous bound his heart gave, the locket was not her sole ornament, but it was open in her hand, so that her last thought waking must have been for its contents. He took it gently from her relaxed fingers, which even in sleep seemed to resist him, and turned its opened side towards the light, to find confronting him, not Herman’s hated face, but a likeness of himself. What did it mean ? did she then love him after all? the emotion which shook him from head to foot communicated itself to the sleeper, she awoke with a start, and found her husband kneeling beside her. “Emily, my darling, there is nought in this world like love,” he said softly. He read her answer in her eyes, as she flung her arms about his neck.