LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 370, 19 August 1875, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE ATHELSTON’S OF MOETE v> ATHELSTON. (From the Dublin University Magazine.) Continued. Poor lady ! visions of the slighted Eowena rose before her, and she was not altogether easy in her mind about this hero of her daughter’s affections ; and truth to say, she might well have trembled if she had known how little Lord Athelston had ever thought on the subject at all. However, he felt quite convinced of the constancy of Ins own affections now, as with eager warmth and earnestness he declared, ‘ That he was not bound to consult any one ; that he was thoroughly his own master, and that, even if he were not, he would be true to her at all Sybil, lying on her bed, never felt the hours passing, nor heeded the shades of night darkening the room. She did not know the loving care of the mother, who had sent off all the children to church with their governess, and now startled the girl from her dreamy repose by her gentle kiss. ‘ Mamma ! oh, mamma ! what shall I do ?’ and Sybil, now fully roused to perfect consciousness of all that had happened, laid her head upon her mother’s breast, and sobbed gently; while Lady Eleanor kissed and petted her, cooing soft words of love and joy, till the children were heard coming home from church, when she went downstairs to preside over the family tea, a substantial meal in this household, where eight young people, not to speak of their elders, had had nothing to eat since a two o’clock dinner. Sybil rose, and, lighting a candle, adornep herself with an unusual amount of care—she was not her own property now, and it behoved her to make the most of herself now for the sake of that other to whom she belonged. The whole family were collected in conclave as she entered the dining-room, Lord Athelston looking resigned, with his back to the fire, while Mr Charnleigh, with spectacles pushed back on his bald head, exElained an intricate point of doctrine; but er appearance was a signal for a general uproar, and no sooner had her father kissed and congratulated her, than the whole junior members of the family commenced a kind of wardance round her, much to Miss Braddon’s inward disgust, and which properly would have ended in the total annihilation of the dress so carefully put on, if the maid had not opportunely appeared with a very invitinglooking dish of jam. At this the young cormorants settled once more into their places, while Miss jßraddon sighed; she was romantic, and would have liked to have seen the young people kneeling hand clasped in hand, with all their sisters and brothers, flanked on either side by herself and their mother, weeping in a circle round them, while the venerable head of the house pro nounced a blessing on their future lives.— Poor Miss Braddon, faded now, and rapidly approaching that period of life when even the most sanguine of her sex could hardly hope to be the heroine of a romance, neverthe less dearly loved to act the only part wherein she could possibly be personally concerned, and could weepj any a mount at the smallest possible provocation. ‘I say,’ exclaimed Master Tom, his mouth bursting with bread and jam, * what will old Qum say ? I should not be surprised if he had to take to his bed, and then no more Latin for some time. Crikey ! would not that be jolly?’ Mr Quill was the curate, who, for a consideration, had the very doubtful pleasure of instructing Master Tom four days in the week in the rudiments of Latin, preparatory to his being sent to a public school, an event becoming daily more desirable, and who was popularly supposed by the young people to be the victim of a hopeless passion for Sybil, though for some time Miss Braddon had indulged in the faint hope that she herself was the attraction, which made even Tom and Latin to be desired. Sybil made a violent effort to silence the young gentleman, but he was not one to be at any time easily shut up ; and now Lord Athelston professing great anxiety when he heard of a rival, and begging to hear all the particulars, it was quite sufficient to set Master Tom off; and in spite of his sister’s blushes, and his mother’s feeble remonstrances, he indulged in a very glowing account of the curate’s devotion and agonies, and his utter incapability, under the circumstances, of his instructing any boy in Latin. Chapter A. And now we must return to Morte d’Athelston, and see how the time was passing there; very slowly and wearily it seemed, as the Lady Eowena, almost imperceptibly, was regaining her lost strength. Listless, indifferent, heedless, apparently almost unconscious of the every day events passing around her, nevertheless she steadfastly refused to leave her home, and clung with a strange tenacity to her lonely, desolate life, in spite of the urgent appeals of the little village doctor, who prescribed change of air and scene as the only thing to restore tone to her exhausted frame. Sir Gregory Powder had taken his final fee, and giving his parting opinion that nothing was wanting to complete her recovery but cheerful society, and the companionship of young people of her own age. Wise Sir Gregory ! anxious little village doctor ! both of you in this instance were equally impotent to cure the girl’s malady, or minister to a mind so bitterly diseased, She sought no change of scene, nor yet society, while she was quietly, but decidedly, discouraging even the old housekeeper’s visits, who at first used to bring her knitting, and sit with her darling to keep her company, but she soon perceived that her darling did not appreciate her kind intentions, and so subsided back to her own dominions, and wondered, as indeed did the whole household, ‘what it all meant, and what had become of Lord Athelston. ’ Lying on a sofa in a luxurious little room, which a father’s love had fitted up with every elegance and comfort, Lady Eowena did not hear the sound of wheels approach ing, nor the consequent bustle of an arrival, till old Mrs Binny, with tears streaming from her eyes at the sight of one whom she had not seen for so long, entered the room to inform her that her aunt, Lady Eleanor, had arrived, and wished much to see her. A cloud came on her ladyship’s brow, and she mattered something to herself, which was certainly nob a welcome to her unknown relative. ‘ What right had she to come and tease her in her misery, this woman whom she had never seen, and of whom she kneu nothing, saving that she was the mother ot the girl who had darkened her life with misery and crime,’

She knew at once what she had come for, and she smiled bitterly to herself. She had never asked one question, she had never shown one sign which could lead any one to guess that she knew the truth ; and yet she never for one moment doubted that her cousin was indeed alive, nor thought that the pale figure she had seen standing by her dying father’s side might have been the phantom of her distempered brain. She knew that sooner or later she would have to leave the home of her fathers, and lately even she had begun to wonder why Lord Athelston had left her undisturbed so long ; but now that the edict had come, she hated with a bitter hate the woman who had come to turn her adrift. Nevertheless, she was as ever courteous in speech and manner, veiling, as had ever been her wont, her deepest feelings under a graceful, well-bred demeanour ; and now she desired the housekeeper to show her aunt up to her, as she was too weak to receive her downstairs. Then, calmly lying back on the sofa, she awaited, without any of the inward emotion that was tearing her soul being visible, the advent of her foe. It would not have needed her previous knowledge, nor yet the servant’s formal announcement of her name, for Lady Eowena to recognize her aunt, a no doubt much-de-veloped and matronly edition of Sybil, barring the degenerate brown eyes, albeit strangely like Sybil, and it was more of hatred than weakness that caused the blue eyes to close languidly and shut out the unwelcome vision. But it was only a momentary impulse ; then she made an effort to rise and politely welcome her aunt, but that gentle-hearted loving woman was by her side in one moment. The fragile, delicate figure in black, shorn of all its wealth of yellow hair, and looking strangely old and wan in the delicate lace cap, albeit that it was most tastefully constructed by the dainty French fingers of Mademoiselle Auralie, had roused all her tenderest sympathies. ‘ Don’t stir, dear,’ she said gently, * I am, indeed, grieved to see you looking so ill.’ ‘Oh ! I am much better, thank you; I shall soon be quite strong and myself again,’ Lady Eleanor smoothed her neice’s pillow with loving hands; it seemed a terrible thing to her that this girl had been left to suffer so long alone, and she wondered at herself that she had never realised her desolate position before, or come to keep her company. She murmered out her contrition now in low soft tones, but Lady Eowena assured her aixnt * that she was much better alone ;’ and very soon Lady Eleanor insensibly began to feel, though she could hardly tell why, that the girl spoke the truth. She sat down then, looking pitifully upon the weary, wasted form before her, pondering sadly how she should tell her unwelcome tale ,• and Lady Eowena, lying back on her couch with closed eyes and lips, inwardly determined to give her aunt no assistance whatever, by putting any questions or showing any curiosity as to the cause of her visit. Soon the servant brought in candles, and a message from the housekeeper to know ‘ What Lady Eleanor would wish about dinner ?’ ‘ Oh, Lady Eleanor,’ exclaimed Eowena, ‘ how neglectful I have been, and you must be so tired and hungry, I take my invalid’s dimier early j but what would you like ?’ ‘ I am not hungry, indeed, my dear. When I arrived I went into Mrs Binny’s room ; you know we were old friends, though I have not seen her for five-and-twenty years, and she gave me some tea, and made me [quite comfortable before I sent her to you ;’ and Lady Eleanor’s eyes were full of tears, and her lips trembled as she thought of all those long years of banishment from her childhood’s home. ‘ Oh ! but you must have something more than that? Tell Mrs Binny to send up some cutlets or something of that kind with tea, and as quickly as she can, and tell Auralie to come here and show Lady Eleanor her room. ’ The servant withdrew, while Lady Eowena turning to her aunt, graciously ‘ hoped that she would not mind taking her tea in that room, as it was the only one she had inhabited since her father’s death.’ ‘ Certainly not, dear,’ Lady Eleanor replied, ‘ you must not think of making any change for me. ’ Tea was over, and Lady Eowena had again sunk back on her sofa, while Lady Eleanor comfortably (as far as the body went) ensconced herself in an easy chair but her thoughts were sadly perturbed on the subject that had caused her journey, and the good lady sat staring into the fire, and seeking for some inspiration whereby she might introduce the painful topic. ‘ You must find this place very lonely, dear,’ she said, having recourse to an obvious fact to open the conversation. (To be continued,')