LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 460, 4 December 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE WITCH THORN. Continued. Over these pages, though they would have had much interest for him at another time, Owen passed lightly till he came upon an entry which chained his attention from thenceforth And now, leaving him to thread his way through the narrative, and gradually discover the information he sought, the substance of what it revealed may be given. The first mention of Stephen Kearney, was as a frequent visitor—the only one—at the residence of Miriam’s father, not, it appeared, a favoured guest. Miriam’s allusions to the coldness of her father’s manner to his visitor, were frequent. He appeared, however, to possess a singular influence over her. But the fact that he was more than double her age seemed to prevent the possibility of love from entering her mind. Indeed, there appeared something almost of fear to mingle in her thoughts of him. When at length Kearney declared his attachment, and asked her to be his wife, she was altogether taken by surprise, and did not know what to answer. He pressed his suit with vehemence, and at length, constrained by the force of his eloquence, she almost yielded. But on the subject being mentioned to her father, he resolutely refused his consent to the marriage, and told Miriam the reasons for this refusal, which were as follows. Before meeting with Mr Gerard, Miriam’s mother had been betrothed to Stephen Kearney, who was in her own rank of life, and lived in the neighbourhood. Her faithlessness had driven him almost to the verge of insanity, and he had vowed eternal vengeance against the gentleman who had robbed him of his bride. Meeting the newly married pair, he pronounced a dreadful curse upon their heads. It seemed as if the malediction, uttered on the threshold of the church, had an ill effect. Though, for a month or two, all seemed fair, clouds soon began to gather. Bad news came from home, he was disowned and disinherited by his family, on account of the match lie had made, and but for a small fortune, which he could not be deprived of, would have been left penniless. Worse than this followed. The fear began gradually to creep over him, that the marriage for which he had sacrificed everything was a mistake. - There was little real sympathy between himself and his wife.

Disappointed, he devoted himself to intellectual pursuits, and in his books, sought to forget his blighted prospects. He was aroused suddenly to find that, from whatever cause, his wife’s mind had become deranged. This occurred shortly before Miriam’s birth. After that her madness increased, and was pronounced incurable. Her death, in a mysterious and terrible manner, shortly followed. Poison was pronounced to be the cause, and supposed to be administered by her own hand. Her husband, however, found himself charged with her murder. But the case never came to a trial, as the charge was at once proved to be totally without foundation. He discovered afterwards that it was through the agency of Stephen Kearney, who had followed him and his wife when they went to Italy, that the accusation had been brought against him. Though defeated, Kearney still vowed vengeance. He considered Mr Gerard equally guilty either way. If he had not administered the poison, it was his neglect and ill treatment which caused his wife to destroy herself. And he swore, since the law would not assist him, to avenge her without its aid, sooner or later. From that time Mr Gerard saw nor heard nothing of Kearney till a few months back, when he called at his residence, requesting that their former enmity might be forgotten, and they should be friends in future. He had, during the years that had passed, gained a considerable fortune, and now occupied a position very different from his original one. Mr Gerard met his offer of friendship coolly enough, for he distrusted Kearney. Of late he had begun, from various signs, to distrust him more than ever, and desire the discontinuance of his visits. He believed that Kearney’s offer of marriage to Miriam was not made in good faith. Knowing his character, he believed that his object in wishing to obtain his daughter’s hand was, that he might ill-treat her, in order to be revenged on him. Notwithstanding his rejection, Kearney contrived a secret interview with Miriam, in which, threatening to produce additional proofs against her father, that would cause him to be again arrested on the former charge he urged her to fly with him. The interview was discovered by her father, and Miriam was sent to her uncle in Ireland. Her state of mind on arriving, has been shown, and how, gradually, as her love for her cousin grew up, and no bad news from Italy reached her, she became calmer and happier. Kearney, however, had not abandoned his purpose. He discovered whither Miriam had gone. He followed her ; and in the disguise of a wandering Italian violinist, gained entrance to the Gerard’s house. When he sang, Miriam recognised the voice that had so often held her in a delighted spell, now it sounded in her ears like the death-knell of her happiness. When going away, he slipped a letter into her hand. It requested, or rather commanded, that she should meet him that night, the hour midnight, the place the witch-thorn in the Black Glen. If she failed to come, he would return to Italy the next morning, and fulfil all that he had threatened against her father. Miriam shuddered at the thought of such a meeting, and the hour and place chosen for it. She knew he had named that spot because of its intense loneliness, and its reputation, which he doubtless remembered, of being haunted ; so that there was no danger they would be intruded upon. But she was brave, and for her father’s sake she resolved to go. Kearney met her in the disguise of a monk, with cowl drawn over his face, in order that should any stray peasant chance to pass on the ridge of the overhanging hill, and catch a glimpse of him, his superstitious fears would make him take instant flight. Once more he urged Miriam to elope with him. She gave him no direct reply, rather led him to think she might be persuaded, for she knew that her father intended quitting Italy, on a distant tour, and her object was, at any cost, to keep Kearney away till he should be gone. As, however, she still put him off longer and longer, he grew impatient. But for a change which she quickly discovered had taken place in his feelings, all her excuses would probably have been useless. Revenge was not now his only object ; he had learned to love her, though that gentle word ill describes the fierce feeling that struggled in his breast. Once or twice the thought seemed to occur to him that she might be deceiving him.

* If it is so,’ he cried, and ids eyes dashed through the darkness as the idea struck him, ‘ beware ; you think perhaps that because I love you I could not injure you ; don’t count on that. Even now I scarcely know sometimes whether I hate or love you most. When you look like your father, as you sometimes do, I hate you ; but when you look like her, I love you. ’ His voice, as he uttered tbe word love, contrasted strikingly with the harshness of his former tone. It expressed well the abrupt transition of feeling he described. * But she was false. Her nature is in you ; the current of deceit is in your veins. But if you deceive me, on your head will descend the punishment, both of her falsehood and your own, and your father shall not escape me. Give me your hand, and swear to me by the black heaven above our heads, and the earth beneath us, and all the spirits of darkness that are abroad this night to hear your oath, that you are true to me.’ As he paused, the witch-thorn, under which they stood, creaked and groaned in the wind. The tempest swept through the glen. The rain descended in torrents. The elements seemed as if mad. It was that terrible night when Owen, watching at his window, had thought it impossible Miriam could venture out. ‘ Oh, let me go, ’ she cried, ‘ I can hardly stand, and I am wet, wet through. Ah ! let me go. I will give you your answer very soon, but let me go now. ’ Something in her voice or words seemed to change her mind. ‘Go, then,’ he said, ‘ if you arc playing any game with me, 1 will find means to discover it.’ He let her depart. The next night was the one of Owen’s visit to the glen, Miriam was already in the grounds when she saw him. She concealed herself among the shrubbery till he passed. Then re-entered the house, and at her window watched, in an agony of suspense, for his return. He came at last. * Thank God! safe,’ she murmured, as with a sigh of relief she lay down. And it was the sound of these words that reached Owen as he softly unclosed the door. It may here be mentioned that, on the same night, Annie Blake had also gone to the glen. Night after night she had watched Miriam take her way thither, and she resolved, for her Owen’s sake, to discover h uobject, On nearing the witch-thorn, how-

ever, the darkness and loneliness of the place overcame her courage. Her fears rose to such a pitch that she could proceed no farther, and lied back the way she had come. She did not know who it was that pursued her. Terror lent wings to her feet. On emerging from the glen, she concealed herself in a cave, the vicinity of which Owen forgot, and thus it was he lost sight of her.

When Miriam met Kearney next time, such a black thunder-cloud lowered on his brow, that she shrank from him in terror. He immediately charged her with having deceived him. He had heard that day, he said, that she was about to marry another ; and he had seen that other last night. If he had known then who it was that stood so near him, he would not have stayed as patiently in the abbey ; her lover might have repented his midnight wandering. Miriam tried to falter out a faint denial of her engagement. But he silenced her with a volley of dreadful oaths, that seemed to leap, hissing like burning coals, from his lips. Her extremity gave Miriam courage. Though she knew he might kill her, if he chose, she openly defied him. She told him he might go back to Italy as soon as he pleased; her father would be beyond his reach when he arrived. {To be continued.')