LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 476, 24 December 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MY HERO,

( Concluded .) ‘ Ah, Fleming, come to help ?’ said uncle, grimly; ‘ better stand aside, my lad; we shall soil you. ’ He laughed, and whispered something to me about Oliver Murray’s appearance ; hut I turned away indignantly, as Murray smiled pleasantly, and said—- ‘ Ah, I don’t look much of a lady’s man now.’ * Oh, good heavens, I forgot that hoy,' cried my uncle, and he ran down a few yards to the edge of the stream, waving his hand frantically ; for there on the other side of the swift current, now a hundred yards broad, came our boy Phil, cantering on his pony to where should have been the ford, but which was now a fierce torrent, fifteen feet deep. * Back, Phil, back !’ cried my uncle; and we all waved our bands to him; but the reckless boy, who heard nothing for the roar of the waters, made our blood run cold, for, without a moment’s hesitation, he gave the pony the whip, dashed down the road, and plunged in to swim across. I uttered a shriek, I think for the first time in my life ; uncle gave a groan and staggered back; Oliver Murray stood as if turned to stone ; and John Fleming caught me in his arms and tried to turn me away from the dreadful sight; but I struggled from him, to see our darling wave his hand for help, as the torrent swept him and his pony out farther into the stream. Once the gallant boy tried hard to turn the pony’s head to swim back, but he was in the power of a torrent that would have mastered a hundred times the little Shetland’s strength, and I knew that there was not a particle of hope. We all ran down by the side of the rushing stream, and could now see the boy’s despairing look, as he waved his hand to us, while John Fleming ran about crying—- * A boat, a boat!—Go back, Philip, go back. ’

‘Oh, uncle,’ I cried, catching his arm, * you must not —you cannot!’ for he was taking off his coat, ‘ Oh, my boy ! my boy!’ he groaned. ‘ God help me, I can’t swim a stroke !’ At that moment my eyes fell on Oliver Murray, and I felt again poor uncle’s words, even in that horrible time of trial. The man was noble —handsome now, in the wondrous look that came over him; for while the spick-and span, well-dressed rival ran calling for help, the other had thrown off coat, vest, and boots, and rolled up the dripping shirt over his great muscular arms.

One moment lie was at my side, to catch my hand, as his bright eyes looked into mine, saying plainly, for I read them—- ‘ Good-bye!’ The next moment he was running from us twenty yards down the rushing stream, where, with a dash and a plunge, he forced his way in, and swam boldly out to try and' meet the drowning boy. I pray Heaven 1 may nevei again see such a sight as that, though my heart throbbed with joy the while, as I saw my hero struggle on. now swept away, and whirled round in an eddy, now borne under in a whirlpool, while the pony battled bravely on in midstream, but without Philip, -who was now swiming alone, but sinking -sinking as I watched him, unable to remove my eyes from the horrible sight. It was like a hideous nightmare. I remember Fleming coming to me, to draw me away, and I believe I struck at him with my hands to keep him back. I remember seeing uncle running along, far out in the water, that threatened to sweep him too away ; and 1 remember seeing our darling sink while Oliver was swimming far below. Then all seemed to be misty, dreamy, and confused, till I woke like one from a trance to hoar the shouting of those by my side, for I could not have been insensible a minute. ‘Yes!’ —‘No!’—‘He’ll never do it! ‘ He’s got him !’— ‘ No, no, it’s all over ! Oh !’

There was one deep’groan in chorus then, and I dashed lower down the stream, to see low down in the rushing water a dark head and a pair of starting eyes, not twenty yards away from the edge. Then I saw the strong swimmer was spent, was being swept away, and that all was over, when the stream bore him against a standing tree, to which he clung, till a brave fellow swam to him with a rope, and I saw what seemed to bo three Dodies dragged ashore. It was a hard fight for life even then, for both Murray and our darling were insensible when carried up to the mill cottage; but willing hands were about the doctor, and Mr Wilson helped; and that evening I knelt by Oliver Murray’s bedside, holding his hand, as I wept over it tears of thankfulness and joy. 1 don’t think it was then, but two days afterwards, while I was his nurse—for he was very ill, cut and injured by the stones of the valley side—that, in answer to a question, I told him he was mistaken about John Fleming. ‘ But you love him ?’ he said, in a faint whisper. ‘No,’ I said, in as low a voice, ‘and I never could.’ Need I tell you that I hid my blushing face in his two hands, that were stretched out feebly to me ? or, more than that, need I say that for many, many happy years I have been the wife of Oliver Murray—my hero? G. Manvule Flaw.