LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 638, 5 July 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN OLD LOVE STORY. Part 111. (Concluded.) The next day Joy was taken away, and I was helpless to prevent it; and so was Joy herself, for she was under age. Indeed, her gentle nature I knew had been quelled out of all thought of resistance by ijhe squire. 1 saw nothing of her, in spite of all attempts to do so, and I was nearly broken hearted. Willy came to the mill, and told me how sorrowful Joy was to go, but a quiet uncomplaining spirit possessed her, so that the squire imagined her feelings to be but little touched. She sent a few tender lines of farewell to me. Thßy lie before me now as-I write. Often do I take them put of then? quiet resting peace andjgaze at them until the old deep springs, far down in my inmost heart, are loosed once more, and my eyes grow dim with tears. I told Willy that nothing would hold me, but that I would - follow her, and he implored me not to do so, but to have confidence in him, that he would endeavor for me, and all would yet be well. At last I yielded so far as to promise not to do anything so foolish; but I kr.ew I could not keep my promise very long, sv.ch was the agonising unrest of my heart. I need not say much more about the few weeks of suspense I spent at that time. But now and again I was cheered by messages of affection from Joy, which were forwarded through Willy, for she was watched almost like a prisoner. At last she wrote to me a few lines so despondingly that I was startled; for I felt sure something was wrong, and rest I could not until I had seen her again. So I set out for the south, _ little thinking that Willy was already on his way to fetch me. Yet, so it was; for he arrived at the mill the day after I left. He came quickly posting after me, and overtook me at a wayside inn, just before I arrived at my destination, and told me the news—such news of gladness. It was a long story before all was told, but few words will suffice for it here.

The squire, after leaving Joy with her relations, had gone to London, and was delayed there some weeks with business, and had then gone back to Joy on his way home. But he found her ill and drooping. My poor Joy. The good-hearted squire was thunder struck; and he then and there said it was past all comprehension. But he took her to his heart again for all that; and Willy said he cried over her, and blamed himself very heartily for all that had taken place; and that Joy clung to him sobbing and sobbing and declaring she would never leave him, not even for me.

The squire shook his head very sadly at that, ana with grief in his voice, he declared that she should have her will in everything for the future. Then Mr Harding and Willy consulted together ; and then it was that Willy played what he afterwards called his trump card—and that card was Edward Thane. The squire was hard to win over j but Willy pleacfed so well for me that he gave way at last, and when he did give in lie did so generously, as became his nature. Willy at once got permission to fetch me, and as I have said we met at the wayside inn, and before long I was standing in the

HKkI the squire, {[rasping his Bnand. Belong talk together about many MHrut it was concluded satisfactorily. I WTto have Joy, and to all else I was indifPterent. But great was the chill of disapWv pointment that came over me when I was P told I could not see her just then until all had been finally settled. It seems that it had been resolved to keep my visit a secret from Joy; but I was promised that all would be as I should desire very soon; so I was obliged to be satisfied with this, although I left the house with a reluctant step, but still with a light heart. Not long after this the squire himself • called upon m« at the mill with Joy; and in Uncle Stephen's old oak parlour her hand was placed in mine. I remember it was a gloomy winter day; but the little dark room was radiant to my eyes, radiant enough with abounding sunshine. Joy said but little ; her heart was too full for speech; but I had only to look down in the calm depth of her beautiful eyes, to read there the divine contentment of truest affection. The squire seemed quite satisfied with the turn that events had taken, and we all / walked up the lane together, I walking with / them to the hall, where Willy joined us, and we were all haDpy together. The cloud of the past seemed to have rolled away for ever; and the future seemed to me, as I thought it all over that night in my solitary chamber at the mill, to be a long, long path before me, with the bright white light of * happiness tfpon it. Down that long and happy path I seemed to see Joy and myself walking on and on; never looking back, never apart, but always onward in the encircling glow of perfect content. Alas, alas! Joy and I were formally engaged to be married within the year, and of course we met very often, and all restraint was taken away from my visits. Mr Harding and I became close friends, and I saw in him the clear soul of the true English gentleman. Smoothly ran the course of love with Joy and me. Like the sweet stillness of a summer day our two lives seemed hushed with the steadfast brightness of the golden present. And the future was to us brighter and more golden still. At last the day of our wedding drew near, and the guests were invited, and just then it was that the news came that Willy's regiment was ordered abroad, and it was a great blow to us that r he could not be present at our marriage. There was one honored guest, however, that Joy and I resolved should be there, and that was our old friend Bill Stubbs. Joy , *»dlhad frequently visited him, and one we invited him to our wedding; nor would we take a refusal. The dear old boy looked down at his battered wooden leg, and said it was too far gone for such gay affairs at weddings. He declared that Wanless, the carpenter, should make him a new one for the occasion. But I said no to that, for it was the leg I had always known, and he would not have seemed himself with any other. •'We were married, and lived at the mill; for it was Joy's own wish, and both the squire and myself agreed that it was better so. .Joy loved the dear old place, and the Sroudest man was I in all the North that ay when I brought home to it my bride. My own sweet wife at last. # » * *

Brief must now be the remaining part of my story, of my life history; for I find that not even the fortitude that comes with time can shut out the heavy pain that still has power to rack my heart when I sit down to think of my affliction. God help me. I cannot even now, after all the long sorrow of years, find comfort in resignation. With a contrite heart for my blamable shortcoming do I say this. But it would be false to say otherwise. Brief indeed was our married life. But two short years, and I laid my darling in the green churchyard, with her new-born infant by her side. **■ # * * Joy, my lost d»rling I Ah! not lost, but watching and waiting for me. Often in the night, when all is still, I look out heavenwards to the glittering stars, and I wonder if beyond the visible world you are looking down upon the old home where we were happy together; and I try if by wistful yearning of the heart, a yearning that is prayer, I may gain a passing sight of you. ""And sometimes I imagine 1 have seen you, dear love! with arms outstretched to me across the endless gulf of space, and then it is that I believe you have oesought for me in my loneliness a blessing from the Supreme. Lonely indeed ! for all are gone, and I only am left of all who are mentioned here. And I am old; and before long I must go also, trusting in God's great mercy, as I have learned to do.