LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 675, 18 August 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

WHY ARE YOU WANDERING HERE, I PRAY. ( Continued.) ‘ I believe you. New milk, fresh breadhome baked—and butter, why, it’s a feast for the gods ! If you had tried for a month you couldn’t have got anything I like better; only I’m to vexed you took the trouble.’ * I should have gone away if I couldn’t have got you some breakfast, and then you would have gone back to Beechlands and had it. I should have been sorry to leave you ; but I can’t bear the idea of any one being hungry.’ ‘ Only I wasn’t hungry.’ * Then I’ll never believe in the air of Fritham Plain again.’ And in truth, when he began upon Mattie’s bread, he discovered that Fritham air had an appetising effect. Georgie laid a snow-white damask napkin on the tree, and in a second or two a dainty feast was spread in the wilderdness. ‘Won’t you take some of Mattie’s bread too!’ he asked.

‘Yes; I brought a supply for myself, for I’m hungry, if you a r e not, sir,’ noting the rapidity with which the rolls disappeared, ‘ Now you are laughing at me, so I won’t eat any more.’ ‘ I was laughing at the thought of what uncle George would say if he saw me at this moment. ’

‘ Would it' be a laughing matter .” She made a little mono. ‘ 1 shouldn't care what he said. He is unkind.’

* You would tell him you had come out to hear the larks sing. • ‘ That’s just what I did come out for, but I shouldn’t say so to him. I should more likely give him to understand that I came to hear the nightingales. ’ The deep silence of imnn had fallen on the forest plain, when, for G.orgie, that morning of unexpected' and unclouded happiness came to an end. Such moments only come once or twice in a life time, because, perhaps, time takes off the freshness of feeling that gave them their real charm. They have about them the very dew of youth; and when that is gone—well, noon has its glories too, but they arc v not those of tire morning. 'The light that never was on sea or land was all around Georgie, like a cloud of gold, as she stood on the plain watching Philip’s receding figure the second time within - the twenty-four hours. The separation was , only temporary; he had gone back to Beechlands that he might accompany Julia on her visit to Georgie. They were to go to llufus’s Stone together, and an afternoon of happiness would succeed that morning of exquisite delight. ‘ Georgie, I’ve not seen you all day. Why are you out here in this scorching sun ? What are yon doing X said George Arnold. ’ .

He had come so quickly and suddenly upon her that, till he spoke, she had not

been aware of his approach. The proceedintf evening his voice had broken in on hd dream to-day the dream was become so much of a reality that even he could not dispel it. She looked at him calmly, her eyes radiant with joy. „ T . , ‘What am I doing, uncle George? Listenngto the nightingales. Don’t you hear them go sweet and clear V : He looked at her in return. «Very sweet and clear truly, Georgie ; only— nightingales usually sing by night, i«nd ndt by day; so people say, at least. ‘ People who Only hear with their ears, not with their hearts, may say so; I say they sing night and day for those who can ■ hear them.’ , >■ * Fie, fie, Georgie ! Come out of the sun, and don’t deceive yourself and try to deceive me with such sophistries. Part 111. : * The sage looked grave, the maiden shy When Lubin jumped o’er the stile hard by. The sage lookedfgraver, the maid more glum, '' . „ , r Lubin —he twiddled his finger and thumb. - “ Pie, fie!” was the old man’s cry, i - “ Poppies like these, I own, are rare; 1 And of such nightingale’s'songsbeware.” g George Arnold was one of those people who never lose their temper. No matter what storm raged, his outward equanimity was not disturbed. He contented himself With being quietly sarcastic and diabolically .provoking j refusing, in a low incisive measured tone, to discuss the matter in dispute, and thereby effectually preventing a light understanding of it. Such coldblooded people are answerable for half the quarrels that take place. It is impossible to? move them, and they never forget, as they never forgive, an affront, real or imaginary. During all the months that he had been making his sister’s life miserable, it was his proud boast that he had not been once passionately angrj. It would have been better if he tad. There is some hope of putting ah end to misconstruction when a person says out openly what he means and feels; but George Arnold never did this. He confined himself to sneers that left unhealable wounds; and sarcasms that cut like a knife, ahd then flattered himself that he had not violated Christian practice. On Georgie’s fiery, yet affectionate, nature this, cold repellent maimer had a maddening effect. Her acquaintance with Philip caused the first real collision between her and her uncle, and the novelty of the encounter made it the more trying to both ; yet he suffered more than she did. To her his conduct now was but the natural sequence of his usual treatment of her on the subject of her father’s family ; and although she : resented it, she hardly expected it to be different. With him. the case was quite otherwise, and he was both pained and surprised by Georgie’s apparent indifference to bis feelings. He had fully meant after hearing that cry, to be kind both in word and deed; but there are people with soft enough hearts and good intentions to whom Nature seems to have denied the power of expressing themselves through speech or manner. Some demon—pride, very often, or a natural fll-conditionedness--prompts them always to say the wrong thing—to be sarcastic when they should be genial, or outspoken when circumstances call imperatively for a delicate reticence.

‘When her uncle turned away abruptly into, the forest, Georgie, without bestowing much further thought on him, went home to decorate her drawing-room with flowers in honour ot her expected guests. On entering he,house she found, to her rather indifferei t surprise, that it was long past luncheon time and that it was in search of her ‘the master’had gone out. Mattie, knowing she was with her cousin, had pot been uneasy, and was only concerned for fear George should find the two together, and thereby take up wrong potions as to his niece’s candour. Even she did not.guage the full depth of his affection for Georgie, but she was less indifferent to his anger than the latter, in her first dream of love.

* Why didn’t you tell him to go to luncheon without me, Mattie ? You knew I had had something. ’ V‘-My dearie, I didn’t like to do that; I wanted you to tell him yourself.’ fHe won’t listenhe turns away, saying nasty unkind things.’ , ‘ You will tell him though, Miss Georgie dear,’ said Mattie entreatingly. ‘ You see if I tell him he’ll think you deceived him ; and if- you; don’t tell him at once, he’ll think I, deceived him.’ < ? ‘ You dear old Mattie, he thinks the worst possible of every one already. But don’t worry yourself; I’ll tell him all at luncheon.’ .

And she did, with somewhat defiant courage. He listened, first to her rather proud apology for having kept him waiting, and then to her story, with that cold sneering look on his. face which she found so trying. ‘And you mean to marry him, I suppose ?’ was the comment when she had done. She crimsoned to the roots of her hair.

* Marry - him, uncle George ! I never thought of such a thing—nor did he either,’ indignantly. ‘ Oh, of : couse not. Your mother never thought of marrying your father either.’ ‘ Uncle George !’ she burst forth; but he stopped her with a wave of his hand. [To he continued.)