LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 699, 15 September 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

DROPPED IN HASTE. (Concluded.) My toilet that morning took a far longer time than usual. Long gold earrings dangled in ray ears, which had been lately pierced by my foolish aunt’s advice ; the dancing sunlight brought out red and golden tints in the brown curls that fell on my shoulders ; the bright pink colour flushed my cheeks. I longed to be out holding up my blue skirt from the dew that I saw shining on the grass, Ah ! le bon temps de la jeunesse. Just then our servant Maria came in. 1 Are you going out Miss Inna,’ she asked. ‘ Yes,’ I answered sharply. * Because you have forgotten to drop the master’s mixture. Dr Banks has ordered him to take it every morning.’ It was true. My father had not been well, and the doctor had prescribed a soothing mixture which had to be dropped into a glass of water. I had never failed to remember it till this fatal morning. ‘ G-ive me the bottle,’ I said eagerly. Maria brought it and the glass. I took both from her, and turned to the window that the light might fall full on what I was doing. My eyes were dazzled with the sun. My hands were hot and trembling with ex-

citement. I tried to steady them, but in vain. Just then, the clock struck eleven. It was the time that I told Captain MacNamara I would be waiting for him in the greea lane I hastily uncorked the bottle, ana dropped one, two, three, four drops into the glass Five was the dose, but at the httn mv hand shook so much that two or three additional drops fell, or seemed to fall, from rim of the bottle into the glass. I stopped hesitatingly. Should 1 throw the dose away, and drop another The rapid ticking of the clock decided me ; it gave a warning that the minutes were hitting by, and that if I wished to keep my appointment, I must make haste. And as for the extra drop or two,’ I said to myself, ‘it can’t make much difference; and besides, I am not perfectly certain that another drop did ready fall. Perhaps it was only my own fancy.’ . So I handed the glass to Maria. ‘ Here, give this to your master, 1 said to her. ‘lamina great hurry now, and can t bring it to him myself; but tell him to take it, and that I will certainly be back in an hour’s time.’ She took it from me, and I set off. Truly that last day of April was a day of days for exultant joyful beauty. The sun seemed to bask in his own sunniness; the mountains veiled their rounded tops with a faint delicious mist; the blue heavens were a very ecstacy of colour ; the delicate air was as soft as a child’s breath ; the larks sang soaring up as if they would sing their very hearts out; and every little flowerput out a tender sprig of green, as though it, too, must have had a share in the universal joy. Some days seems nearer God than others, as some people are nearer heaven than earth. The children hummed tunes as they wandered along the lanes ; the waggoners had fastened festoons of laburnum in their horses’ heads, and they whisled as they trudged along. It seemed as though no one could be still. Why, ah ! why can we not be still, and let the secrets of nature creep into our hearts as they may ? That day was like a smile from God. I walked along, feeling the beauty of everything in a sort of far-off way. I was outside it, rather than a part of it; yet as I went on it began to steal into me, and life appeared unusually delicious, soft, and lovely. Ah ! life, what possibilities do you not promise to the woman’s heart of seventeen ? All this time I had not quite forgotten Captain MacNamara. I had hardly reached the end of the green lane, when I saw him advancing towards me, twitching the end of a green bough in one hand. I wonder how it is that when we expect to be satisfied we never are satisfied, that something is always wanted to round our circles. The moment I saw Captain MacNamara I felt that I missed —I know not what. His keen satirical face, with its thin sarcastic lips and quizzical eyes, seemed altogether out of f lace among those lovely aspects of nature, t was like a gas lamp in the daylight. He tried to be agreeable and chatty as usual, but I was not of harmony with him, or he mo r there was a rift in the lute ; we could not get on. Uow muoh, how very much, that ‘ could not get on’ implies ! I had an impression fon my mind that he intended ‘ saying something’ that day. Now I perceived that whatever it was, he could not get it out. It would not come. Was it through any fault of mine 1 Did I appear ugly or unpleasing in his sight? From my last glance at the glass, it had seemed to me that I had never looked so well. But no !itis no use striving against fate; fate will not, cannot be forced. We must yield to it; it will not yield to us. So we walked almost silently up the lane, and parted more coldly than we had ever done before. Why, I knew not, except that we did. Can we account for all the mists, the shadows, the nameless little changes which ripple over the surface of our souls ? I turned into our avenue gate with slow, lagging steps, rather crestfallen, if I must confess the truth, at the result of my appointment. I had expected a victory, and I had got—well! if not a defeat, still something very like one. My charms had not been potent enough to bring Captain MacNamara to a declaration. However, I really cared but little about him. ‘I have my father still,’ I said to myself. ‘He is always mine.’ This thought crept like halm over my spirit, and I was abundantly consoled. I stopped at the door before I went in—it seemed almost wrong to shut out the lovely world—but just then Maria ran down the stairs exclaiming,— ‘ Miss Lina, Miss Lina, I am so glad you’ve come in. Master ” * Well, what about your master?’ I interrupted sharply. ‘ I gave him the drops after you went out as you told me, and a few minutes ago I knocked at the study door to know if he wanted anything, and he never answered. It made me all of a tremble. ’

‘He did not hear you,’l said, ‘he often does not hear. ’ And disregarding her indignant answer that she had knocked loud enough to wake the dead, I opened the study door myself. Was there anything wrong ? Mr father was in his usual arm-chair, lying back with his face turned upwards, apparently asleep. I could not have told why, but as I looked a cold shiver ran through my veins. ‘ Papa !’ I cried, bending my face close to his. ‘ Papa ! Papa ! wake up, wake up,’ He never stirred. I touched his hand. It fell limp and nerveless by his side. Quick as thought it flashed before me that I might have dropped an overdose of the mixture into the glass, and that this had worked a fatal work. Perhaps he was dead, and I—l had killed him,

‘Papa papa 1’ I cried, and this time terror, agony, gripped me so tightly that the words seemed forced from my pale lips. ‘ Papa, Lina is calling you.’ Still no answer. Maria looked at me with terrified eyes. 1 read what was written in them. ‘ He is not . ’ I stopped short; my very lips refused to say the word * dead.’ It could not be put into plain speech. ‘He is not ill,’ I gasped, ‘ but tell James to saddle the horse to get Dr Banks—to bring him here ; quick, quick !’ Yet my heart sank within me, as 1 remembered that Dr Banks was seven long miles away. * Have pity on me, oh ! my God,’ I cried, in the bitterness of my horror. ‘ Spare ray father. Restore him to me, and let my life go for his life.’ I rubbed his hands, I raised him in my arms, still no answer. His heart seemed to me to beat, but perhaps it was my own which throbbed so loudly that it appeared to give movement to his. Just then Maria’s shrill voice grated harshly on my ears. ‘lt’s all that there horrid mixture,’ she Baid, * I thought you’d given himjtoo much,

miss, but I didn’t like to say so. It smelt like anything when I brought it into master. He said, “Did Miss Lina drop this? It smells rather strong.” And I said, “Yes, sir,” and then he drank it off; and there you see he is. He thought it was all right when vou’d had a hand in it.’

‘ Do you want to drive me mad,’ I cried, ‘let me have no more of your senseless baleful talk. It stifles—it suffocates me.’

Together we lifted the mute, unconscious form on the sofa ; we put hot jars to the feet, we bailied the face with cologne water, bur; still no sign of life, no movement, no sound;; t’ re pale, grave statue-like face began to look .strangely more statue-like ; and, horror of horrors, tie thin white hands felt as if they were getting cold. I had never seen death, only heard *f it second-hand, but now all the symptom; recurred to me ; they seemed as if they wer« stamped with a hot iron on my soul. Suddenly, I i.eard a scream upstairs. I looked at Maria, My eyes made the mute inquiry, ‘ What is that ? ’ ‘ It’s poor mistress ’ she answered, holding her apron to her eyes. ‘ She’s crying for her husband, and what w Older ? ’ ‘Let no one cry,’ 1 exclaimed, fiercely. ‘No one has a right to g%j but me. He was mine, he was always mine, only mine. He is mine. Oh ! papa, papa ! ’ But neither hot tears no burning kisses made any impression on th<t still marble face. Had not Elisha waked tie dead, when he stretched himself on the widow’s son seven times ? so I did now wih a sort of passionate faith that something idght come of it. Yet no, no propitious sigi rewarded me. A ring tinkled at the door, Tht-e at last was the doctor ! Again hope awaktied, and again to be dashed to the ground. Maria went out and returned with >, card. ‘ It was only a gentleman left this fo- yen, miss,’ she said, as she handed it to me. T glanced at it and read, ‘ Captain Rawdon MacNamara, ‘ Madras Native Infantry. ‘P. P. C.’ I tore the card into a thousand atoms. If Captain Rawdon MacNamara had been standing before me, I think I could have felled him to the earth. Had he not been the cause of all this agony ? If it had not been for him, my father would be alive and well this minute. I cursed my own besotted folly a hundred times, while the fatal words rang in my ears, Too late 1 too late 1 too late !’ At last the doctor did really come. How I hated his grave solemn face. He chafed and stuped, poured brandy into the closed lips. All apparently to no purpose. Suddenly I remembered, with a flash of inspiration, a certain strong aromatic essence which some one had brought from abroad. 1 rushed upstairs for it. I thrust it into my father’s nostrils. I shouted in his ear: ‘ Papa ! papa ! wake up, it is little Lina that is calling you.’ Then all at once he stretched himself; he moved, he spoke. ‘ Lina,’ he said, ‘is that you ? I have had a long sleep. Come closer, my child. You have been away a long time.’ Stunned, stupefied with the intensity of a great relief, I came closer—always, always closer. It was then I wondered whether anyone had ever died of joy.