LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 737, 30 October 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BY THE PAD SEA WAVES. ( Continued.) Ottalie glances over her shoulder (with a crimson face) at me again, and once more I hold my tongue. Well, perhaps in the position it was best to be silent. We had brought it upon ourselves. * I would take the oars myself,’ he adds, * only I gave my wrist an ugly wrench yesterday, so there can be no more rowing for me yet awhile. Tell your father to send you as long as lam helpless—that is, if you want to come. Do you ?’ There is a little pause, and then Ottalie answers, in her old, care-for-nothing tone, ‘ Yes.’ I hold my breath, but nothing more is said. He only laughs. So he takes us for ‘ Michael’s’ daughters, whomsoever he and they may be. I feel dowdy; I feel that we both look just as Michael’s daughters might look. I am not much to boast of on orthodox occasions ; but now my hat is over one ear, my cotton gown is rumpled, and I can tell that my nose is read, and my face a mass of freckles. Ottalie is also rumpled. Her lilac sleeves are rolled up, and her hat is lying at my feet. Yes, we might surely sit as models for these mythical daughters of Michael. Next I look at our ‘fare.’ He is tall and broad shouldered, aud clean limbed, his face is rather square, his features arc irregular, and his mouth is covered by a black moustache; he is either very dark or much sunburnt. But there is something in his countenance that I like, something also in his voice, and he has the unmistakable bearing of a well-bred man. Finding he cannot make Michael’s daughters talk with him, he subsides into silence, enjoying his cigar. Then we reach shore I scramble out first, before his rises ; he follows ; then comes Ottalie. Once more on land, my courage revives. ‘ Tell Michael,’ he begins but I interrupt him. In my opinion it is high time the farce should cease. * You are mistaken, sir,’ I say, tartly, trying to speak de hunt en has. ‘We are not Michael’s daughters.’ ‘Not Michael’s daughters!’ he repeats, * Then who the dev—l beg your pardon. Then who are your ? But he speaks with a ring of mockery in his tone. What with that, and what with Ottalie’s black looks at me, I turn back to speak again. ‘ We did not go after you—to fetch you—we knew nothing about you. Ott—this lady got into the boat for pastime, believing it to be at liberty ; and she was foolish enough to row ever to the opposite side of the inlet. We are ladies.’ ‘ Thanks,’ he [answers, staring at both of us, and raising his straw hat. My tones may not have impressed him—perhaps puzzled him ; for there is a slighting lightness still in him, and anything but reverence in his face. 1 Thanks for your kind exertions,’ he adds to Ottalie, who blushes furiously, and makes no reply. Raising his hat again, he walks bis way, and we walk ours. Glancing back, I see a man in rough costume approach him. * Good gracious, that must be Michael ! ’ I say. *He will want to charge us for the boat.’ Ottalie turns upon me savagely. ‘ Deborah, you are an idiot! Had you held your tongue, he would never have found us out—never. What does it matter if he takes us for the boat-girls ? ’ ‘ Had you not better tell me it was my fault we took the boat at all ?’ I retort. ' I wish you would not do these things.’ ‘ What a good-looking man he is ! ’ We walk home in silence, for I don’t answer her. Ottalie hates reproach, but she is a little ashamed of the escapade herself. In time we learn that the stranger’s name is Daine ; he is apparently well-to-do, and is supposed to have come to this little out-of-the-world place, Sone, for a spell of quietness. He lives at the hotel, pays liberally, and ‘keeps himself to himself,’ occupying his time with boating and fishing. It is I who hear these items of news, and I try to impart them to Ottalie, but she will not listen. Meanwhile, if by chance we meet the stranger, he lifts his hat in silence, and gazes at Ottalie as he passes. Probably, just as we have heard his name, he has heard ours, and knows that we are not Michael’s daughters, but the Miss Peyres. And each time this meeting occurs, Ottalie’s blushes grow more ridiculous. It makes me angry with her. Three Sundays come and go. On the fourth wo see our schoolboy cousin, Keith Harland, who has come down to Sone with his mother. Mrs Harland looks frostily blue, and docs not even give ns the tips of her fingers to shake. Of course, she did not know we were at Bone, for we do not enlighten the word as to our movements. Her dead husband was our mother’s cousin ; so the relationship to her is not much ; but what it is she is ashamed of. The scrambling, moving-about shady kind of life that Ottalie and I lead does not enhance our worth in her eyes. Lead it we must, however, until the end comes, and the ‘ finis ’ is said. And then ? Well, perhaps, in the Great Hereafter Ottalie and I may attain to respectability. On Monday morning Keith comes rushing into our lodgings, all excitement. ‘ I say, Ottalie, what do you think V he cries. ‘ Who do you think is here ?’ ‘ Who is V asks she, from her place on the music stool. ' Jasper Daine. I have just seen him. Ottalie strums away, and does not answer. She is as red as the poppies outside. ‘Who is Jasper Daine?’ I question. * A regular brick,’ responds Keith. ‘He wms at College with Tom ages ago, and he came over to see Tom last out urn a and get some shooting. He has a nice place of lus own.’ ‘ And is well off ? 1 ‘ Well off ! I wish I was likely to be half as well. He is going to take me out fishing this afternoon. I told him you two were here, and that you were my cousins.’ I draw the boy to me as Ottalie leaves the room, and look into his eyes, speaking impressively : ‘ Keith, you must take care. No tales out of school, you know, about pasl^^ubles.’ At first the lad, gazing hard at me with his honest eyes, scarcely seems to understand. And I add, ‘ For Ottalie’s sake.’ ‘ Why, Deb, I hope you don’t think there’s need to caution me on that score,’he says, promptly and half indignantly. ‘My mother would skin me, I expect, if I could talk about that. And serve me right, too ! ’ Sitting on the bench in our solitary cottage at sunset, I see two figures across the sands. Can Keith be going to bring that man here ? How stupid the lad is. {To he\ continued.)