LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 738, 31 October 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. { Continued.) Yes, on they come, and inside the gate.— Keith eager as the schoolboy he is, the other already lifting his straw hat respectfully. Ottalie rises deliberately, turns her back, and looks over the side palings. ‘Mr Daine, Miss Peyre,’ cries the lad, making the introduction after the manner of his elders. ‘ And this is her sister,’ he adds, pulling Ottalie round by the arm. 4 Ottalie, here’s Mr Daine.’ Ottalie and I bow stiffly : she puts on her coldest manner, comes back to her seat, and takes it. Mr Daine sits down, facing us, in a small iron chair. Keith climbs the trunk of the big tree and lodges himself amid the branches. He begins telling of their fishing expedition in the afternoon, and what they caught and did not catch, which leads us to general conversation. In the midst of it appears the small servant maid. ‘ Tea is waiting, ma’am,’ she says to me. What can I do but ask the intruder to take some tea ? We all go into the sitting-room together. I place myself before the table ; they range themselves at the open windows. Ottalie’s beautiful grey eyes glance up at him ever and anon through their long dark lashes as he talks to her, ‘Now, is he not a jolly brick?’ demands Keith, as Mr Daine says good night and leaves. ‘ Very,’ cries Ottalie, sarcastically. ‘ I can tell yon, Ottie, all the girls down with us thought so. Not that he thinks much of women,’ adds Master Harland. He does not take to them. And now I must go, or my mother will be outrageous. I dined with him at the hotel—such a jolly dinner I ’ ‘ Well, this is very pretty !’ I cry, as the boy disappears. ‘ That insolent mau, of all others, to make friends with us !’ 1 Why did you give him tea V says Ottalie. ‘ Give him tea ! could I help it ? And for you to talk so freely with him, Ottalie ! I did hope you had learned prudence ’ 4 I did hope you had learned prudence,’ mimics Ottalie. 4 Mark me, Deborah ; if anything upsets our equanimity, our domestic calm, you will have brought it upon yourself.’ ‘ Go on, go on, child,’ But she does not go on. She turns to the piano, and begins the first bars of the old French song—--4 Partant pour la Syrie, le jeune et brave Dunois.’ 1 Women and moths,’ I murmur. * She has singed herself once, and she’d like to flutter near the flame again.’ And I take up the bedroom candlestick, * * * * Day: Sunday. Time : five o’clock on a sultry afternoon. Dramatis persons; Ottalie, myself, and Jasper Daine, who has just unlatched the gate and is sauntering towards us. Ottalie is on the bench under the tree I am in the room, looking from the window. 4 Been fishing V she asks, laconically, as he drops down by her side, and nods to me. Fishing 1 how irreverent she is. 4 No,’ he says. 4 1 have been boring myself with myself. After inflicting my company on you in the morning, I had not the face to come any sooner ; and while I was thrown on my own resources I came to the conclusion that, in point of dulness, gone and church are about on a par.’ I am getting used to this man and his cynical irreverence; but this last startles me, so that I exclaim in reproof. He turns to give me an amused look. 4 As usual, I have shocked Miss Peyre,’ he says. 4 But ’ At this point Ottalie’s glove drops. He picks it up, and goes on in his lazy, indifferent manner with some explanation to soften his words away. Then he raises the glove to hie lips. 4 Violet is my favorite color and favorite perfume,’ ho coolly says. 4 lt is also yours, Ottalie ? ’ He calls her Ottalie for the first time in my hearing. It is only five Sundays since Keith introduced him to us, yet he calls her Ottalie. As the aborigines reckoned the flight of time bj the moon, so we of Sone reckon it by our solitary landmark—the Sabbath. Keith Harland and his haughty mother have gone again. My thoughts wander off on Ottalie’s affairs, and just as I come to the conclusion that she was sent into this world for the sole purpose of ruining my temper, and getting ua both into trouble, his voice startles me—or rather not his voice, but what he says, 4 1 have called you fast,’ it says ; 4 even a 44 girl o t the period.” 1 never meant to fall in love with you. But yet—l have done it.* There was an odd, halt-humourous, halfdoubtful tone in the voice ; and its owner is clutching Ottalie’s two hands. [Her head is bent so low, I can only see the outline of a flushed cheek. Apprehension anger —I hardly know what feeling arouses me. 4 Ottalie! ’ I may as well call to the moon. She does not hear or heed me. Mr Daine bends down to her and speaks almost in a whisper. Her eyes—the big, beautiful grey eyes—glance up at him. In my vexation I retire from the window. In my trouble I walk back to it. Both of them have forgotten my existence. 4 Do you know,’ he goes on, and my ears are quick, 4 1 began by meaning to dislike you. I did not care for a girl who could be fast enough to row a stranger over the bay and personate a boatman's daughter. Ottalie, how did you subdue my prejudices ? —How did you got the better of me? Arc you a witch ? ’ Mr Daine ia certainly an odd lover, if he means it for love, and woos after a fashion of his own ; but Ottalie does not seem to object. As he bends to her, the wind stirs her pretty hair, and the water comes rolling in slowly over the sunshiny sand poor, foolish Ottalie. 4 You are a witch, perhaps,’ he says, after a pause. 4 On my life I cannot tell ! I only know one thing—l love you.’ 4 Really and truly do you love me ? Really and truly V asks she, childishly twisting her fingers together, as she rises to her feet, and looks up at him. 4 Better than life !’ he answers, and takes both the hands in his. Dismay had held my breath, but I call now. 4 Ottalie !’ He .hears that, and looks round. She goes and looks out at the murmuring sea. At that moment the maid comes in with the tea-tray, cake, and bread and butter. We dine early on Sundays. 4 Come into tea,’ I call out, in desperate hope of putting an eud to their folly.

‘Understand this much,’ say I; ‘if yon do not put an end to this, I wifi.’ She gets as white as her dress, and seizes my arm. ‘ No, oh, no ! Deborah, you are joking ; only joking, are not you?’ And she drops my arm, and sinks on her knees beside me. ‘ Am I given to joking ? ’ ‘But you won’t,’ she repeats. * I will—do what you want—only not now, Deborah, not now ! Let me be happy, please, just a little while. Do you grudge me these few days, because my life has been so happy ?’ f To be continued, 1