LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 763, 30 November 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MISTRESS EUPHEMIA. (Continued ) ‘ Tf Mr Templeton chooses to take upon himself the command of my words, he must give me a sufficient reason for so doing, or an apology for meddling. If he says I have spoken a lie, the same coarse is open to him.’ ‘ And I, my lord, repeat what I have said —that your words contained a cowardly lie; and that you shall not in my presence, or to my knowledge, utter a word against the lady whose humble servant I have the honor to be.’ ‘ That is enough ; wc need bandy no more words; it only remains to fix the time and place of meeting.’ ‘There is no time like the present,’said William. ‘ There I differ from you, I am afraid. I should be very glad to meet your wishes were I not engaged for several minutes tonight, You, sir, will perceive that I must not break my engagements, and this little encounter might prevent me from making my appearance at the assembly. The same reason will doubtless apply to you,’ continued my lord, with a slightly sarcastic smile. ‘ After the ball it will be too late ; and to-morrow morning I am sorry to say I am engaged till near eleven, but by that time I shall be at your service j our spends

will find a spot where we shall be secure from interruption. Will this suit you ? ’ ‘lt must, my lord/ returned Mr Templeton, with a grave bow. ‘ Then all is settled; and now, gentlemen, do you not think it is time for the assembly ?’ ‘I think I managed that rather neatly/ said Lord Wreford to himself, as he stepped into the chair that was to convey him to the ball room.

It was rather late when the party from the Bell arrived at the assembly. The third country dance was just over, and the first face that met William Templeton’s eyes as he entered was that of Mistress Euphemia, radiant with conquest. She was leaning on the arm of a new admirer, a Sir Lucius Thorne, and was so engaged in convarsation that, though she gave William" a gracious bow and smile, she did not observe how stern were his eyes, nor how pale his looks. It was his first duel that was to take place on the morrow, and he had little, if any, doubt of the result. Lord Wreford was well known as a swordsman who had few equals; and William himself, although a tolerably good fencer, knew he had but little chance against him. Still he could not realise that in little more than twelve hours he would very fprobably be dead and cold, never to feel love or jealousy, pleasure or pain, any more.

Well, he would not think of it. If this were to be the last evening of his life, he would enjoy it. Earth still held three hours of sweetness for him, if during that time he could touch Mistress Euphemia’s hand, and look into her dark eyes, even if it were for the last time.

Mistress Euphemia had never looked more lovely than she did that evening; both in beauty and dress she far outshone every woman in the room. William had never seen her so dazzling, and he as he thought how he had dreamt of winning the fair imperial creature, who treated the homage of better men than him with a lightness that was almost scorn.

Still she had promised him a minuet, and he determined to claim it. He made bis way to where she sat, surrounded by a crowd of men.

‘This is the dance you promised me,’he said.

Her quick ear detected something, she could not tell what, unusual in his voice; whatever it was it half alarmed, half pleased, her ; for the first time she felt that sense of her lover’s manhood that has such a strange charm for every woman. She rose without a word, and taking his arm let him lead her to the space reserved for the minuet dancers.

The strange feeling of submission was gone in a moment, and again she was her own wicked charming self, fully resolved to punish Mr Templeton for having so affected her.

But for the thought of how near was the time when they would be parted, never perhaps to meet again on earth, he could hardly have brooked her cruelty; as it was he bore all her hard speeches quietly, answering her slight cutting sarcasms only with a smile, though they pained him to the heart.

Mistress Walwyn felt equally angry with herself and him ; she hated herself for her rude unkindness ; she hated him for bearing it and not paying her back in her own coin, though she knew she would have hated him yet more if he had.

This battle in her own mind made her harder than ever outwardly. She flirted as she had never flirted before, and had kind words and sweet smiles for every one but Mr Templeton; nay, when Lord Wreford came up and asked her for a dance, despite all that had passed between them—despite the strange smile on his delicate cruel face that made her frightened without knowing why —despite the loathing for the man that had grown up in her heart, she rose and stood up with him for the gavotte that was just beginning.

This was more than William could bear, and he left the room hastily. She saw his face as he passed her, wan and haggard, with a fierce gleam in his eyes ; the sight struck a chill to her heart that she would not acknowledge even to herself. * Jealous,’ she thought, ‘ and would not stop to see if I should relent. I’ve no patience with him. Never mind, he will be sure to ride over tomorrow morning, and then I will be very kind to him; for I do like him after all. Poor William!’

iSJFor all her triumph she was glad when she found herself in the coach, jolting homewards over the rough country roads. Madam Walwyn, who had spent the evening at ombre in the card-room, dozed comfortably by her daughter’s side, and Mistress Euphemia wished she could do the like, for the company of her own thoughts was anything but pleasant. ‘ I never used to think,’ she mused to herself when she was at last at home, seated in an easy-chair in her own room, awaiting the coming of her maid to unfasten and arrange her hair for the night— ‘ I never used to think, and I am sure I can’t say why I began the practice, for it is a vile habit ; it makes one cross and disagreeable and wretched, and I have heard brings wrinkles and gray hairs in its train; not that they have come yet,’ she added, looking at the glass’s reflection of her fair face, so fresh in its first youth. Her maid coming in, she submitted her hair to be undressed, a business that took some time, and that the maid always found it necessary to enliven with gossip. Tonight she had news of no small importance, and began directly upon it. ‘ 0 madam, such news !’ Euphemia usually cared but little for her maid’s gossip, but her tone seemed to speak of something more than ordinary, and she inquired, ‘ What is it, Lydia ?’ But Lydia enjoyed the luxury of being mistress of a new and startling piece of intelligence, and meant to take her time in its communication.

‘Didyou know, Mistress Euphemia, that John’ (Euphemia’s footman) ‘ has a cousin who is a drawer at the Bell ?’

‘ No,’ said Mistress Walwyn. ‘ But what is that to me ?’

‘Just this, madam. When your horses were put up this evening at the Bell, the drawer told of a talk he had heard in .the room where the gentry sat before going to the ball. ’

‘ Pray, how did the drawer hear it ?’ ‘La, madam, he listened, of course. I’ll warrant the drawers know of most things that go on at times. 5 ‘And are very discreet about them; but go on 4 .

Delicacy of feeling was not at a very high premium in the last century, and Mirtreas Euphemia had no idea of not availing herself of the drawer’s doubtfully acquired know* ledge, nor of his lack of discretion. ‘Well, madam, this drawer heard Lord Wreford challenge Mr Templeton to a duel/ * Good heavens 1’ Euphemia’s face had turned aahcn white, and her eyes half closed as in a swoon j; but almost before Lydia could notice it she had recovered herself and said in as natural tone as she could muster, * A duel, did you say ? What about If’ * Naught, madam, I’ll be bound.’ ‘ What about, I say ? * The drawer did tell John that Lord Wreford spoke lightly of women, at which Mr Templeton grew very wroth, but was silent; and then—” * And then ?’ •Why, madam, if you will have it, Lord Wreford seemed as though he would have said something of you that Mr Templeton would not stomach, and he called Lord Wreford a lair. This is all I know/ ‘ All! and enough too/ thought Mistress Euphemia. Her head drooped, and the sharpest pain she had ever known shot through her heart. Her William—so generous, so true, so good—whom she had treated so badly and cruelly; his life was in danger, and through her own light folly, for she saw only too plainly that if it had not been for her coquetry with Lord Wreford this would never have come to pass. Oh, how the events of the past evening flashed before her; how she loathed herself for all the pain she had given that gentle heart! And she could never undo it now, never tell him how she loved him, how humbly she asked his pardon, how she would strive that all her life should repair the wrong she had done. Repair it I —she never could repair it. What good would her love and her sorrow and her repentance do when William was killed by that deadly sword she had heard of so often ? And she could do nothing to prevent it, nothing—nothing ! So she sat quite still while Lydia combed her long beautiful hair, speculating the while as to whether her mistress had really loved Mr Templeton, and unable to reconcile the facts of her treatment of him and her calmness now with such an idea. Suddenly a thought flashed through Mistress Euphemia’s head. * What time is this affair to come off; do you know ?’ she asked Lydia. ‘The duel? Yes, madam, at eleven tomorrow. Poor Mr Templeton 1 I am sorely afraid for him ; for Lord Wreford’s gentleman was boasting here only the other day how many men his master had killed—spitted, he called it/ (To be continued .)