LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 764, 1 December 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MISTRESS EUPHEMIA. ( Continued .) Euphemia did not even wince at this speech; with a strong effort she turned from the subject and spoke of something else, the arrangement of a gown or the plaiting of a steinqverque, as though her whole soul were in it. Then she branched off to other things, and spoke as gaily and with such an apparent interest in the subject on hand that Lydia was utterly deceived, and thought she must have been mistaken as to her mistress showing any unusual emotion when she heard of the duel.

But all this time Euphemia’s resolve was taken. Just before Lydia retired she said carelessly, ‘ By the bye, I have promised to ride over to Lady Hardinge’s to breakfast to-morrow ; lot Wharton have the horses ready by six, for it is full an hour’s ride to Woodleigh, and the breakfast is early there,’ ‘Yes, madam. Do you want me any longer ? ’ ‘No. Goodnight.’

But when Lydia was dismissed, despite the lateness of the hour, Mistress Euphemia did not go to bed ; she sat by her dressingtable, her head leaning on her hands, her temples throbbing, her brain burning, and never a tear to relieve the agony, only one thought tingling ever worse and worse. Oh, fool that she had been to throw away her happiness ! Oh, wretched woman, to have imperilled his life by her folly ! Mistress Euphemia had never really suffered before, and her pain was all the bitterer for that; and hour after hour passed, yet she did not stir. Her head was still bowed on her clenched hands, and but for a slight movement of her foot and the low sound, half sob, half moan, that broke forth every now and then, she might have been asleep. She was roused by the gray morning light shining in through the window. She rose, and going to the bed pulled the clothes about; Lydia must not find out that the bed had not been slept in. Then she bathed her face with fresh water, and kneeling down said her morning and evening prayers at once. Never before had her petitions been as pure and ardent; for the first time they were not for herself.

By this time it was nearly five o’clock, when Lydia would, come to wake her, but would not be surprised at finding her nearly dressed; for ladies, at all events country ones, rose early then, and Mistress Euphemia was one of the earliest.

Very lovely Mistress Walwyn looked as she stood on the steps of the hall-door waiting for her horse. Her riding-habit of purple cloth laced with gold showed to perfection the beauty of her form; her dark hair, free from powder, was clubbed behind and tied with a broad black ribbon; and the small cocked-hat and Mechlin lace cravat completed a dress that was perhaps the most becoming she could wear. The unusual iangour of her dark eyes and the paleness of her cheeks served only to make her beauty the more womanly and charming ; even old Thomas, the groom, who had served her from infancy, was struck by her loveliness, ‘ There’s none that can match with her,’ he thought, as he held his mistress’s stirrup for her to mount. * They may well call her the pride of the West country, for I’ll warrant all England cannot show her like. ’ She gathered up the reins, and with a smiling nod to the old man started down the long avenue. But when she turned out of the gates, she took not the road to Woocllcigh, but the one that led to Templeton Grange. Her scheme was not to take a farewell of Mr Templeton, in case the duel should end fatally for him ; she aimed at far more than that. She knew her power over him, and never doubted she could use it now as she had so often done before.

So she had resolved to humble her pride, and implore him to give up this duel. In her passionate desire to save his life she forgot all other considerations—her lover’s honor in the sight of the world, the misery that in such a case he wou'd endure from the scorn of all his friends, everything but the one dreadful fact—he might die, and through her. A man in those days must have been, to refuse a duel, a coward below contempt, a Sir Charles Grandison, or very far in advance of his age. lam not saying what is right or wrong; I am simply stating the real case of things in 1761. Of course there were some few men so nobly fearless of the world’s scorn, so loyal in their obedience to the laws both of God and man, that nothing could have forced them to shed the blood of a man for a frivalous Quarrel; but these were few and far between, and William Templeton was not one of them ; he was a hot-tempered honorable gentleman, hardly past his boyhood, and it would have as soon occurred to him to be false to his mistress as to shrink a quarrel or let a syllable be breathed against her name. So Mistress Walwyn rode through the pleasant Devonshire lanes, between hedges twisted and intertwined with dog-roses and honey-suckle now in their full bloom ; the trees almost met overhead, so that she passed through avenues of soft green gloom ; the early morning freshness was in the air, cool and sweet; not a drop of dew was dried from the leaves, not a flower yet drooped its head from the summer heat. It was hard, almost impossible, to believe that so bright a morning was the one that might bring death to the man whom (she now knew) she loved above all the world. It was near seven when she reined iu her horse at the door of Templeton Grange. She would have inquired if Madam Temple ton William’s mother—were yet risen, and was rather perplexed as to how she was to achieve her object of seeing William alone, when he himself appeared at the door.

His eyes lit up with a delighted surprise when he saw her, and he came up immediately to help her dismount. Poor fellow, he had just been writing a farewell letter to her, never hoping to see her again on earth.

* Good morning, Mr Templeton/ she said, in as light a tone as she could muster. ‘ I have ridden over to bring Madam Templeton the point-patterns I promised her, and to ask her to give me a dish of chocolate ; but I am afraid I am early.’ ‘My mother will soon be down/ he answered. ‘ Meantime I must fill her place. John will see to your horse. Will it please you to come in and rest ? ‘ I think I would rather see the garden, if you will be my escort. Ko ; after all, lam tired with my long ride, and shall be glad to rest/ she replied.

He bowed and led her into the quaint old parlor, wainscoted and panelled with, oak nearly as black as ebony, on which hong family portraits, mostly of a forbidding appearance; the window was open, and a musk-rose that grew round it filled the room with its odour. Mistress Euphemia leant out to gather one of the delicate flowers, which she toyed with, passing its frail satin petals to and fro, so as to brush her lips. Despite the indolent grace of her attitude and her apparent ease of manner, she had never felt so nervous and embarrassed. What should she say, and how should she say it ? Directly the servant, who had been busied about the room, had gone, her careless manner left her. ‘Mr Templeton, 1 she said, with a certain timidity she had never shown in addressing him, ‘ cannot you guess the real object that has brought me here ? ’ ‘I dare not, madam,’ he said, with a passionate happiness in his tone that made it tremulous. ‘ls it true that you are going this day to fight Lord Wreford ? ’ He bent his head. ‘ And on my account ? ’ ‘Not entirely, madam.’ *Mr Templeton, you are deceiving me, I know that but for me this fight had not occurred.’ He was silent. ‘ And you cannot guess what has brought me here ? You have reason to think lightly of me ; I know it only too well; but lam not so small that I cannot feel your worth. How could I know that you were ready to die for me, and not come to ask your pardon humbly?’ ‘Yes,’ she went on as he would have stopped her, ‘to ask your pardon for all my meanness towards you; to beg you to forgive me; and—and—if needs must be —to wish you good-bye. She stopped, then continued, ‘ But must Idoso ? 0 Mr Templeton— William—what are any light words of me, spoken by that man, when weighed against your life? Give up this duel, for your mother’s sake, for your own, for mine !’ She could say no more ; all the words she had thought of and planned, her resolutions of calmness, all had failed her, and she was sobbing on William Templeton’s breast, held in his arms. ‘ Oh, you will give it up 1’ she implored passionately. * What is this bubble honor, that your life should be sacrificed to it? Should we care what the world thinks us ? And what but dread of its opinion should make you fear to refuse to meet this man ?’ William Templeton could hardly comprehend his joy or his sorrow. Could this lovely humble woman he held in his arms be indeed the imperious Mistress Euphemia, his queen and tyrant ? and if so, what had so changed her? He could not see how his loyalty and honor had struck her as they never had before, in the fierce light of the fact that he would die rather than let a light word be breathed against her how, in the knowledge that she had slowly attained, that he was not in truth her slave, she learnt he was the man she loved and honored above all others. He would have wished, had it been possible, to enjoy the supreme happiness of that hour without a thought of the future. To him the fact was clear that he must fight, perhaps meet his death in so doing; it was not a thing to question. But to her it was different, and she strove with all her might to make him relinquish the duel. She beat her poor brains for arguments against the practice, wishing she had not skipped those of Sir Charles Grandison on the subject. She implored him with tears, spoke of his mother’s grief, of her own. But, though her words cut him to the heart, his purpose held firm; and when at last she said no more, only clung to him, looking into his face, her beseeching eyes filled with tears, all his words were, ‘ Sweetheart, I cannot reason as you can, but one thing is certain—l called Lord AVreford a liar ; he has a right to demand satisfaction for my words; and I cannot deny it to him.’ ‘But you can retract.’ ‘ Retract them ! No, dear; the words were not against you-had he spoken so of you, we had fought there and then—but against all women ; and I should be base as himself if by retracting my words I owned his as true.’ And she, looking at his steady eyes, knew that no speech of hers would move his will, and loved him the better for the knowledge —knew that the man she had thought her slave was in truth her master, in this, at least, not even her wishes could not move him from what he thought the right. Then the thought of how soon she might lose him made her break into a passion of tears such as she had never shed before. But soon, by a strong effort, she recovered herself, feeling ashamed of her weakness when William was so calm. * I will be brave,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘ I know you will, and it gives me courage to ask one thing of you. If things go wrong you wil comfort my mother ?’ * She will hate me when she knows I was the cause,’ was Euphemia’s thought, but she only said, ‘ I will do all I can, poor lady; but what will that be ?’ ‘ Much,’ he said tendenly, ‘ For you, my sweet, what can I say ? lam a poor fellow, unworthy of you, and yet I dare believe my loss will cause you pain. God comfort you, dear!’ ‘ And bring you out of this safely ! Ido not believe you will die ; I cannot think but that you will live.’ ‘ Perhaps 1 may,’ he said quietly. * You have made mo wish to live. Last night 1 cared nothing for my life ; now I have you. He bent his head, and their lips met in one long kiss. There was no time for more; a halting step was heard descending the stairs, and William made a sign that he wished silence before his mother. So when Madam Templeton entered the room, she found her son and Mistress Walwyn seemingly engaged in the contemplation of the portrait of a Dame Annabel Templeton; a fair sad lady, whose blue eyes looked pitifully down on them, as though she knew their secret. f To he. continued.]