LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 833, 23 February 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

LEFT IN CHARGE. ( Continued.) Accordingly, I carried it into effect; at least I made my preparations that very morning; and in the afternoon I rode into the town, a distance of several miles, where 1 made further inquiries at the police station as regarded the recent robbery, but only heard that the thieves were still at large ; and from the quantity of things taken from Sir Gifford’s, it was concluded the gang consisted of at least four or five men. Nothing could have been more cheering news for me, of course. Honestly, my heart sank somewhere into the region of my boots as I turned my horse’s head homewards and cogitated upon the pleasant prospect which I felt certain was before me. The afternoon shadows were deepening by the time I got back ; and as I rode slowly up to the sideentrance which led to the stables. I was somewhat surprised to see a shabby looking carriage standing at the front door. My first impulse was to quicken my horse’s movements, and get as rapidly out of sight as possible, believing I should thereby escape the necessity of receiving visitors in my wife’s absence ; but the next instant I was compelled to change my tactics as I perceived my presence had been observed by a gentleman who appeared at the door, and descending the steps, walked towards me without any hesitation. He was a tall finelooking man of about forty, dressed plainly but -well, in dark trousers, a frock-coat, and high hat which he raised slightly as he approached me. * I must introduce myself, Mr Redmond,’ he said in a tone so easy and well-bred, that nearer inspection at once satisfied me that he was what my first glance had assured me, a thorough gentleman. ‘My name is Gordon; aud happening to be passing through Lowton’ (the town from which I had just come), * I inquired how far off your place was, and made up my mind it was too good au opportunity to lose of making your acquaintance, as I am such a very great friend of your brother Arthur — in fact we have been chums ever since he wqnt out to India.’ ‘Gordon.’ For a moment 1 paused, but only for a moment; the next I remembered frequent mentions in my brother’s letters of a certain Tom Gordon, who, from his account of him, was ope of tho best fellows possible, besides having helped him materially i,u making his way in that distant land; and as Arthur was a very favourite brother of mine, it behoved me naturally to show my affection for him by great cordiality to his friend. In one of the last letters I had received, he mentioned the fact of Mr Gordon having returned to England, enumerated his kindnesses to him, and asked me if I came across him to show him all the kindness I could.

So the ceremony of introduction did not occupy long. 1 welcomed him most heartily, and was thoroughly glad to tind he had counted upon my doing so, and had brought bis portmanteau with him, quite prepared to accept what he felt sure would be offered—ag invitation to remain for as long as he feifc inclined. It was a perfect godsend to me this timely arrival; though I did not put my feelings into so many words, still I am sure he must have been more than satisfied with his reception. He accompanied me to the stable whers I left my horse, to be afterwards oared for by a rather unpresentable rustic who resided in sufficient proximity to our abode to permit of his services being put into occasional requisition. Fortunately for Arthur’s credit, this adjunct to our modest establishment was out of sight when we paid our visit, as his exterior would have given rather a shock to Mr Gordon’s sensibil't’os. However, to proceed. We were just returning to the house, when, on passing (lover’s kennel, in place of the usually demonstrative, unmistakably glad welcome ho accorded me, he showed an amount of irritation and fierceness anything but encouraging to Mr Gordon, who stood at a safe distance whilst 4 stopped, to quiet and soothe the excited animal. ‘•Be quiet, Hover, good dog; lie down, air; kennel up.’ But Rover treated me with perfect indifference, contenting himself with violent plunges towards my visitor, whoso safety evidently lay oniy in the strength of Rover’s chain, ‘ Is ho savage ?’ aiked Mr Gordon. ‘Not ip tlie least,’ I replied ; ‘with us, at all events. I daresay he could bo to . strangers ; he keeps intruders at a distance if he is unchained.’ : ‘ Do you ever unchain him '*' he asked. ‘ I have such a strange horror of dogs that 1 hope you won’t let him loose whilst I am here. They say every one has some pet ; aversion ; dogs arc mine. ’ ‘How extraordinary!’ I answered. ‘I thought every one liked dogs. I am par ticularly fond of them,’ ‘ Perhaps I ought not to confess my dislike, ’ responded Mr G ordon, smiling ’ ‘ but lit is the truth ; I don’t like dogs, and dogs don’t like me.’ I could fancy fho latter part of his sentence was perfectly true. Gentlemanly and inioo as Arthur’s friend seemed, there Uvas a thinness about the lips and a peculiar Icoldneas in his oyoa that enabled me to ’imagine it was possible hia dislike wight

beget dislike in animals so wondrously gifted with instinct as those four-footed friends. But the thought was a passing one. We moved on to the house ; and after dismissing his cab, Mr Gordon and I entered the library, which, though dignified on account of its book shelves, I suppose, with that name, was a small room adjoining the grander but far less comfortable drawing room. Mr Gordon presently informed me that he could only remain for two or three days at the utmost, as he was obliged to be in London on some very important business by the end of the week. Be was home on very short leave from India, consequently was obliged to _ curtail all his visits into very limited periods ; but he knew Arthur would be so glad to know that he had seen me, and if I had anything I wanted sent out to him, he would be so glad to take charge of it. I had nothing particular to send, but I was truly glad to hear of my brother, and after dinner we sat talking of him for a long time. Mr Gordon was a most agreeable companion, so well informed and conversable that the time slipped by most pleasantly, and it was quite late when it first occurred to me to propose retiring to bed. It was only then that I thought of telling him of the chances that our rest might be disagreeably disturbed; but once having got upon the subject, 1 unburdened myself pretty freelj 7 . That my house would escape 1 confessed 1 felt more than doubtful; and I detailed, with one exception, my various modes of defence, the revolver, the cutlass, and last not least—Rover. < * Pray, let me be Rover’s substitute for tonight,’ said Mr Gordon. ‘I am a particularly light sleeper, and I don’t think a mouse could stir without waking me. Why don’t you send away your valuables ?’ he continued. ‘ You should have them deposited in the bank at Lowton.’ ‘lt certainly would not be a bad plan, I agreed; ‘at present it would be rather a blow to be robbed. ’ ‘I should think so,’ replied Mr Gordon. ‘ But do you mean to say you would shoot a man in cold blood if you saw him in your house?’ ‘ Undoubtedly,’ I replied. ‘ Or run him through the body with your cutlass I ’ laughed my companion. ‘Or run him through the body with my cutlass,’ I answered, with an immense tone of unhesitating valour and courage—' just as coolly as 1 could take my breakfast.’ ‘You are a brave man,’ observed Mr Gordon, ‘ I would rather be robbed than commit murder.’

‘ Would you V ’ I responded, my courage rising with this unwonted accusation of bravery. ‘I wouldn’t’ I felt an arrant impostor as I spoke, as I well knew enough in my heart that my sentiments had been most falsely expounded, and that I fully endorsed the opinion he had expressed in preferring to be royally robbed rather than imbrue my hands with tbc blood of a fellowcreature ; however, the weapons gave me a feeling of security, though I had often wondered, if it came to the scratch, what use I could possibly make of them. * I should be inclined to trust a good thick stick,’ he replied; ‘you may rely upon my co-operation as far as that goes.— By the bye,’ he continued, ‘ I am not sure that I ever saw a cutlass. It has a piratical sound about it; I should like to have a look at it.’

Of course I gladly acceded to Ins request ; and another hour or more was spent in my dressing-room examining the weapons and talking over various matters concemingthcm. The cutlass, a long keen-bladed steel, was handled very carefully by Mr Gordon, and the revolver also came in for a very searching inspection, ‘ You are a bold man, 1 he said, as ho replaced it in its case, ‘ to keep loaded tirearms in your house : it has often led to serious accidents.’

‘ To tell you the truth,’ I said, ‘ these are the last cartridges I possess. I have ordered some more, but they haven’t come yet.’ ‘And for safety’s sake, .you keep those you have ready for immediate use. Well, don’t present at me, I beg, in the hurry of the moment, if we should be attacked,’ responded my visitor in a jocular sort of manner. ‘ I shouldn’t like to have it within six paces in your hands, lam beginning to think you are rather a sanguinary individual. 1 fancy you are the terror of the neighbourhood.’ This ridiculous assertion rather tickled my vanity : the sensation was so perfectly new to me, and was so pleasant, that though I uttered a faint dissent, I felt sure I left him under the impression that I was a regular’ ruffian by reputation. At last we parted for the nightj; but before doing so, 1 confided the cutlass to my friend, retaining the pistol myself, so that in the event of anything occurring, we were both fully prepared. However-, nothing happened to disturb us. We] met at breakfast, and mutually laughed over my unnecessary precautions. Chapter 11. A most pleasant day followed. 1 found Mr Gordon a more than ordinarily entertaining companion. He had evidently travelled a great deal, and possessed a fund of general information, which he quite understood how to make the most of. I pressed him to extend bis visit for a few days, at all events until my wife returned, and he seemed nothing loth: tire bus ness in Loudon might after all bo postponed ; and in such pleasant quarters, he said, he »vould be very glad to remaiu. b'o two days sped agreeably away ; and on the morning of the third, I happened to be sitting in the library, when, to my astonishment, I heard a smothered sound of voices in the drawing-room, as if in wluswered conversation. 1 was just going to get up to see from whom the sounds proceeded 3 when Mr Gordon appeared in the doorway. It might havo been fancy—it was treated then by me as such —but I did imagine he started and looked somewhat disconcerted for the space of a very brief moment; the next he was himself again. ‘ I havo been looking over your daughter’s music-books,’ be said. ‘ls she a very accomiilished musician ?’

‘ Sho sings a good deal,' I replied, 'and is very fond of it ; but I can’t say she is very accomplished. She tabes after .Arthur in her love of music.' ‘ Ah I indeed,’ responded Mr Gordon. 'Does he still carry about his flute?’ I asked. ‘ Xo; I don’t think so,’ ho answered rather dubiously. ‘By the bye,’l said presently, ‘did yon notice the new photograph we have of him in the drawingroom? He sent it to us about six months ago.’ * I didn’t obserre it,’ he replied, (2b be continued.')