LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 843, 7 March 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

TRIXY. ( IJaithur// Noes. ) ‘ Finished at last : ’ Martin Bruce spoke the words with a sigh of utter weariness, and lifted his head from his work, taking his magnifying glass from one eye as he did so. Upon the table before him was a large steel plate, on which he had engraved a design requiring the most delicate and careful work, and to which he had given several days of continuous labour. As he looked at it, completed, the expression of proud pleasure involuntary upon the face of a man who has finished a piece of work satisfactorily, became clouded. ‘That poor child! • he, muttered, and listened to a sound of suppressed sobbing coming from above his half-opened door. With the cloud still upon his face, he went to the landing and looked up the narrow staircase leading to the attic. As he expected, he saw a little figure crouched upon the upper stair, the head bent low over folded arras, the bare feet tucked up under ragged skirts. The sobbing, though dis tinctly audible, was evidently carefully choked down.

‘ Trixy ! ’ Martin said, in a low tone. In a moment the child was beside him, with a quick, darting motion, that suited well the slender figure, thiu to painful angu larity, the face that was almost impish in its look of want and precocity. Martin Bruce, tall and strong, with a luiudsomo blonde face, bent low, aud met the gaze of large and intensely black eyes, swollen and inlawed by tears. Silently he

lifted the child and taking her into his oavu room, closed the door. ‘ What’s the matter now ?’ he asked. ‘ I dropped the biggest pitcher, full of radk ’ ‘ Whew!’ ‘ 1 couldn’t help it !’ sobbed the child ; ‘it was so heavy that ray lingers got all stiff with ache, and before I knew it my wrists just give a twist, and down it all went! ’ ‘ Whipped ?’ ‘ Oh, didn’t she ! See !’ And a ragged frock was slipped down to show the sickening welts upon the thin shoulders. Martin Bruce gave a shudder as he looked, and going to awash stand, brought some arnica, which ho mixed in cool water, and tenderly bathed the wounds with an old handkerchief. ‘ Does it hurt so much ?’ he asked, as the poor child winced under his touch. ‘ Oh, my I —l mean, yes, sir ! But I don’t mind ; I know you’ll make it better. Oh,’ and again the tears broke out, ‘ I wish I was dead !’

‘ You are too young to wish that, Trixy.’ ‘ I’m fourteen, if I am little !’ ‘Fourteen! How time Hies! It seems only yesterday since I first found you crying on the stairs, and it is three years ago !’ Trixy nestled close to the hand extended to caress her gently, as these words were spoken—the only hand in the big boarding house that was ever filled with kindness for her. She was one of the New York waifs from an alms-house, bound to a cross task mistress, who had been systemat'cally tyrannical from the first hour she had the child under her rule. Over-tasked, halfstarved and whipped, Trixy was stunted, thin, and miserable in appearance, while her ignorance in all useful knowledge was balanced by a precocity truly wonderful in dodging her tasks and evading her punishments..

* A nasty, deceitful little baggage!’ Mrs Hayes declared her to be, and it was mournfully true. But Martin Bruce, who occupied one of the back rooms Mrs Hayes provided for boarders, had been moved with tender compassion for the child, from the first time he found her sobbing out her misery on the attic stairs. Many an orange or packet of cake had Trixy munched in Mr Bruce’s room, when she was supposed to be doing penance in her wretched closet, only by courtesy a room. Many a cool lotion had been put upon smarting cuts and welts by Mr Bruce’s tender hands. Many a tender caress and kind word had passed the bearded lips, to comfort Trixy Others had come and gone, and been kind one day and cross the next, as the mood seised them ; but Mr Bruce never varied in kind words and acts, though he often gravely reproved Trixy for her very conspicuous faults, and tried to correct her vulgarities of word and thought. It would be impossible to give any adequate idea of the worshipping affection the child gave in return for this kindly interest. All goodness, all manly perfection, was to her embodied in the tall, blonde man who came between her and her tyrant, or comforted her grief. ‘ Fourteen ! ’ he said again. * Trixy, it is time you were at school, if you are ever to go I’ ‘ Away from you ?’ ‘ I am going to Paris !’ ‘To Paris !’ she whispered, with white, shaking lips. ‘ Yes, Trixy, for throe years. You will be quite a woman when I come back.’ ‘yes, 1 faint and shuddering.

1 Aact I must get you away from here.’ No easy task, as Martin Bruce soon discovered. He was not a rich man, though his salary as an engraver was a very g od one, and it required some personal sacrifice to carry out his plans for Trixy. Mrs Hayes would not part with her slave, except for a ‘ consideration and after this was accomplished, a difficulty was found in selecting a school in which to place her. But at last one was found in a small country town, aud Trixy most sincerely promised to study diligently, and prove herself worthy of the kindness bestowed upon her. Tho parting was a severe wrench, but Martin Bruce was happy in the consciousness that he had done all for tho child that lay in his power. For four years his letters from Trixy proved her rapid progress in every study she undertook, her unchanging gratitude to her benefactor. Then she wrote that she had been offered a situation to travel with an invalid lady, and would probably bo in Paris before the letter had been there many days. Every line of this communication was full of gratitude for the opportunities given the little waif for culture aud happiness, aud the sense of pleasure it gave her to be no longer an idle burden to her benefactor.

‘ !So ends that chapter !’ the young man said, half sadly, as he folded the closolywritten sheet. ‘My wild bird has left her nest, and must try her wings alone. Well, ’tis best so, as things threaten !’ And the strong right hand was passed wearily over the large blue eyes, with a deep sign.

Two years later, in a hotel at Nice, a beautiful girl dressed in deep mourning, and an elderly woman who seemed a sort of confidential servant, wore seated upon the wide piazza, watching the groups who passed aud repasoed in a large public square opposite to where they were placed. Suddenly the girl, who had been carelessly scanning the many unfamiliar faces, grasped her companion’s arm, saying, ‘Bo you know who that is?’ pointing as she spoke to a tall man with a shade over his. eye, who was seated upon a bench in the square. ‘ Yes, ma’arqselle, ’ said the servant in French, ‘that is the blind gentleman, who is here under the care of Br Bonnairo. But is it not dreadful ? So handsome—so strong —aud hopelessly blind !’ ‘ Hopelessly blind ?’ ‘So they say! He was injured by the work that he did, line work that tried his eyes. 1 do not know what it was ! And ho came hero to Br Bonnairo, hoping to be cured. But it is useless ! He can never see again. ’

The young lady addressed rose, as her servant spoke, aud crossing the piazza, stopped lightly down the steps and straight to the bench upon which the blind man was seated. Without preface, without introduction, she said, ‘ 1 think, sir, I jrccognizn you as a gentleman who placed a child in a school in Connecticut some years ago —a school] where I waa teacher for a short time. ’

The sightless eyes were turned quickly to wards the speaker.

‘ I was deeply interested in such a child. Can you give me any tidings of her?’ ‘ She left the school to travel with Mrs Elwyn, an elderly lady in feeble health. Before she had been six months with Mrs Elwyn, that lady was convinced that she had found the child, of a very dear sister who had eloped from home years before, and whose life and death had been ever shrouded in mystery. Further inquiry only confirmed the facts, as the child re mernbered them; and when Mrs Elwyn died here, in Nice, six months ago, she left her entire property to Beatrice Moore, her neice. ’ ‘ Then Trixy is an heiress ?’

‘ Yes. It was one of the marvellous dispensations of Providence that we dare call accident that took Mrs Elwyn to the school. There Trixy’s strong resemblance to her lost sister first attracted her notice, and she inquired about her. Finding she was anxious to obtain employment, she engaged her as companion for a European trip,’

‘I am very glad ! ;Do you know where she is ?’

A little hand fell lightly upon one lying on the knee of Martin Bruce, and his was lifted to touch a soft, round cheek. A voice low and tender, said very softly,. ‘ Have you forgotten me ?’ ‘ Trixy 1’ he exclaimed, ‘ I have never forgotten you ! But you arc no longer the little child I left six years ago.’ ‘No,’ was the half mournful answer. ‘lam a woman now. But you will not send me from you. You will let me remain beside you, and be your eyes and hands. ’ ‘Ah, Trixy, no I Your youth and beauty —for I know you are beautiful—must never be taxed by such a heavy charge. Do you know I can never see you again ? Do you know that in less than a year I shall have to find a home in a charity asylum ? You will come sometimes and read to me there perhaps ?’ ‘ Never ! I will never come to a charity asylum to see you. You break my heart when you talk so !’

‘Well, little one, then we will hope for better days !’ Trixy’s lip quivered at the attempt to assume the old, cheery tones that had comforted her in childhood’s miseries. Her eyes were dim with tears as she spoke again, hoping to carry some brightness to the darkened life.

Poor, blind Martin Bruce, who had lifted her from the darkest misery and suffering to place her where she could improve —who had put her where her aunt had discovered and adopted her —her benefactor and only friend—a helpless, blind pauper !

Was it wonderful that the woman’s heart thrilled with pain and love, and that the gratitude of years suddenly confronted her in a new form—the love of her woman’s heart ? She realized suddenly, forcibly, that if Martin Bruce passed out of her life again he left there a void never to be filled. Pity and gratitude seemed only feeble names, when love sprang up strong and true, and Trixy recognized its power. But all maidenly reticence held her silent for m-.ny days, every one of which found her in ihe square beside Martin Bruce, winning answering love by her tender care for his helplessness, her sparkling conversation, her womanly sweetness. It was a strange courtship, where the woman wooed, where the man worshipped. Little by little, Martin Bruce acknowledged to his own heart that the loss of his eyes was light compared with the loss he anticipated—the loss of Trixy’s voice, and Trixy’s touch. The summer was coming, and the doctor was urging Martin Bruce to try the effect of some famous < - erraau baths, whcr> Trixy received letters from New York that necessitated her return to. look after some of her aunt’s property. The prospect of separation nerved her as no. other prospect could have done, and she sought the bench where she had met Martin Bruce daily, with a resolution that made her check bum.

‘Martin,’ sbe said, gently, ‘but few women dare to take their life’s happiness into their own hands —waiting, hoping till another comes to put it before them. A maiden may not woo, they say, and so they wait till their hearts grow sick for fear they may be thought unmaidenly !’ Here she paused, watching the pallor, the breathless eagerness of the face lifted towards her.

‘Trixy,’ her lover said, ‘you deceive yourself. You think gratitude forces you to ’

A soft hand closed his lips. ‘ Bo you love me, Martin ? ’ ‘ With my whole heart! ’ ‘ As I love you ! ’ * Trixy, I dare not take you at your word ? ’ 1 But you will! 1 have loved you for six years, Martin. I will not lose you again ! ’ And she kept her word. Those who apeak with pity of ‘ poor Mrs Bruce, whose husband is totally blind,’ know nothing of the deep, abiding love that make’s Trixy’s life of devotion and self-sacrifice a life of pure happiness, shadowed only by sorrow for her husband’s affliction.