LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 880, 20 April 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A WINTER’S TALE. By E. E. Mulley. “Wonder on till truth makes all things plain.” Midsummer Night's Dream , act v. sc. i. ( Continued, ) Phemie looked up quickly, and was about to protest, when she was seized with a sudden shyness that for the first time made her avoid meeting his eyes, and withheld her from speaking frankly as she would have spoken five minutes ago. Her heart began to beat fast with a strange nervousness, and though fearful lest he should believe she could forget, she made no answer. ‘ I too am going away ; shall I forget you?’ he said. Phemie choked down an inclination to cry at the mere idea of such a thing, and yet, perverse with the perversity that is born of love in the feminine mind, said, ‘ If - if you like,’ though convinced she should be miserable if lie did. At this answer, Mr Kennicote, who could not read the workings of her inmost mind and know the evil spirit which prompted it, felt himself somewhat aggrieved. * You might have given a kinder reply than that,’ he said. * I think it is nice to do as one likes,’ she said, defending herself against the accusation. ‘ Then I am to forget you ?’ he asked. ‘ I never said that,’ she answered, now terribly afraid that she would be taken at her word. By this time Christopher Kennicote began to see his way a little more clearly. ‘ You are very changeable,’ he said, ‘or else, you are, like Mistress Mary in the nursery rhyme, “ quite contrary.” Why are you so perverse, or is it that you really do not care ?’ ‘ I don’t know,’ she answered dubiously, still possessed by the spirit of * Mistress Mary, quite contrary.’ ‘ You donlt know I’ he repeated reproachfully ; ‘ but I must know one way or the other. I will not pretend that your answer is a matter of indifference to me, for I love you, Phemie, love you so dearly that I could not forget you if I would. But it lies with you to tell me if I am to go away to-morrow glad or sorry that I ever came to Caercombe; glad because you love me, or sorry that you like me so little, you will not even say, “ Do not forget tne!” ’ * I will !’ she cried ; * indeed I will say it now. I wanted to say it before, but somehow I could not,’ She felt this was a very lame excuse, and hesitated a good deal over the making of it; nevertheless Christopher Kennicote was satisfied therewith. % * * * * When Phemie and Christopher came back to Sea View Terrace, Colonel Hursley was still writing letters ; but he laid aside his pen, asking them where they had been and what they had done. ‘Tell him,’ said Phemie, escaping from the room. Christopher did as he was bidden. Then said the colonel, ‘ I am very glad i o hear it, I am sure ; that you should marry Phemie has been my wish since first I saw you seemed taken with one another.’ * It is most kind of you to say so,’ Christopher said. ‘And how do you think her father will take the engagement V ‘ You won’t have any difficulty with my brother in-law,’Color el Hursley answered. * He and Phemie don’t get on over well, but perhaps when he has a son-in-law to go about the country with sometimes he will forgive that poor child for being a girl.’ And then he told Christopher Kennicote the old story of the squire’s bitter disappointment. * I hope he won’t object to me as Phemie’s husband, ’ said the yoqng man, laughing ‘ You can afford to keep a wife, I suppose, or at least Sir Christopher will allow you a suitable income to marry on?’ asked Colonel Hursley. ‘My father has always been most liberal to me ; he is generosity itself,’ answered the younger Christopher warmly. ‘I am sure I shad only need to tell him of my wish to marry for him to agree to anything reasonable in the way of money ; we are uot likely to have our first quarrel over that.’ Colonel Hursley nodded his head approvingly. From the tone of Christopher Keunioote’s speech, it was evident that he and his father were on the best of terms with each other, and that those terrible dividers of a household—money, and its shadow, debt had never yet come between these two to to stir up discord and ill-feeling, and the old officer gave his favourite a further step, a still higher promotion, in his good opinion. ‘ Do you think I had letter write to Mr Seaton, or go down to Eoscorla when my father and I have talked matters over ? I will sjieak to him as soon as possible after I get home, but there will be a houseful of visitors, and I can’t well leave again till a few days after Christmas,’ continued Christopher. ‘ Oh, please write to him ; I would rather he heard it first from you ; he thinks me such a child still, he would laugh at me if I said I was engaged. Write after you get home, and then come down for. New Yqar’seve to see me,’ Phemie said. She had just come into the room in time to hear his last words. ‘ I think you had better do as Phemie suggests. You can tell her father all particulars whep you see him. And now, as it is nearly two o’clock, perhaps you young folks will have something to eat, unless you are too much in love to be hungry,’ said Colonel Hursley, taking his seat at the table. * * * * * The next day Colonel Hursley, his niece, and Christopher Kennicote travel as far as the junction together ; but there their ways diverge. Phemie is the first to start, and stands at the carriage door after it has been locked upon her by the guard, saying hurried good-byes to each. Uncle Tom’s turn comes first, and she clings to him as though she could never let him go. This is the first parting she has ever known which has cost her a tear, and the thought that she shall not see the kindly face of Colonel Hursley again for so many years sets her off crying bitterly; and he himself feels that the ‘ child’ has so wound herself about his heart that it is a sad wrench to part with her. ‘God bless you, child!’ is all he trusts himself to say ; and then he makes room for Christopher Kennicote at the carriage window, somewhat comforted by the thought that Phemie will have some one to make much of her when he is gone.

‘ You will write to me for Christmas day!’ she says, as she and Christopher stand hard in hand. ‘Yes, dear; and you will answer it,’ ho replies. ‘Yes; but,’ says Phemie, seized with a sudden unreasoning fear, 1 suppose my letter were lost in the post, would you come to Roscorla all the same?’ ‘mi rely,’ he answered her ; ‘if I did not get your letter I should want to see you all the more ; so, sweetheart, good-bye till New Year’s-eve ; and regardless of lookers-on, he kisses the tear-stained cheeks once, twice : then the train moves out of the station, and Phemie from her window looks after the two she has left behind. They are standing side by side on the platform, and she can see that gray-haired uncle Tom is twisting his white moustache nervously with one hand, while the other is brushing awav a stray tear or two that have somehow got in his eyes ; but the last face that Phemie sees is Christopher Kennicote’s, as handsome, pleasant a face as any one could wish to look upon. He takes off his hat to waive a final good-bye with it, and smiles at her cheerily ; then she smiles too through her tears, and goes upon her journey with a better heart. It is not a very long one—only between four and five hours by rail, with an hour’s fast driving afterwards—and Phemie reaches home just as the winter afternoon is drawing in. About a mile from the house her father is waiting, gun in one hand, game bag in the other, to drive the rest of the way with her. He nods good humouredly, with a careless ‘How d’ye do, Phemie?’ throws the gamebag under the seat, and handing his gun to the servant, takes the reins himself. As he settles into his seat he gives Phemie a kiss, and tucks her up warmly in the rug; and then they hasten along through the lanes, and the daughter guesses that, though he says nothing, on the whole he is rather glad to have her back again. They exchange a few sentences about her journey and Colonel Hursley’s departure for India, and the conversation is beginning to languish again, when they turn into the sweep of the carriage- drive, and then Phemie cries out, ‘There is Jenifer!’ for at the sound of wheels the entrance-door opens, and the housekeeper comes out to meet Miss Phemie, who jumps down as soon as the groom goes to the horses’ heads, and throws her arms round the old woman’s neck, to the honest soul’s great delight, though she thinks it is her duty to rebuke her darling. ‘ Lawks, now, Miss Seaton, what will your pa say to see you a huggin’ me so, and before the maids too ! A grown-up young lady like you to kiss me as if I was “gentry”! Fie! but, bless you, my dear lamb, I am pure glad to see ’ee home again ’ and Jenifer relents, looking fondly at her young mistress, whom she has watched over, petted and scolded by turns, since Miss Phemie has been able to run alone. Phemie laughs, saying, ‘Jenifer, you know you like itand then says says ‘How do you?’pleasantly to the other servants, who are helping to bring in her luggage, with the unwonted feeling that her home-coming is not a matter of indifference to any one, not even to the squire ; consequently she is in good spirits at dinner, and they find so much to say to each other that Phemie’s first evening at home after a four months’ absence is quite a success. * * * * * During the next two days Phemie found plenty to do, unpacking and settling the arrangement of all her little belongings—special property of her own that had been carefully put away in drawers and cupboards for safety till her return ; and beside this there were the people in the village to go and see, who were undeniably glad to have the squire’s daughter back again, some, like Jenifer, for the mere sake of seeing the bright sweet-faced girl going in and out among them with her friendly speeches and pleasant ways, as she had always been accustomed to do. Others were glad because her return signified also a return of the soups, dinners, blankets that somehow always found their way from Eoscorla Manor House into the Eoscorla cottages, where Phemie’s observant eyes detected a lack of these or other little comforts ; and even these people learnt to love the giver through the gifts, so Phemie Seaton found no lack of hearty welcome. She could not fail to see this and be gratified when the cottagers came to their doors to get a word with her as she passed down the village street, to show her the last new baby, or complain of the last attack of rheumatism, sure of her interest and sympathy in all that concerned them. On Christmas eve the house had to be decorated, and Phemie worked at twisting and tying-up wreaths of ivy and holly until she was nearly tired out; then she superintended its all being put about the rooms, the last piece of decoration hung up being a large bunch of miseltoe, which was given the place of honour in the hall. That finished, she surveyed the result of her work critically, for would not Christopher Kennicote see it all on JSew Year’s-eve ? and was it not therefore to be desired that Eoscorla should look its best in his honour ? Jenifer, passing through the hall at the same moment, looked from her yoqng mis-, tress to the miseltoe, a,nd said somewhat scornfully. ‘ It seems jqst waste to put that up, it dew, with nobody but your pa to kiss you under it. Miss Phemie/ To the old woman’s great surprise the girl blushed a fiery tell-tale blush, from the roots of her hair to her round white chin, and turning away lied up-stairs, leaving Jenifer to draw her own conclusions ; which she did, getting pretty near the truth then, and nearer still the next morning, when Phemie came to her in the store-room, and said, holding out two half-crowns, ‘ Jenifer, if the postman comes before we are back from church, please give him thyi as a Christmas-box from me, separately from papa, you know,’ To which requst Jenifer made the slightest disingenuous reply, ‘ Very well, Miss Phemie. Treby will be 1 pleased enough, I daresay ; but, my dearie, you’ll have to get a sight of letters to be worth such a Ohristmassing as this ?’ [To he continued.)