LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 956, 18 July 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE WHITE HOUSE,

By the Author of “ The Witch-Thorn.”)

{Continued.)

‘lt is not so far ; I could show you a short cut through the fields. I know that old ruin well. Would you like to go now ?’ to Miss M‘Carty, ‘No, thank you.’ The tone was cool enough, but the eyes met his, and he felt rewarded.

* To-morrow,’ said Mrs Stevens, 'lam sure it would be very pleasant.’ Her niece turned her eyes upon her with a grave, questioning look, but the other avoided them. Evidently she did not wish to be disappointed of the little variety that offered itself to her. *lt will be good for you, Caroline,’ she said. And so, without a word more from the young lady, it was arranged that Captain Bowring should be their escort next day to the old castle.

At the house they parted. He watched her slender figure go up the path, and saw her address some words to her aunt, in what seemed a very earnest manner. The face of the other, as she -turned partially round, wore a deprecating expression, and then the girl smiled, and fondly kissed her cheek. ‘ It is a curious old place, certainly,’ said Mrs Stevens, as, next day, they stood amidst the ivy-covex-ed moss-grown remains of the ancient castle.

On the first landing-place they rea died, Mrs Stevens paused, and, seating herself on a little ledge, declared her intention of going no further. Her niece, however, proceeded, and Captain Bowring, of course, followed her. In silence they climbed up the tortuous, corkscrew stairs that stretched up and up, like stairs in a troubled dream, when one seems irresistably compelled to toil on, and there appears no end. The tower was built on the verge of a frightful precipice, and the little pla.tform where they stood hung right over the ibyss, which went sheer down in an almost perpendicular line, leaving hardly room for a few dwarf oaks that grew on the ledge, and the fantastic wreathings of wild herb and shrub that hung over it. At the bottom a deep tarn lay, into which a cascade formed from the waters of a rivulet, that crept by the castle walls, were precipitated over a bulwark of rock some thirty feet in height. The angry roar of the waters rose up from amid the mystery of the black rugged rocks, compelling the eyes, by a wield fascination, to gaze down—down —into the shuddering depth beneath. At length Captain Bowring spoke ‘ Have you any faith in presentiments, Miss M'Carty?’ he asked. ‘I never had, but somehow, standing here, a singular feeling, subtle yet strong, pervades my whole being, that on this spot some dreadful danger will yet threaten myself or some one very dear to me.’

As he raised his eyes, and turned towards his companion, he thought she looked paler than her wont, and her voice was low and shaken as she replied—'lt is strange. I, too, have at this moment the same feeling that you describe I do believe in presentiments, I cannot bat do so, for they have never misled me, and an impression, deadly and certain, creeps over my mind, that here some person dearer to me than my own life ’ She paused, growing white to the very lips, and trembling from head to foot as if about to sink down.

Impulsively Captain Bowring sprang forward, and, throwing his arm round her, lifted her back from the chasm. For a moment her head lay on his breast; her so't hair swept his cheek ; he felt her heart beat in unison with his own. The next instant she withdrew herself from his clasp, and casting on him a cold, ofiended glance, turned, and began to descend the stairs.

‘ Forgive me,’ he faltered, scarcely able to speak with the agitation that still overmastered him. ‘ I thought you were about to faint.’

She made no reply, and as they had ascended in silence so they went down. As they joined Mrs Stevens below, and, leaving the ruined place behind them, the three walked on, it seemed like a dream to Captain Bowring that for a moment his arm had actually encircled the form of that cold, proud girl, and that for a brief period their spirits had been knit together in such perfect accord, that the same thought, the same mysterious apprehension had passed from one mind to the pjther before ever a word was spoken. She might be cold and distant, choose to be offended even, but the strange bond of sympathy established between them on that fearful spot could never be quiet annihilated. Chapter 111. A TRANSFORMATION. For some days after the visit to this old castle Captain Bowring saw nothing of Mrs Stevens or her niece. This, however, was by no means his fault, for not a day passed that he might not have been seen, at least twice or thrice, in the vicinity of the White House. And after a time his perseverance was rewarded. One morning he suddenly came upon Miss M’Carty alone, engaged with her sketching in a wild little hazel glen near the house. He discovered that this was her favourite spot, and from that t me it became his favourite also. Sometimes he found her alone, but more often, her aunt was with her. On two or three occasions the latter invited him into the house to pass an hour or so of the evening with them. Then he spoke. She listened m silence, but when in answer to his repeated entreaty that she would speak, her glance met his, it was full of impassioned tenderness, mingled, however, with a vague kind of uncertainty, as it seemed. But he saw only the love, and when they parted, he had won from her the promise that she would be his wife. It was evening, and as Bowring came out from the little glen where this had taken place, and went on alone, the sun was oettiug. * Half its disc was visible above the hill that he was ascending, and its beams lighted up the landscape with a dim and sombre splendour. Bowring’s heart had been beating high, but, gradually, his pulses sank, aud a sense of depression and indefinite fear crept over him. It was the third time that he had felt thus -in the White House, when left alone that first day ou the summit of the ruined castle—and now a >r ain. But he pushed it aside, attach in" to it; as such dim instinct are apt to bo treated, till the time come when we are forced to acknowledge that the voice deep in our souls was a prophet-voice, and spoke truly.

Mrs Stevens received the news of her niece’s engagement with pleasure, and all went well. The house, though still sealed to all others, was now open to Captain Bowring, to go in and out as he pleased. One day be ent- red, finding the house-door open. There was no one in the usual sittingroom, and when, on going upstairs to the drawing-room, he found it untenanted also, he concluded that the ladies must he out.

With this conviction, he was about to go away, when a slight rustling sound in the adjoining room caught his attention. Thinking it was probably a servant, and wishing to leave a message, he entered, and to his surprise—for of late she had always been fleet to welcome him. and had learned to know his step—he saw Miss M'Carthy herself.

Her back was to him, and she was bending over a table, apparently greatly absorbed in the examination of something. He appreached a few steps nearer, still without her hearing him. He perceived now that what she gazed on so intently was a picture, the portrait, he could perceive, of a young man in military dress. Suddenly she raised it, and, with a gesture of the wildest, most passionate emotion, pressed it to her lips, and overe 1 it with kisses.

Bowring stood transfixed with amazement. In the moment that she raised the picture, he had recognised it as the likeness of a young officer, who had once been an intimate friend of his own, but of whom lately he had heard nothing. ‘Caroline!’ he exclaimed.

She started up, and, clutching the picture in her hands, gazed at him steadily, with a look that seemed half fearful, half defiant As he advanced towards her, she retreated, and waved it back, without speaking. Her face was very pale, but her eyes were singularly bright, and as he continued to gaze at her, a mischievous smile began to glimmer in them, and to curl her lip, as if with irrepres-ible mirth. Undoubtedly she was playing some sportive prank upon him. She had heard his approach, and, for a freak, had resolved to try and rouse his jealousy. It showed him a side of her character, of which, till this moment, he had not had the slightest conception ; and it did not pirticularly please him. This spritish-looking being, with the mocking, half-malicious smile dancing in her eyes, gave him such a different impression from the quiet and pensive girl he had known and loved. Even the style of her dress had undergone an alteration that consisted with her changed mood. A scarf of quite a brilliant colour was twisted fantastically about her shoulders; she wore a flower in her hair, and some glittering, almost gaudy ornaments, decorated her person. (To he continued.')