LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1010, 20 September 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

SUMMER’S GOLDEN DAYS.

[By Beatrice Dt nphy.] (Cmitinvrd. )

* Did you find it- dull the !a-t two days ?’ Mr Graham asks me; and 1 confess that 1 did, and that i wished he had come to s ■ us.

‘ I did not th.’nk you w >u'ld h ive liked i% Miss Heseltme ; because I understood you to -■ay you did not wish to be bothered during your visit to your aunt.’

I look up to see if he is laughing at me, but he is perfectly serious; so I tell him that he does not bother me, and ask him if we have another wet day to call at auntie’s, so as to break the monotony and interrupt our tete-a-tetes. This he promises, but adds that he is leaving Coolmory next week, and is going to India as doctor on board one of the mail boats.

* Why did you not toll me before, Mr Graham?’ I ask; and I feel as if he had wronged me by not telling me sooner. * I have only just got the appointment, and only knew it myself an hour ago ; and I hastened over here to tell you because, Miss Heselune, I look upon you as one of my dearest friends.’

Oh how his words delight me ! At last I have met a man who is honest enough to tell a girl he looks upon her as a friend, aud who does not mask his friendship behind a flimsy veil of flirtation. ‘ I am so glad you look upon me as a friend, Mr Giaham. Now I can tell you that you have made my visit to auntie much more enjoyable by your friendship, so let us shake hands on it and vow eternal fidelity.’

I put my hand out to him, and raised my voice to a theatrical pitch, then looked up at him with my eyes full of laughter; but his are looking at me so tenderly that I drop mine to the ground, and cannot raise them again even when he says, in his usual voice,

‘ Thank you, dear little Lois, I think you are a woman who will prove as good as your word on all occasions ; and I think you are one whose friendship is true enough to last through life.’ He speaks so sternly now, that I am quite relieved wheu he continues, in a lighter tone,

* Since we are to be real friends, Lois, you must must call me Philip.’ ‘Yes, Phdip.’ 1 answer, and then add hastily, ‘And we shall be always friends, whatever happens, Philip ; even if we never meet again.’ iSomehow I have a presentiment that after to-day we won’t see much of each other ; so I want to go down to the river and spend one more pleasant morning. We lazily enjoy ourselves, discuss our favourite books, compare our ideas upon music, and I can scarcely believe it is as late as it is when I see auntie approaching us, with the tidings that luncheon has been ready for more than an hour, and that she has come to fetch us in.

It was such a glorious July day when Philip and 1 became > hilip and hois to each other, that so long as 1 live it will stand out in bold relief from all others.

Never can I forget the golden glow of that summer time.

Chapter 111,

We have four days of showery weather. Mr Graham, auntie, and I have been able to go out for a drive three afternoons ; but the fourth is too wet; so we spend the afternoon in watching the ram, at least Philip and I do, while auntie works.

Aunt Mary seems to have taken an odd idea into her head since that morning she fetched us in to luncheon. I verily believe she thinks Philip is making love to me, or that I am falling in love with him ; for she never lea ves us a moment ai,one, and interrupts all our conversations. If this absurd notion has really taken posse-sion of her mind, all our free intercourse is at an end ; Tir she would never encourage anything of this sort without directions from headquarters, or, in other words, mother’s c nsent. I think if she knew that nothing wafarther from our minds and that we were only friends, sl.e urght relax her vigilance ; but I do not care to s eak to her on the sub ject, and 1 feel I would rather not enjoy any more rambles with Philip than tell any one of our compact of friendship. It is very hard, for he will leave Coolmory to-morrow ; so that unless auntie ceases her vigilant watch at the party which takes place tonight, we sha’l not have any time together. At going away Philip asks me to keep him some dances, and 1 promised to do so ; but even here auntie interrupts, and says, * Lois dear, I don’t wish you to dance more than two dances with any one, as people in the country talk about everything;’ and, turning to Philip, she proceeds to say. 4 1 don’t want my niece to lay herself open to criticism ; she shall dance twice with you, Mr Graham. ’ Philip bows his thanks, but looks disappointed. At the party aunt Mary introduces everyone to me, and before Philip oan get to me my programme is nearly full ; bat 1 have kept his two dances. Thefiistisa quadrille. Auntie dances opposite to us, and directly it is over she takes me off to introduce me to some old lady who knows my father. I don’t know any of my partners, and 1 don’t care to dance with anyone; but I go through all the dances in a mechanical way, and get no pleasure out of them. I notice that Philip does not dance, and that every time I look at him he is looking at me. At length our waltz arrives. The music seems better, and the light more brilliaut, directly I feel F'hilip’s arm round mo, as we slide off iuto a delicious swinging step. 4 This is nearly as pleasant as sitting by tbe river, Philip, don't you think ?’ I ask ; but he answers, 4 1 would give anything I have for one half-hour with you alone, Lois, down by the river. ’ 4 lt would be very nice, Philip ; but we shall never go there again,’ 1 murmur, and the music makes me long to be off agaP. y, ext time we stop is by an open window that leads to the garden; Philip puts my hand through his arm, and leads me to it; then he bends his head close to my ear, and whispers, 4 Lois, e>me out in the garden and decide my fate for me.’ he looks at me so tenderly and engerly that 1 see in that moment that his fi iendship for me has turned to love, and 1 feel that 1 cannot return it, and dare net ai-SWer him. (To he continued.)