LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1047, 2 November 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

„.. THE FAIR IN THE YELLOW I HARIOT, A Pakk Bovance ok the Last London SI'ASON. (Continvcd.) StraDge contrast, tliia bright child ; spring rose-burls on bcr cheeks ami innocence in every line of her smiling face, alone in a vehicle better suited to a dowager or a duchess of the older school. A countrybred girl, of course ; such fresh beauty is denied to Londoners, r'ut where had she come from ; who could she be ? He was determined to find out this time. With that idea he turned his burse's head and gave immediate chase. The carriage would doubtless travel by the conventional route, across the Serpentine bridge, and back to tho crowded Drive. There chance would certainly provide a friend to toll him what he wanted to know. But, to his surprise, the chariot patted out at the Marble Arch, and left the park. There was no time to lose. He pursued, promptly, along Oxford street to the Circus, up Langham place into Portland place, sharp to the right by Weymouth street into Albany street, ami so to Park street. Here the coaebmaa, as one not intimately acquainted with London, made, as it seemed, a false turn lie got into Gloucester road, ami at the t-ud of it liad to crosa by tlie Chalk-farm

station, and back towards the Kentish Town road. This regained he followed northward, and reaching the Hampstead road began to breast the hill. What could have brought this young lady so far out of town ? Business, pleasure, or mere desire for change of ah- and scene ? While Featherstone was still debating, the carriage stopped short in front of a modest cottage. Presently an old gentleman issued forth and assisted the girl to alight. There was no footmaD, and as she went into the house she said loud enough for Featherstone to hear, ' In an hour's time, Oregory ;' then she disappeared. Tnder her arm was a portfolio, in the other an unmistakable colour-box. Of course, she had come out for a drawing- lesson ; equally of course, when it was over, she would return to town. Riding slowly to and fro, Featherstone waited while the time slipped by. The chariot, which had gone no further than a neighboring 'public,' returned, and drew up in front of the cottage. Presently the young lady accompanied by her drawing master, came out, shook hands, jumped into the carriage, and was driven off. Now, for the first time, Featherstone became aware that the coachman had been drinking, and was almost too unsteady to sit upon his box. ' The rascal! To take advantage '"of his young mistress being all by herself. She ought to be put upon her guard Something's bound to happen. I really ought to look after her,' The coachman's erratic course soon proved that there was some ground for these forebodings. The pace at which he drove down the hill was break-neck, and his steering infamous. He had searoom certainly, all the ample space of a wide suburban thoroughfare ; but no road is wide enough to be traversed in long as if heating up against a head wind. Very soon too the coachman attracted attention and much derisive chaff. ' Where's that garden-rake ?' 'Who put you on the box, Mr Bottlewasher ?' ' Why don't you buy a mangle or turn chimney-sweep ?' remarks calculated to raise the ire of the bibulous, and which our Jehu resented by glaring round in speechless semi comical indignation, to the utter and more perilous neglect of his driving. Already by the merest shave he had weathered an apple-woman's stall; next he was nearly in collision with a light cart; then he was all but wrecked upon a heavy brewer's dray. It was really time to interfere. Featherstone rode up rapidly. ' You're not fit to drive ! You're endangering this lady's life. Eere,' he turned to the übiquitous ' Bobby' who had already cropped up as fast as does the mushroom in rank soil after rain—'l give this fellow into custody. Take him, carriage and all. My name i> Lord Featherstone.' Policemen have immense respect for peers of the realm. ' Very good, my lord. But there ain't room for these horses and all in a policecell.' ' And pray what is to become of me V said a small voice, a little tremulous in its tones, but not without asperity. 'AmI to be given into custody too V Featherstone took off his hat. * A thousand apologies. My interference would have been unpardonable but for the gravity of the situation. If you will but tell me what you wish ' ' To go home of course, as soon as possible. My aunt will be in terror.' ' This rascal cannot drive you—he won't be fit, for hours.' ' I certainly shall not wait hours. I must walk, or find another coachman. 0 Gregory,' she looked reproachfully at the old reprobate, ' the last time you promised to take the pledge ; and yet now ' ' O Miss Kiss,' he spluttered out, as if quite alive to the enormity of his sins. ' the brew was good, and I'd so long to wait ' 'lf I might make so bold,' said S 1002, 'there's good livery stables at the Chequers. You might put the carriage up, or get another driver there.' A very sensible suggestion, adopted forthwith. The chariot was conveyed thither in safety. Featherstone dismounted, then helped the young lady to descend. ' They will show you to a private sittingroom. You are not much alirmed, I trust ?' ' 1 ought not to be,' she replied, hanging her head. ' You are so kind. Bat how loug shall I have to wait?' ' Not a second longer than I can help,' he said gallantly. Nor had she; tho landlord produced a man in the convential drab coat, warranted to drive a pair, and within ten minutes the chariot was ready to resume its journey. Lord Featherstone went up to say so. 'I trust you will have no more contretem])*.' He spoke gravely. ' This new coachman is sober, but he is of course an utter stranger.' There was a shade of misgiving in his voice, which had the desired effect. ' Dear, dear, suppose he too should play some trick. I ought not to have come alone. Aunty said so. What shall I do now ?' 'lf you would accept me as an escort ' How deep he was ! 'Only too thankfully. But it would be trespassing too much upon your good-nature. You have been so kind already.' Such a sweet grateful little soul, with such a soft pleasing voice. She was absolutely charming. • 1 must go back to town. If you will give me a seat —' 4 But you have your horse. If you would only ride close behind, it would do.' ' My horse has gone lame in two legs ' It was a wonder he didn't develop navicular larninitis and farcy. ' Then 1 shall be doing you a service redly'? she cried, with animation. ' Distinctly.' Then tiny got in together and drove off. For a time neither spoke. Featherstone felt upon his good behaviour ; he was disposed to be as deferential as to a royal princess. His companion was a little shy at lirst and tongue-tied, but this could not last She was a chatterbox by nature, and soon broke the ice. ' Do you think hfj knows where to take us ?' she asked 4 Not unless you ve told him.' ' Don't you know '! ( How should I ? To London, I suppose.' 'That's a wide address,' and she laughed aloud. 'No, Kensington-square ; that's; where we live, Lord Feathers cone.' He started. ' You know my name, then ?' Artful young person, who did not aie con{©Sß to this sooner 1

' Of course ; I heard you tell the police man.' ' That's well; now may I know yours ?' 'Kiss." Good heavens ! Featberstone was nea saying. 'Kiss? Kiss whom? Kiss ber?' ' Kiss Legh; that's my name. It'; short —' 'And sweet.' Featherstone could not check himself. ' Short,' she went on, seemingly unconscious, ' for Zeziah. We came of an ol< Quaker stock en the borders, between Shropshire and Montgomeryshire. My father and mother are dead, I went to schooJ in France, and now I've come to London to be finished.' She prattled on now, frank, lluent, and unaffected. * And how do you like it ?' « What ? London ?' 'No ; being finished.' ' I haven't got to the end yet. That'll be when I'm married. But there is not much chance of that, yet a while.' ' Why not ?' asked Featherstone, highly amused. * I don't like anybody well enough.' ' Perhaps nobody's asked you ?' ' Indeed, lots have. Herbert Fitzwygram - he is our cousin—he did, and Robert Rox did, and —, she guessed from his face that he was laughing at her, and she stopped abruptly. ' You are quite a stranger, Lord Featherstone, and you have no right to ask me such a question.' • Well, I won't ; we'll talk about something different. We're getting into the streets. Do you know this part of London ? It's called Kentish Town, because it's in Middlesex.' She smiled. Evidently she was not one of those who bore malice long. 'l'm not well up in London geography. It's my first visit to town.' ' I wish it was my last.' ' Do you hate it so much ?' ' I'm tired to death of it. All the gaieties, the perpetual round of parties, balls—' 'O,I do love a ball! I've only been to one.' ' I saw you.' She turned her eyes on him, wide open, to see if he were telling the truth. ' But you didn't know me then. How could you tell ? And why weren't you introduced ?' ' INext time I will be. Will you give me a dance or two ?' • A dozen if you like.' A very artless and original young lady, certainly. But now they were ouce more in Oxford street, and the job coachman headed, as in duty bound, by the shortest route for Kensington square. ' He's taking us through the Park ! ' cried Featherstone, in some consternation. * Yes ; why not ? I am glad of it. It's pleasanter than the streets.' •O, if you prefer it. Only—' He was thinking that it was now well on in the afternoon, and the Park would be crammed. For the girl's sake it would be better they should not be seen thus publicly together, and alone. For his own also ; few men like to be carted round the Drive in a carriage, least of all in such an antiquated conveyance as this old yellow chariot with its high springs. ' We'll go out at Hyde Park Corner then.' 'No, no; I love the Drive best. Perhaps the Princess will be out; and I like to see the other people, and you can tell me who they all are.' Like a martyr he succumbed. It was best to put a good face on the matttr. Perhaps, too, he would not be observed, and with this idea he rather hung back in the carriage, and tried to bide behind his fair companion. yhe, on the other hand, was in. the highest glee. Chattering, criticising, laughing aloud as the chariot crawled slowly along with the stream : talking of bonnets and costumes; calling this a queer old woman and that a strange-looking thing; continually asking questions, and insisting upon categorical replies. Featherstone could not help himself. He looked at the places she indicated, made out individuals, caught the amused glances and half ' chaffy' nods of those who made him out in return, and by degrees realised that, for his sins, he had been recognised by at least half the fashionable world. Before night it would be all over Loudon that Beau Featherstone had turned into a chaperon for country cousins, or that he had been taken captive by a fair face in a yellow ' shay.' (To hfl continued.)