LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1203, 11 January 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

FOUND IN THE SNOW. [From "Tinsley's Magazine."] (Continued.) So Mr Carlyon found a teacher for his little protegee, and besides that, he took it into his head to give her lessons in Latin and French himself. Mrs Baker had told him she would never do for hard work, and so he resolved to bring her up as a governess. For three years he continued teaching her ; then a change took place; he was obliged to go to Scotland, where his family lived. Amy was disconsolate at the idea, and her beautiful eyes were quite red with crying. What should she do when he was gone ?

Mrs Baker was very kind aDcl very good, but Mr Carlyon understood so much, better, was so gentle and thoughtful for her. Was he not, besides, her benefactor and friend ? But for him she must have perished in the snow, Mrs Baker had told her ; for the circumstance had faded out of the child's memory. ' You must write to me, Amy, constantly, and tell me how you are going on with your lessoos, and your music too.' ' But that will not make up for not seeing you, Mr Carlyon,' said the girl tearfully, and with quivering lips. • You shall have my photograph to look at,' he said merrily. ' Ah, you laugh ! It is nothing to you. You are going home, to those who love you and care ior you ; whilst I —oh, why didn't you let me die in the snow that night, Mr Carlyon ?' she said passionately. ' Amy, you do not know what you are saying, child,' he said gravely, but tenderly. And for the lirst time he looked at her, and was struck with a strange feeling of pity and admiration. She had grown up under his eye, and had become so familiar to him that he had failed to see what every one else saw—that she was a graceful lovely girl. Strange that he had never observed the fact. The girl felt his eyes upon her, and her face flushed and her eyelids drooped. He had never looked so scrutinisingly at her before, and a sit of shyness took possession of hey. From that moment she uttered no regret at his approaching departure, and indeed displayed an indifference that surprised Mrs Baker aud disappointed her guardian. ' She is certainly unlike other mortals,' thought James Carlyon. ' Changeable and variable as an April sky. I suppose, poor child, my rebuke has silenced her.' 'Are you contented with the likeness?' he asked, as he gave Amy his photograph, one he had had, taken expressly for her. She looked at it for some seconds, and thvS. glanced up at his face. It was not, strictly speaking, handsome, but manly and open, with a pair of honest eyes that made up for any other defect of feature, and a smile that Mrs Baker always declared reminded her of a patch of sunshine on a winter's day. There was ness, strength, and resolution written ia James Carylon's face, and these wers only a reflex of his character and disposition. JHc was one of those men who art. horn to lend others, and be praised ; Sos he well weighed his actions through life,, asd took as his rule the golden precept, *• unto others as you would have ot4,P3S do to you.' Whilst) 1 am sketching his face and cha-a.oiei-, Amy had been comparing notes with her photograph. It did not please hcc. The photographer had failed to catch, his happiest expression, and had given, kiln a stem look that the young girl had seen but rarely. ' No; but it is better thap. nothing, thank you,' she said shyly. 'And how am I tt> remember you,', ho acked, 'without a photograph? You must promise to send me yours, Amy.'

But the girl Bhook her head, and there was a suspicion of tears on the long black lashes. ' Oood-bye, Amy ;' and Mr Carlyon kissed her on the forehead, an action that brougb, a rush of crimson to face, brow, and neck that warned him never to repeat it. Six months later, poor Mrs Baker died after a brief illness All her woldly goods she bestowed on Amy. Mr Carlyon was to be trustee, and to look after Amy's interest. The worldly goods consisted of the furniture and a few pieces of plate, not of much yalue, poor soul, but they had been of grea value in Mrs Raker's eyes. James Carlyon wrote instructions from Scotland that the house should be let, and Amy sent to a boarding school in the north of London that had been recommended to him. ■•>o a new chapter in the young girl's life was opening. Part 11. Three years had passed at Miss Johnstone's school, aud now Amy was promoted to the post of an under teacher Miss Johnstone had offered it to her voluntarily, wheu she was contemplating going out as a governess. ' I shall never be able to repay you for all your goodness to me,' she wrote to James Carlyon, wheu she had decided upon staying at Northoote House; 'but I feel it is now time that I released you from the burden of providing for me. Miss Johnfit me has offered me twenty-five pounds a year, besides living with her; and to me this seems riches ! I am so thankful she has taken me, because I shrunk from going out into the world with a dread I could not describe. Who knows ?—one day I may become Miss Johnstone's partner!' James Carlyon was seated in his library whilst he read this letter. The house he occupied with his mother overlooked the sea, and was an old-fashioned but substantial mansion, in its own grounds, in fair Edinburgh town. Be had become a regular bookworm since his return to Scotland, an spent his time chiefly in literary work. Mrs Carlyon had done her utmost to draw him out of his seclusion, but iu vain. She had a great desire to get him married, but he would not hear < f it.

There was time enough to think of such a step when he was forty years of age. At present he was taken up with book-learning; and besides, he had not met with the young damsel who could take him captive. ' Then you'll he obliged to have a wife made for you, Jamie, if that's the case. To think of all the bonnie lassies you know, and whom I ask constantly to the house, that not one of them can strike your fancy, is astonishing. I'm getting old now, and would like to see you settled before my time comes, boy.' • Very well, mother dear, you will have your wish, I daresay ; but tbe young lady must be of my own choosing.' 'Of course, Jamie. I'm not going to choose for you, rest assured. Only let her be well-born and a lady. The Carlyons have never made a mesalliance yet —at least it is not on record in the direct line—though some are poor enough.' 'As poor as we were once, until aunt Elspeth's death ? • True; and your poor dear father only lived to epjoy it six months. However, it was God's will. What Ijdo regret, my dear son, is, to think of the years you spent toiling and slaving in tnat miserable London, in your profession, for a paltry ninety pound a year ! The wonder to me is how you managed to live without getting into debt. That poor Mrs Baker must have been very unlike what I have heard of London lodginghouse keepers.' ' That she was, or else I should not have stayed with her so many years. Poor Mra Baker 1 She was one in a thousand.' This conversation had taken place the same morning that James Carlyon had rereceived Amy's letter, and, to the great surprise of his mother, he announced hU intention of going to London by the night mail-train. 'On business ! What business have you in London, Jamie ?' 1 You remember the story I told you about the little girl of Mrs Baker's?' ' Yes, but can you not transact that business by letter? The M'Neils are ooming todinner tomorrow, and I am so anxious you should see Janet M'Neil.' 'Thank you, mother, but I have seen Janet M'Neil, and I do not care to see her agaife. This is business I must attend to. I am really very sorry to disappoint you; but if Ido Dot go at once, I shall never go. For the last two years I have been going to London, as you know.' That night saw Mr Jame 3 Oarlyon in the train to London. The next evening he was waiting in Miss Johnstone's drawiug-room, a room that looked like a receptacle for needlework of every kind and fabric, and paintings aud drawings (more neatly than masterly executed), [the work of pupils of Morthcote House. Miss Johnstone, who bad a great notion of her own dignity and the proprieties of life, received the gentleman-visitor with stateliness. 'Miss Carter will be here almost immediately. In my absence I was obliged to delegate my place to her during the professor's lecture in class.' James Carlyon bowed courteously. ' I am sure you will be pleased to hear what an inestimable treasure I have found in her, poor child. Her history is a touchingly sad one, but very interesting ; in fact, quite a romance. She is a perfect lady in her manner and bearing, and is fitted to adorn any position. Of course, poor girl, the uniortunate mystery of her birth will always be an obstacle to her advancement in liio, and— .Ah, here she comes,' And Miss Johnstone's wrinkled face broke into smiles. James Parlyon rose, and stood motionless. Was this graceful fair woman the little girl be bad seen neatty four years back ? Ho inula scarcely behevc it; but when he mot the <lcar trnfclvfnl eyes there way no longer any doubt. Her face was suffused with a bright blush, and ho would see tnat his visit made her glad. •2?©w 1 will leare you alone, my dear fcbe professor cannot, do without me, and I am sure you can.' James opened the door for the little old lady with polite eagerness, which won her good opinion at unce. As he closed the door, he turned qusekly to the young girl, and hold out both, bis hands to her. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he did not dare, tako the liberty. SmiliDgly alio placed her h.g,nds in his. K To be continued.')