LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1205, 14 January 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

FOUND IN THE SNOW. [From “Tinsley’s Magazine.”] ( Continued .) But that solitary drive home in the onehorse fly gave him time to form his plans. There was only one obstacle to encounter, he was sure—that was hia mother’s prejudice. When she learnt the story of Amy’s life, he was sure she would at once put her veto against his marriage. StiU, was he a boy, to be advised in such a matter ? He would not ask her opinion. Much as he loved his mother, he knew her weak points, aud felt aasmed that the wisest course would be to get a special license, marry Amy at once, and take her back to Scotland with him. But in this ho reckoned without hia host. PAHT UX, Not a wink of sleep did Amy have that night. Her heart was in a wild tumult of happiness and doubt. Did he mean anything by that kiss ? And then she would dwell (as girls very much in love, and sincerely in love, will dwell) upon every word, every look, that had passed that eventful blissful evening. Would the morning never come How she longed for it I He was coming over to lunch with Miss Johnstone and Professor Marley, But at length there were streaks in the eastern sky, and Amy got up as quietly as a mouse, dressed and went down into the garden into her favorite spot, under an old beech-tree that stood near the little stream running through the grounds. For Northcote House boasted of something more than a strip or square of garden, and was famous for its beautiful grounds and quaintly laid-out gardens. The stream ran merrily along, and there seemed music everywhere—so readily do we color our surroundings and the most familiar objects with the condition of our own hearts. Amy had always thought the grounds lovely ; this morning they seemed clothed in a perfect glory, and the stream and the birds made delicious music together. She had brought a book of Tennyson’s poems to read; but her thoughts were far sweeter than even his beloved poems. That evening she was standing under the same tree, thinking over something that had come to pass, wondering if it could be true. Yes; it was no dream, though she had been dreaming so many years of him : his love was hers. He loved her, the poor lonely girl, without home, without a relation in the world. It seemed like a fairy tale. ‘Tell me, Amy,’ said Joyce Melville, her great friend at Northcote House, ‘what is Mr Carlyon like : and how old is he ? ’ ‘ I cannot answer either question, dear. I only know he loves me, and that I can recollect him as far back as memory carries me.’ ‘ Is he handsome, child ? * Amy smiled, opened her locket, and showed his photograph. ‘ I like his face; it is a downright good honest face, Amy —belter a thousand times than a handsome one. Handsome men think too much of themselves generally to love any one very much.’ * What a sweeping remark Joyce, Joyce ! Look at the professor.’ ‘ Ah, he is perfection! ’ and Joyce’s pretty brown face grew very red. * But then, you see, he is poor—that keeps him from being vain. ’ So the two girls chatted by the stream and interchanged confidences ; and Joyce heard for the first time Amy’s history, which went to form a new link in (their friendship, that bound them closer in after fife. Amy shrank at her lover’s proposal. Not that she had no trust in him ; but she would have preferred to have received a few words words of welcome from his people ; and this she expressed. ‘ And so should I, dear one; but it cannot be done. My mother is very strange in some respects. I hate any altercation or unpleasantness. When you are my wife, darling, no one will dare to say anything.’ ‘Ah, I see what it is,’ she said, with a look of pain in her face. ‘You think she would not approve of your marrying me ?’ She spbke with a proud shyness that made Janies Carlyon take her in his arms and hold her tight. ‘ Not approve of you ! Silly child ! Let even my mother dare to disapprove of my darling! I will hold you against her and the whole clan of M'Caulays and M‘Neills.’ ‘ But it will grieve her so.’ ‘Nonsense, child; nothing of the kind! I insist that you do as I ask you. 1 bought a special licence when I bought the ring, darling; and I can marry you if I like this moment.’ * That is if I consent,’ she added playfully. *Do you mean to say you refuse ? Is this how you show your love ?’ And in the end she was persuaded. Of course he knew much better than she did, and was so clever and thoughtful. In any case she was sure he would do nothing wrong. It was decided that they should be married in the city church, near Mrs Baker’s old house, the following n o ith, and Miss Johnstone was obliged to consent. Besides being her lover, Mr Carlyon was her friend and guardian, and she could not refuse him.

For the next few days boxes kept arriving, addressed to Miss'Carter, containing a wonderful trousseau for a young bride, and a dressmaker to measure the young lady for her wedding dress. It seemed all like a fairy tale. James Carlyon came every day, and the discipline was very much disturbed by such an unusual proceeding as preparations for a wedding in a scholastic establishment.

James Carlyon, sitting at breakfast one morning a week later, was struck with the following advertisement; ‘Robert Carter, who married the only daughter of Sir Walter Keane, in the year 18—, and left immediately for Australia, is earnestly desired to communicate at once with Messrs Deeds and Son, Bloomsbury square. ’ Could this be any one connected with Amy ? and if so, should he not at once see the lawyers? But supposing he did, he could not give any evidence as to her identity, and there was no one who could. He was puzzled how to act. Should Amy be the granddaughter of Sir Walter Keane, there was an end to the objections his mother would raise j but then, on the contrary, the grandfather might object to him. How could he endure to lose her now ? Had she not .become part of his very 3if« ? Was ehe in every fibre of his being ? be continued,)