LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1251, 11 March 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. By the Author of “East Lynne.” On Monday morning, the 11th of May, 1857—the year, as the reader may remember, that England was destined to be shaken to its centre with the disastrous news of the rising in India - there sat in one of the quiet rooms of Enton parsonage a young and pretty woman, playing with her baby. It was Mrs Ordie. The incumbent of Enton was Dr. 1 ing, an honorary canon of the county cathedral. Mrs Ling was from India: her family connexions, uncles, brothers, and cousins, had been, or were, in the civil or military ser .ice of Bengal. Consequently, as the daughters of Dr. Ling had grown towards womanhood, they were seve'ally shipped off, with high matrimonial views, according to a fashion that extensively prevails Miss Ling, Louisa, had gone out first, and had secured Captain Ordie. Constance went next, and espoused Lieutenant Main, to the indignation of all her relatives, both at home and out, for she was a handsome girl, and had been set down for nothing less than a major. The third daughter, Sarah Ann, very young and pretty she was, went out the following year, with a stern injunction not to do as Constance had done.

Before Sarah Ann could get there, Mrs Ordie’s health failed, and she was ordered immediately to her native climate. Upon landing, she proceeded to Enton. The voyage had been of much service to her, and her health was improved. And there we see her sitting, on the morning of the 11th of May, nearly twelve months after her arrival, playing with her infant, who was nine mouths old. In August she and the child were going back to India. Mrs Ordie was much attached to this child, very anxious and fidgety over it: her first child had died in India. She fancied, this morning, that it was not well, and had been sending in haste for Mrs Beecher, who lived close by, just beyood ? he garden. The honorary canon and the rest of the family had gone to spend a week in the county town.

Mrs Beecher came in without her bonnet. She had been governess to Louisa and Constance. had mairied the curate, and remained the deeply attached friend and adviser of the Ling family. In any emergency Mrs Beecher was appealed to. ‘ I am sure baby’s ill,’ was Mrs Ordie’s salutation. ‘ 1 have been doing all 1 can to excite her notice, but she will keep her head down. See how hot her cheeks are.’

‘ 1 tkink she is sleepy.’ said Mrs Beecher. ‘ And perhaps a very little feverish.’ *Do you /think her feverish V Whatever shall I do ? * Good mercy, if shs should die as my other baby did !’ ‘ Louisa,’remonstrated Mrs Beecher, ‘do not excite yourself yanselessly. I thought yon had left that habit oC’ ‘ Oh, bi\t you don’t know what it is to lose a ohild * yon never h*d one,’ returned •>"vs Ordie, giving way to her excitement. ‘lt she dies, I can tell you 1 shall die -with her.’

‘Bush,’ interrupted Mrs Beecher. ‘ 1 believe there is little, if anything, the matter w’ith the child, except her teeth, which renders children somewhat feverish But if she were dexterously ill, you have no right to s;\y what you have just said.’ ‘ Oh yea, 1 have a right, for it is truth. I Would rather lose everything I uoysess in the world than, my baby. What a lopg while

Mr Percival is !* she added, walking to the Tindow and looking out. f You sorely have [not sent for Mr * e eival ?’ (

" surely have- And if he does not again llake bIS * a PP earance . i I shall send

Mrs Irdie'had always been of most excicaoie temperament. As a girl, her imagination Vag ao so prone tQ the marvellous, '■•hat story books and fairy tales were kept her> Phe would - them unknown to h, r parents, and wake up in the night, with terror at what she • H * r " indeed was a peculiarly ctive bra n. ifc- s necessary t 0 raQn ti o n SatToiio w7 y “ •»» f » There was really the matter with the child, but Mrs Ordi >insigted that there was, and made herself m, erable a]l the da The surgeon, Mr Perciva came . he a / w little the matter with u either> but he ordered it a warm bath, am medicine probably dislillea wate and sugar. Mrs Beecher came in i n S evening. Mrs Ordie hinted tha,,u„ i, f as well remain for the night, to e, fi,. spot should baby be taken worse. tfle The curate’s wife laughed. ‘I r can promise you that there will , 6 no danger, Louisa. You may cease to yourself, and go to sleep in peace.’ ‘ If anything does happen, I shall send to call you up. ’ The Lings kept four servants. Two of these, a man and maid, were with their master and mistress ; the other two were at home. And there was also the child’s nurse. After Mrs Beecher left, Mrs Ordie crept along the corridor to the nurse’s room, where the baby slept, and found the nurse undressing herself. ‘What are you doing that for?’ she ndignantly exclaimed. ‘Of coarse yon will sit up to-night, and watch by baby.’ ‘Sit up for what, ma’am?’ returned the nurse.

‘ I would not leave the child unwatched to-night for anything. My other baby died of convulsions ; they may also attack this one. Convulsions are so uncertain; they come on in a moment. I have ordered Martha to sit up in the kitchen and keep hot water in readiness.

‘Why, ma’am, there’s no cause in the world for it,’ remonstrated the surprised nurse * The baby is as well as well can be, and bas never woke up since I laid her down at eight o’clock.' ‘ She shall he watched this night,’ persisted Mrs Ordie. ‘So dress yourself again.’ * I must say it’s a shame. ’ grumbled the nurse, who had grown tired of her mistress’s capricious ways, and had privately told the other servants that she did not care how soon she left the situation. ‘ I’d remain up for a week, if there was need of it, but to be deprived of one’s natural rest for nothing, ma’am, is too bad. I’ll sit myself in the old rocking-chair, if I must stay up,’ added the servant, half to herself, half to her mistress, and get a sleep that way.’ | Mrs Ordie’s eyes flashed anger. The fact was, the slaverv of Eastern servants had a little spoiled her for the independence of European ones. She accused the girl of every crime that was unfeeling, short of child murder, and concluded by having the infant’s crib carried down to her own room. She would sit up herself and watch it. The child still slept calmly aud quietly, and Mrs Ordie sat quietly by it. But she began to find it rather dull, and she went to the book shelves and took down a book. It was then striking eleven. Settling the lamp on a small table at her elbow, she began to read.

She had pitched upon the ‘ Vicar of Wakeheld,’ She had not opened the book for years, and she read on with interest, all her old pleasure in the tale revived. Nearly half an hour had elapsed when she suddenly beard footsteps on the gravel path outside, advancing towards the house, and she looked off and listened. The first thought that strunk her was, that one of the servants had been out without permission, and was coming in at that late hour; which, as her watch, hanging opposite, told her, was twenty-five minutes past eleven. But she had not heard the bell ring. It must be explained that Eaton parsonage stood back from the high road and was surrounded by trees. Two iron gates gave ingress to it from the road. Th y wnre far apart, for the house was low aud long; the kitchens, forming a right angle with the house, projected out, their windows looking tideways on the br .»ad half-circular gravel path that led from one gate to the other. The entranceporch was near the kitchens. At the back of the house stood the smaller house of the curate ; a narrow oathway leading to it from the parsonage That house faced the side lane, into which lane the small iron gate opened. These gates, the rector’s two large ones and the curate’s shall one, were always locked at sunset, and the premises were then deemed secure. There was no other entrance to them whatever, and all three of the gates were lofty and spiked at the ton, preventing the possibility of any marauder’s climbing over. Did any friends come to either of the two houses after the gates were locked, they had to ring for admittance.

To he continued.')