LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1259, 1 April 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

OEDEAL BY TIME; OK, THE MEMORABLE TRYST. A Story of Two Epochs. BY W. W. FEN FT. ( Continued.) These sentences and their accompanying shouts, from the lips ofa wild Irish gnnner, who had been formost of the party to'd off to go in search of the missing officer, soon brought the rest of the men to the cliff edge, and within sight of the object of their search. Then, amidst wonder and regret, discipline immediately asserted itself ; and, under the orders of the sergeant-major, prompt measures were taken for the recovery of what all thought to be the dead body of their officer. Lying quite still and motionless, some twenty feet below them, clearly the only means of getting at him would be by the aid of a rope ladder. So, despatching some of the men to carry the news to the temporary encampment and to bring back the necessary tackle, easily supplied by the gear of the guns, &0., the remainder of the party stayed anxiously on the watch. Presently the unfortunate man showed signs of returning consciousness, to the intense relief of his comrades, who wore now, however, devomed by a terror Jest by moving he should slip off the perilous ledge. Each show of increasing consciousness was followed by cantious calls and warning gestures, until by great good luck the poor fellow seemed to have understood the necessity of remaining quiet, as at length he waved his hand in acquiescence. It was an anxious time, but relief came at last. A ladder was improvised ; a light bat muscular young gunner descended, who, making an extra rope round the shoulders of the lieutenant, was enabled, with the assistance of those above, by degrees to hoist the still half unconscious officer in safety to the grassy summit. Here every preparation had been made for him by the surgeon, who, with the major in command, was now on the spot. But no sooner had the crippled man briefly alluded to his accident and the circumstances that led to it, than ho began, in an excited but still half-dreamy state, to ask what had become of bis companion. ‘Hid none of you men see the lady P’he asked. ‘She struggled with me up the cliff; indeed, but for her, I could not have moved. She all but lifted me to where you found me ; but I had uo sooner got there than the agony of my leg, 1 suppose, made me faint, aud I can remember nothing but a vague sort of vision, in which she seemed to glide away from me! Good God!’ he added, half raising himself from the litter on which he had been piaerd, ‘ she must have slipped down into deep and been drowned ! For heaven’s sake, look about you ! are you sure nothing has been seen of her ? Speak, men alive I’ But, beyond two or three of the men testifying, as they stood rigidly at attention, to having seen their officer walking with a lady on the sa r ds in the direction of the groyne, where the two had been lost sight of, nobody had so much as caught a glimpse of the unhappy girl. ri ew« of the catastrophe spread immediately, and no persuasion could induce the injured man to allow himself to be removed from the spot whilst the search for the hapless girl was going on. With groat reluctance did he allow hia ancle to be examined, aud he made it a personal favor with the surgeon and his commanding officer that he might be left behind whilst the troops returned to quarters. It was hoped that the injury was not serious but the ancle and leg were so swollen and inflamed, when the boot was cut off, that no detimto opinion could at first be given. 80 the young lieutenant’a request was and

with the surgeon and the two attendants, he remained in his litter out there, under the still wild and clouded heavens, for many hours. No news came of his lost companion ; ail feared that she must indeed have been carried far out to sea and drowned. Those who knew the coast and the tides beat, knew that this too certainly ’would be the fate of anyone falling as she had been supposed to fall; and in a frame of mind which needs no describing, the young officer was conveyed by nightfall to his quarters. News of the grievous disaster of course soon reached the sick and now lonely lady left in the lodging house by the sea. It was more than her already shattered health could bear The nature of her disease had led the physicans to foretell a sudden end in the event of any great shock, and, now that it had come, she did not survive it half an hour. Here the link necessary to hold my story together must be supplied. Jessie Dareant was an orphan and an heiress, who on the death of her father, a wealthy West Indian planter, had been sent to England to be placed under the charge of his unmarried sister. This lady had received her niece, then about fifteen years of age, with fervent gratitude. The two had clang the more to each other from ’heir loneliness in the world, and Jessie’s tender heart went out the more readily to her aunt when she found on how slender a thread her life hung. But, whatever the extent of the affection between aunt and niece, it could not prevent the springing up of other feelings in the breast of the latter Old Miss Darraut resided in (’anterbury, and moving as she did iu her quiet way amongst the best society of the place, naturally came in contact with much of its military element. Not very wonderful, therefore, was it that her niece, who as she grew up gave promise of great beauty, should a tract much attention, and that one of the many young officers who humbled themselves at her feet should be regarded with more favour than the rest He was the son of a very old friend of Miss Darraot’s, and at the tune Jessie arrived he had just obtained his commission iu the Artillery, and was quartered at Canterbury prior to his going to Bermuda. He just made the acquaintance of the child, as she then was, and much talk and fan was elicited from the fact of his being on the point of going to the place whence she had just come. An impression, it may be assumed, had been made on both sides, even then ; at any rate, a sufficient feeling had sprang up to invest his return, which took place in the course of five yaars, with considerable interest in her mind. He came, and, paying a visit to Canterbury, found his little child-friend grown into a superb woman He fell, as was to be expected; she had treasured his memory, and an engagement, recognised gladly by his friends at least, was the result. They would have been married probably within six months of his return, bat for the rapid decline in old Miss J arrant’s health.

Jessie had become absolutely necessary to her comfort; the poor old lady, in her failing health, clung to the girl more than ever, and it was agreed that, as her life, in the ordinary course of things, could not be much prol nged, the e would be no great hardship in the young couple postponing their hap-pine-s until it could be achieved without inflicting pain and sorrow on the last hours of o d Miss 1 'arrant. They f .It that an immediate marriage would be the height of selfishness ; both shrank from the thought of it when the fervour of their love allowed them for me moment to see what it would entail. So the engagement ran on far longer than had been expected. The life of Miss Darrant, after two years, seemed no nearer its end than before; but Allan and Jessie were young enough, as everybody said, to make waiting rather beneficial perhaps than otherwise. /To he continued.)