LITERATURE,.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1292, 10 May 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE,.

ESTELLE. Br C. K. Douekty. I. A SHINING sun on an autumn day sheds its rays on a group of virgins robed in white. As the church bell tolls with solemn strokes, the virgins move forward with their burden so loved ; and the voice of the priest’s holv chant guides the followers to the village churchyard. There, amidst tho crosses and stones, kneeling figures in black bend their heads and weep for (he virgin lying dead. An old man, bent with age, sobs aloud as tho earth falls with hollow sound on the coffin of his dear grandchild. Estelle is dead! The poor blossom, stricken by an evil wind, faded and fell while it was even yet in the bud; and the aged branch which had borne it so tenderly is left alone in the bleak winter’s winds, torn and broken by the storm of grief. 11. Estelle had been very happy in her village home, the belle of the fete and the joy of her grandfather’s heart. Every kind soul in the village was a mother to her, for her own was gone to heaven. Her simple mind was taught by God. Her sweetest lessons were learnt from the leaves of the opening flowers, and the voices of the birds taught her to praise her Creator. Thus Estelle laid grown amongst the flowers, so fair that it seemed ns if each, like the fairy godmothers in the nursery tale, had given her a different beauty. The lily slept on her brow, the rose tinted her soil chetks, violets peeped from the depths of her sweet eyes, and even the brook site loved to well had given her the pearls that shone between her bright lips, and the sun with his hunted rays had mad? her hair of burnished gold,

Tb? Um Giiw 'tho brook luul (obi her, 03

she filled her cruche with its clear waters* that she was very fair, she felt glad, and laughed as she plaited her hair and wound it round her head, and tr d lightly home to be welcomed by the caresses of the old man, who called her the light of his eyes, the brightness of liis last days, and a thousand other tender names. Estelle was very happy. Her life was so pure, so simple ; just like the brook, it flowed on amidst the llowers, brightening all it touched and freshening even the aged trees, so that they looked younger and greener for being watered by it. But, alas, the poor little blossom was doomed to fade even before its full bloom ! The sun was to bo hidden by heavy clouds, which were to hurst in sorrow on her sunny head. 111. One afternoon, as she wandered beneath the forest trees, searching for herbs for her grandfather’s evening meal, and gathering a bouquet of the pretty wild flowers as she went, she heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs galloping along the wide allce which led to the village. She turned to see, and beheld a noble steed, and —ah, why did she look ?—a horseman, whose glance made her innocent heart bound, though she knew not why. The horseman stopped as he met her eyes, and thought her face and form the fairest he had ever seen.

And in truth it was so. Her simple gown, blue as forget-me-nots, was gathered up full of herbs and llowers; her broad-leafed bat was thrown back, that the breeze might fan her sweet face ; and a sunbeam, which had stolen through the trees, taking her shining hair for one of its fellows, lit up her head, and made her look (so thought the handsome horseman) like a sylvan goddess. ‘ Good day, pretty maiden,’ said he, as he smiled upon her ; and the colour deepened on her cheeks, 'for she felt frightened—though glad—at his voice, which called her fair, and she feared to answer him, he looked so grand. ‘Do I frighten you, my pretty one ? ’ he asked gaily. ‘ Will you not tell me the shortest way to the village of A ? ’ ‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, the tears half starting to her eyes, fearing he had thought her unkind. ‘lt is that way, my lord, quite straight, just as you are going.’ ‘ And do you live at A , pretty maiden ?’ asked he, stooping low, to look closer into her eyes, and smiling softly as he admired their blue depths. ‘Tea,’ replied she, and drooped her lids shyly before his admiring gaze. ‘ And how are you called ? ’ ‘ Estelle, sir.’ ‘ But are you not afraid, pretty one, to wander alone in the forest?’ asked he, with a look whose expression pure Estelle could not understand. ‘Afraid, my lord!’ she exclaimed, with smiling innocent surprise, ‘ and of what ? I know every 01 c in (he village, and they are too good and love me too well to do me harm. Besides, in the forest, there are only the trees and flowers and the brook, and they can’t hurt, me.’ ‘ No, my sweet Estelle ; of course, nothing would, willingly hurt you. Such a pretty maid is born to be caressed. Will you give mo your hand to kiss ? It is oveuihg, and the hour of deletions. I never pay mine elsewhere than at the shrine of beauty.’ •Ai.d his look was more ardent than over. Estelle did not understand, for his was not the language of her village friends ; but she felt Iris look go right to her soul (alas never to leave it more!) like a worm that, pierces to to (he heart of a bright flower, to eat it to death; and she trembled and blushed, but did not dare to grant his request. ‘You are angry, sweet Estelle; yet I do not mean you harm, my pretty child ; but. as I frighten you so, I had better say good-day, and leave you with your fragrant friends and flowers.’

But he meant not one word of what he said. This pretty blossom had pleased his fancy, and the fine horseman was little usd to think if his fancy would bo hurtful to its object or not. He knew he was handsome, and women lore beuity. ‘ Why should I not hive this pretty wayside flower? Should I leave her to be crumpled and spoiled by some rough plebian hand ? Never!’ Thus had he thought us he spoke to her such wily words, and tie was sure she would not let him go. * I am not angry, but I do not understand ; for no one has ever spoken so to me before. I am only a little village girl, my lord, and I only know what tlie brook and the flowers taught me. I tell grandfather all I seem to hear them say, and he says their lessons are very good; and he knows, does grandfather, for he is very old and wise.’ The simple earnestness of her reply deepened her eyes and made her cheeks glow, so that she looked more beautiful than ever.

‘ So you have a gradfather, little one ? But it is late, and I must go; so good-bye, pretty one. Will you give me your hand now ?’ Poor little Estelle ! she did not know, and timidly held up her tiny brown hand, which he pressed to his lips, murmuring. ‘ This is only an revoir ! ’ And soon the horse and its rider were gone, Estelle watched them disappear between the trees, and a strange bewildered feeling stele into her heart. It seemed, as she lifted her eyes and looked around her, that there was a new hue over everything, which beautified and softened all. And her step was more thoughtful and slow as she returned to the village. IY. Next day sweet Estelle’s dreams had all changed. In every simple flower she saw two dark eyes smiling upon her ; and the silvery voice of the brook had changed to a deeptoned one, calling her by many tender names. She scarcely culled one blossom as she went her way through the forest, gathering only the herbs for her grandfather. She suddenly started with a little cry of fright, for someone was standing by her side. It was the gay knight, but a-foot this time. How well the knew him, although she scarcely raised her timid eyes to his face! She had not seen whence he had come, but she felt very glad to have him near her, half wondering the while at her sentiments towards him, poor little heart! The knight was kinder and gentler than before. He spoke to her of her beloved friends the flowers, and told her many clever things about them, which made her open her blue eyes in wondering admiration as she listened. Then, when the evening was come, tie sent her back to her grandfather, ask ug no promise this time that she would on e again j for there was a kiss upon her fair brow, which bo knew would act us a talisman to bring her there. Thus, day after day, gentle Ifstclle met her lover in the forest, and listened to his soft wily words—words which changed all the music of her life. One day he asked her for her love : could she refuse him ? He knew it was his already. But when he spoke of flight her cheek puled, arid the look in her eyes was full of sorrow ; for she knew she mast refuse him, and she feared to give him pain. But he would not listen to her refusal or prayers. She must bo his entirely, to prove that she loved him ns she said. Then she wept bitter tears at the thought of leaving her grandfather, whoso heart she know it would break ; and it seemed to her troubled mind, as she wavered a moment, that the flowers waved their heads in mute reproach, and (tie perfume which the winds waited towards her seemed, us it were, their prayers that she should pity the old man. Even the voices of the birds appeared to repeat reproachfully her name. So in anguish she rose, and would fain have hid him adieu. But he clasped her to his heart, and declared he could not live without her, and prayed her to have pity on his passion. So weeping she promised to fly with him on the morrow, for she must needs first embrace the old man. Then her lover let her go, half regretting Ids imprudence; for this‘wild flower hid wound itself around his heart, and he believed that she was indeed necessary to him. V. Sweet E tello fled in feverish haste from her lover, anxious to lengthen the distance between them, for his words had dismayed her. Her blue eyes were wild and strange, and her golden hair floated on the wind. In the bewilderment of her feelings she looked n)t where she wont, and her feet strayed far from her village home. As darkness deepened, and her strength began to sail, her spirit grety more calm, and pesjuig both her little bands

to her fevered temples, she stopped and looked timidly round. All was dark and strange, and the forest far behind. A weary lonely feeling came over her, and the pent-up tears started to her eyes, for she was very tired, yet dared not turn back, as she knew not the way; then, as she thought of the poor old man waiting for her so anxiously at home, she fell with a cry of terror on the grass, and lay there with her golden hair all wet and tangled, and her white face buried in her hands. Poor crushed flower! the storm had been too great for the strength of its delicate stem; it had been bent too roughly, and could not raise its sweet head again. The village priest, happening to pass that way, saw a childish form lying in the wet grass ; he gently raised it, and recognising the features of sweet Estelle, beheld with surprise and pain her pale face and closed eyes, and almost feared that she was dead. lie took her carefully in his arms and carried her homewards as far as he could, until he was obliged to sit down and rest with bis fair burden. A good man from the village, passing with his market cart, took them both up ; and the two kind hearts laid sweet Estelle on the straw at the bottom of the cart, and covered her over with their coats to try and warm her back to life, wondering sorrowfully what great misfortune had come to their little belle, and why she had gone so far from home.

When they arrived at the village the priest sent the good man to tell her grandfather to have courage, for his little Estelle was not lost, but had strayed late in the forest and lost her way ; but he had brought her home, and would send her over soon. Meanwhile poor Estelle had been aroused from her stupor, and with burning tears confessed to the holy man all the sorrow of her heart. ‘ My child,’said he,‘your lover is an evil man, and only means your ruin. You did well to fly from him, and it were better had he never crossed your path. I will uot rebuke you now, my poor child, for the wrong you did in listening to his cunning words ; doubtless the innocence of your heart prevented your feeling any wrong. May God help you, my child, to root out this evil affection.’ Estelle’s tears fo'l faster as she listened, for it paired her sorely to hear her lover called evil ; but she promised to obey, ar.d humbly confessed that she had done wrong iu not telling her grandfather of this man ; but, to her, her love had been so holy that her heart and lips had refused the sacrilege of telling it even to him. YI. Days and weeks passed by, and the roses tied from Estelle’s cheeks. Her eyes grew brighter, and with slow steps she went her way, shunning the brook and flowers, and her sweet voice was silent, no more joining the song of the birds. The good neighbours asked her what had come to her to change her so, and the old man grew anxious as ho watched, from day to day, the change grow greater in his precious darling. Still none guessed hex* secret, for to all she answered the same : ‘ The summer is passed, all is changed; I change too.’ At even, when she lay in her tiny white bed in the little chamber that was her sanctuary, looking like a lily iu a shroud of snow, she watched the stars appear one by one, and thought of him. It made her happier to think that, perhaps he saw them 100 ; ar.d with a troubled sigh she wondered if she were in his thoughts. Then, as she remembered that the good priest had told her it was a sin even to think of him, for he was a had man, the tears fell fast from her sweet eyes. He bad ! how strange ! She half thought the father must be mistaken, for the few bad men she had seen in their little village had rough brutal manners and evil faces, while he had such gentle ways—at least with her —and such a noble face. As she thought she wept the more, till her heavy eyes closed in troubled sleep, and the pale moon shone through the open window upon her, as it were a pitying angel watching over her. ‘T was thus Qua autumn night, when Estelle, thinner and paler than ever-, had, weeping, prayed that the stars might ever watch over her lover and guard her grandfather, that her weary gentle spirit fled away on the moonbeams ; and who knows if a t iny star which appeared that night to a sage in his closet was not the spirit of beautiful Estelle, itself fulfilling the prayer which her feeble heart had offered up ? # =& # #

Years after, a worn man, ’with a shattered form and a dark face—‘a noble stranger,’ said the villagers—wandered listlessly through the churchyard. He stopped to read the inscription on a little white cross, over a grave planted with lilies and snowdrops and other white flowers. There was only the name and age of the sleeper below, bat it flushed the cheek of the stranger : TO Estelle, AGED SEVENTEEN YEARS. He turned away with a bitter smile. ‘ Died of love and virtue, poor child ! Well, she would have died of a broken heart, probably, had she listened to me. As well die of virtue. But it is only such little wild flowers as she who have hearts true enough to die of love for a wretch like me ; while I, the ruined dupe of a profligate beauty, live, a lonely wanderer.’ And the stranger quitted the churchyard with a scornful laugh, still to wander lonely and unloved. And the dead slept better when he was gone.