LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1404, 15 August 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

SNATCHED FROM THE BRINK.

f Argosy.) (Continued.)

‘ So for the last three months you have been deceiving both your father and me I’ I satd in a t"ne 1 had never used ’o her before. ‘ You havec nceal* d from him that these peop e were here, and from me that lie had forbidden the acquaintance. I am disappointed in you, Sidney.’ ‘ Most peop’e are when they know me well,’ she repli d, with a fabenng attempt at a laugh ; and, leaning her elbow on the chimney-piece, she let her forehead fall on her hand. Her face was towards me, but I could see her face in the glass, and there was a look of anxious trouble upon it that smote me with sudden pity. ‘My child,’ I said impulsively, putting my arm about her waist, ‘ why will you not confide in me? You have some secret trouble ; let me share it; you would surely find it a relief. Will you not trust mo, Sidney ?’ She glanced into my face, then looked down. Her lips trembled. ‘I do trust you, Aunt Catherine,’ she answered after a pause. “But—but I cannot tell you ; it is impossible ; you would not understand,’

Before I could speak again she disengaged herself from my arm, and continued, in her usual tone : ‘ I suppose I may wrise a note of excuse to Mrs bight wood ? that does not come under the head of forbidden communications ?’

‘ If you will allow me to read it before it goes, ’ ‘Oh, certainly.’ She seated herself at her desk, end took up the pen, but instead of beginning to write, she sat for full five minutes with her chin propped on her upturned palm looking out before her with a face of intent and anxious thought. ‘lt is getting lata, my dear,’ I reminded her at length: “ jon had bettor write at once,” She started aud pushed back her hair.

‘ Yes, I will do it .at once,’ she said, and dipping tho pen in the ink, hastily wrote a few lines, which she handed to me for inspection. I glanced over them and saw that she had excused herself on the plea of a head-ache.

‘ Have yon an envelope ?’ she asked, as I gave her back the note, ‘ I can’t find one ’ I left the room to fetch my letter-case, which was in the dining-room. When I returned Sidney said hurriedly: ‘Oh, lam sorry to have troubl-d you, -iunt Catherine : I found one after all. There is the note, and she handed : t to me sealed and addressed.

‘ For once the stereotyped excuse is not a fib, for ray head does really ache distractingly,’ she add ’d, pa-sing her hands over her forehead. * I think there is thunder in the air. I will go and lie down for a time : 1 shall not care for ariy dinner, so please don’t let me he disturbed. If I am better towards seven o’clock I shall go and spend an hour at the “ Cottage.” ’ ‘ The Cottage,’ which was the residence of my cousin, Lady Hillyard, was the next house to mine, and the two gardens communicated by means of a door in an ivy-covered wall.

‘ Do so, my dear. Lady Hillyard is always glad to see you,’ I answered. She pause 1 a moment at tho door, turn’ng the knob in her hand : then coming suddenly back to my side she put her hands on my shoulders, and looked into ray face with an unwonted s ;£tness in her handsome dark eyes.

‘ Dearest, kindest, best of aunties, forgive your graceless niece.’ she said, with a tremulous smile ; ‘ forgive mo, not only for deceiving you, but for all my cavrice and ingratitude. Tell me that”—her head drooped on my shoulder—‘tell me that you love mo a little in spite of it.’ *My poor child can you doubt it ?’ I exclaimed, much touched, stroking the braids of her glossy datk hair.

She lifted her face and kissed mo once—twice, and I felt a tear on rny oheek ; the ivxt moment she was gone, and I was left to my own meditations. That tin y were not altogether pleasant ones may be imagined. The more I reflected on what had passed, and the oftener I read my brother’s letter, the more anxious I grew. He could have but one reason for objecting to her intercourse with the Lightwoods, and when I remembered that she had been in constant communication with them for the past three months, with almost dailv importunities of meeting “ that scamp, Fred Forrester,” I felt anything but comfortable.

I longed for my brother’s arrival, and yet half dreaded it; fearing a -me outbreak of his fiery temper. It was not wonderful that I had but little appetite for dinner that day. My solitary meal was soon over, and I returned to the drawing-room, and tried to occupy myself as usual, but found that I was too restless to settle to anything. The heat, instead of diminishing, seemed to increase .as the evening advanced. There was a curious hush and stiffness like the stillness of dresd, in the sultry air, broken on‘y by the distant muttering of thunder, and the frightened twitter of a bird, hiding beneath the leaves from the coming storm.

Night “ came down with a rush” (as in the tropics) an hour before its time ; at seven o’clock it was dark ; so dark that, looking through the open window as I sat alone in the drawing-room, I could not even trace the on*line of the shrubbery trees; all was a vague black void, ‘ Do, for g odness sake, ma’am, shut the window,’ cried my old servant, Garter, when she came in with a cup of coffee ; ‘ the storm will bo upon us in another minute, and if I’m not mistaken, it’ll be the worst we’ve had this many a year.’ The words were hardly out of her mouth, when the outer darkness wa* suddenly rent by an awful, ; Ending flash of lightning, which seemed to set the sky on fire, and, barely a moment after, the thunder crashed close above the roof, so cl se, that I invountarily crouched aud put my hands to my had.

Carter screamed, and clung to me. ‘ Lor’ a’ mercy ! it’s like the day o’ judgment,’ she panted ‘ Shut all the doors and windows,’ I said, hastily ; * I will go up-tairs to Miss Dane.’ ‘ .'letter leave Miss Sydney to ma’am, if you’ll excuse me,’ Carter replied, in her blunt way ; * I went upstairs a minute ago to see if she was frightened, and would like me to s't with her, and she answered very short that she had seen much worse storms than this would be, and didn’t want my company.’ ‘ Was she lying down ?’ ‘I d n’t know, ma’am ; I spoke to her through the door ’ The sto'm proved indeed the worst we had known for years. The sky was lit up almost incessantly by the red glare of the lightning, though none of the succeeding flashes were so awfully vivid as the first; the thunder pealed as if all heaven’s artillery had opened fire on the earth; and the rain came down like a cataract, “sheer, and strong, and loud.” >n little more than half an hour, however, it had spent its force. The thunder died away in the distance, and the rain abated. I threw the window open again, and admitted a stream of cool, deli cions air ; then, turning up the lamp, which I had lowered during the storm, I took up my work, and sat down on the sofa. I had set the door open, so that I could see across the hall, and half way up the stairs, and I kept glancing up from my work in the expectation <<( seeing Sydney descend, for it was now nearly eight o’clock. With n and without, the house was profoundly still, and the measured “tick-tack” of the oil-fashioned clock on the stairs sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, I felt lonely and unaccountably depressed, and began t > wish impatiently that Sydney would come down and keep me company. ‘ It is now too late for her to go to I ady Hillyards’,’ I reflected, as the clock struck eight Lveu as the thought crossed my mind, looking towards the stairs, I saw her descending. She had chang 'd her dr s.s for a darker one, and wore a long black casbm ro mantle, the hood of which was drawn over

her head. Her face, in its dark frame, looked startlingly white. She came noiselessly downstairs and across the hall; opposite the drawing-room door she paused, and looked in at me, but did not speak.

* Surely you are not going to the cottage to-night, Sydney ?’ I exclaimed. She made no reply, but passed on out of sight. Something in her looks and manner made me uneasy. Suddenly a thought struck me that caused me to start to my feet. ‘ Suppose she w r as not going to Lady Hillyard’s a-'ter all? Suppose ’ I stayed for no more suppositions, but threw down my work and fallowed her. she had already quitted the house leaving the front door partly open. Going out into the verandah, I saw her walking rapidly down the tide-path towards the door in the garden wall. I c-dled to her, but she kept on without heeding me. However, I felt reassured now that I know she was really gons to the cottage, and only wondered anxiously whethei she had been s o imprudent as to rush out of doors in her thin house-shoes

The rain had now ent’rely ceased, and the night was as calm as if no storm had ever troubled it, though the heavy rain-clouds had not yet dispersed, and the moon was climbing her way wearilv through their dark masses. The breeze blew fresh and cool, bringing with it the rich moist scent of damp earth and grass. It was all ro pleasant that I was tempted to linger a little out of doors. I threw a shawl over my head, and began to pace up and down the verandah.

(To he continued.)