LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1421, 4 September 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

NOTHING MORE! Chapter 11. (Continued.) Keith Falconer’s mother had been a woman of few friendships, but these from their very limitation had gathered strength. She had also been one of those women who possess the power of turning a lover into a staunch and loyal friend. In the days of her youth, Laurence Temple had loved her vainly ; had seen a man, less worthy of her love, win the jewel whose brightness he was incapable of appreciating, and then, sad and sore at heart, had joined his regiment in India, and thrown all his energies into the interest of his profession. Years later these two met again, and then Colonel Temple had given the woman whom h( had once loved that sustaining, neverfailing friendship, which a generous, purehearted man can so well give to a woman whom he holds in reverence. Things looked very black indeed at Glonluna when Keith was a bonny, curly-pated lad of four years old, and if it had not been for an opportune visit “on leave” paid to his native land by Lawrence Temple, that beautiful home might have been made desolate, and become the subject of conjecture to a curious world. But Allan Falcolner and Laurence Temple had been lads together at the same public schoo 1 , and fast friends in after life, until the love of a woman came between them; and now Lawrence, ever the stronger character of the two, used his influence with his old comrade to good purpose, and saved the woman whom both had loved, though so differently, from still deeper sorrow than that which had already befallen her. Mr Falconer, to a certain extent, reformed his reckless life; at all events, he kept thing* smoother on the surface ; and some years after this visit of his old friend, he died. Of course, it would hav« been a charmingly romantic ending to the story, had Laurence Temple now won the love of the beautiful widow; but ho was already married ; and even had this not been so, I doubt if anything warmer than the old trusty friendship would have come about between them, for to Mary Falconer the world now hold but one object of worship, and that was—Keith. Shortly after Keith’s marriage, Mrs Falconer received a letter from her friend Laurence Temple, now once more in India. It was at once a behest and a farewell. His young daughter Marion, long since motherless, was at school in England, and on the point of going out to join him in his Indian home ; but now Colonel Temple was dying, and by the time that letter could roach Glonluna, Marion would be alone in the world. To the kindly care of the woman who had been his first love, and then hia friend, ho commended his child, until such time as her own relatives should claim her.

Keith had heard all this, and his mother had spoken in her letters of the girl being at GSenluna, and of her sweet and gentle ways; but it had so chanced that he had never seen her, never until, in the hour of his bitter grief, her voice fell upon him ns tho very balm of Gilead? He had felt so alone, so isolated in his sorrow, and lo ! here at his side was one who had loved, and now mounre I that mother, whose sympathy had been the one tender spot in his life. It seemed a strange thing that Marion had spent many holidays at Glenluna in times past, and that she and Keith had never met; but Blanche did not ‘like’ that home among tho hills and woods, and Mrs Falconer would not broach tho idea that her son shonld come without hia wife.

Marion’s young heart, soro from the loss of tho father she so dearly loved, had turned for comfort to that father’s friend ; she had grown to love Mrs Falconer with the love which can only exist between two really sympathetic natures. The power of companionship is a gift which some women possess in perfection, and few could be more richly dowered with such power than Marion Temple. There was no beauty in earth, or sea,, or sky, that did not find an echo in her pure soul, a reflection in the clear mirror of her mind; no high and holy words ever penned by tho master minds of tho world that did not rouse her into admiration and sympathy. Happy indeed were the hours spent together by the two women, and great was Keith’s comfort in listening to tha old housekeeper’s description of how happy ‘ tho mistress’ had been with her dear companion. Marion was not hy any moans a beauty; she had soft, olea?, hazel eyes, a mobile mouth, and was graceful and lithe as a yogng deer in every movement, but there was nothing brilliant about her, nothing to catch tho eye of a casual observer. She did not startle you with admiration; she won upon you, stealing your heart away unawares.

When Keith took her baok with him to London for awhile, Blanche, after one comprehensive glance at the sad, quiet face and timid eyes, took heart of grace, and was comforted. She was not jealous of her husband, she esteemed him too lightly for that; indeed, he held in her estimation very much the same position as another person’s banker might have done in theirs ; it was worth while to keep him in good humor, for Blanche had been a * penniless lass,’ and was wholly dependant upon him for supplies. But she had had misgivings when Keith wrote to hw from the north to say that Marion wajs coming to them as a guest, until such time as an escort should bo found to be her travelling companion to Mauritius, whither she was, bound ; and these misgivings returned to Mrs Keith Falconer with redoubled force in consequence of a letter which she received from old Mrs Fairfax, the Glenluna housekeeper. That worthy woman took it for granted that hey master’s wife must be ill, since she had not accompanied him to the house of mourning, and therefore she wrote sympathisingly to her, at the same time she spoke of ‘Miss Marion’ as a ‘dear, sweet young creature.’ Blanche was still young and fair enough to be generous to other women, but for all that, she was aware that eighteen possesses certain advantages over five-and-twenty, and she had no fancy for ‘going about’ with a girl whose fresh young beauty might throw her oiyn int' the shade. ‘ A regular dowdy, my dear; b’g eyes, and a slip of a figure, and looks like a mute at a funeral,’ This was Mrs Falconer’s verdict upon Marion Temple, as confided to her Mend, Bello Vernon.

‘How long is she going to stay ?’ asked that light of fashion, trying the effect of a new attitude in the mirror opposite. ‘ I don’t know ; she’s bound for Mauritius, whore her father’s sister, the widow of a rich planter, has offered her a home ; and when a certain M, rs Mayne, who is to be her escort, xp,ahcci up her mind to start, the girl is to go. For my part, I can’t for the life oi mo imagine what women like Marion Temple want with a chaperon ; no man i’orn would ever turn round to look at her a second time!’

‘ My dear,’ said Mrs Vernon solemnly, ‘ if I were you, I would keep the girl hero as long as you am, St is much more likely your husband will lot you relax this absurd occlusion, if you can make the excuse of Wanting to cheer her up.’ ‘Well, I really don’t know,’ sighed the victim of a husband’s tyranny, with her head plaintively on one side ; * she isn’t one bit simpatica to me, and I can’t make her see how hard upon me this sort of dull life is; you know it destroys me, Bella—absolutely destroys me I Besides, the girl is a fool ’

But here Mrs Vernon interrupted her. ‘ You are mistaken there, Blanche; the girl’s no fool. Did you notice how quick she was the other day, when Charley Durant quoted a line from Rome fusty old writer who lived before the Hood, and how she followed it up ? He looked quite startled, and his eyes followed her ’ •Pouf I’cried Mrs Falconer, flipping her har pretty white lingers together in a gesture of contempt, ‘ Charley likes to be pedantic

himself; but, as a rule, men hate that sort of thing! Fancy what our ingenue did the other evening. We had had our dinner in the usual festive manner, you know —the three of us together; and after dinner the girl disappeared. ‘ I hope you were not ill last night ?’ said I next morning. ‘Oh no,’ says she, sweetly smiling; ‘ but I thought you and Mrs Falconer would like to be left alone together sometimes in an evening.’ Not even the sense of being in what was, or ought to have been, a house of mourning, could keep back the peal of ringing laughter with which Belle Vernon greeted this remarkable anecdote ; a merriment in which Blanche joined right heartily, you may be sure ; and the master of the house, passing by the door on his way to his own room, heard and . Well, no man is immaculate, and now and again words will rise to the lips that it is well to stifle. Yet even the bitterest home trials had of late grown less bitter to Keith Falconer; less hard to bear with patience than they once had been. He was like a traveller toiling along a steep and uphill road, who hears far-off theilirat faint notes of a melody heaven sweet; and listening to the exquisite harmony of the strain that comes ever nearer and nearer as the day wears on, half forgets to note the weariness of the way and the desolation of the land through which his path lies. Something had come into the man’s life that had made all burden’s easier to bear. ( To he continued.)