LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1507, 14 December 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE VILLAGE MYSTERY, (1‘ Chambers's journal.’’) ( Continued .) Chapter 111. ‘While at Hastings one day, the post brought me an ill-spe!t blotted letter, stating that the writer know my husband well; that she also knew me by sight, and had been one of the witnesses of our marriage in the church ; that she had some facts to impart to me ; and that I might call myself a lawfully wedded wife, but in reality was not so, although the service had been performed by a clergyman in due form. Naturally, I felt utterly indignant, and inclined to tear up the letter at once ; but I did not, putting it away careful y, in order some day to show it to my husband. The circumstances, I own, disturbed me not a little, and when a few days later came a second letter, inclosing a copy of a marriage certificate between my husband and another woman, my constornaion could nob be concealed. I answered the writer, at her request, telling her that I would grant the interview she asked for as Miss Wright’s rooms ; and leaving my baby in Kitty’s care, I went off to London to ted ray friend all. She was shocked at what I had heard, but was disposed to treat it as au attempt to extort money from me. Wo waited in terrible suspense; the person came, and I heard her story myself. She said that, fifteen years before, my husband, who had been rather a wild gay young man at college, had met and married her friend, who was au actress at some provincial theatre; that he had thought her very pretty, as she was, and fallen in love with he r ; tint that her habits wore so notoriously profligate, and her love of drink became so strong that Ihey cou d not live together, and they separated, he allowing her a small independent income so long as she never trouble 1 him. This went on for years ; the interest of the money was still drawn regularly, and therefore her friend must still ha alive. She seemed to feel forme and my condition ; said she had gone to the church for the purpose of declaring that the marriage could not be , but hi r heart f filed her and she let the ceremony go on. She now felt that it would lie wrot g to let matters go further, and ended by declaring that make what inquiries I pleased, I should find the story true, ‘I felt my heart sink. If this woman were his wife, what was I ? find my dm vug my son, of whom I was so proud, who

and what was he ? The thought became too fearful. Mias Wright underto»kto make all inquiries. I was too ill to do it myscf. About a month after, she came to mo. She said “Be brave, my darling, it is all true” I turned to stone. I could not be lieve it. Gradually T learned from her what she had done She had carefully examined the register in the church, finding it exactly corroborated the woman’s statement She then went to the bank, and found that for fourteen years the same person had come to draw the same sum of money—one hundred pounds every quarter—with fhe utmost regularity. The clerk showed her the receipt with the same signature so late as that April. What could I think P I felt ready to sink into the ground for very shame. I was crushed with this fearful blow, and worse than all, my idol was shattered, my trust in all that was good destroyed, my heart broken 1 One idea beset me, that I must hide myself at once. Whether I was wrong or right, God only knows. I could not reproach him—my darling, whom I still lovtd so fondly ! I felt if he asked me still to return to him I must; and yet, I thought it best to resist all temptation. I wrote to the agents, and countermanded my cabin which I had bespoken. I packed my cl >thes and the jewels he had given me, and left them with Miss Wright I bought a small outfit of unner linen ana plain dresses, marked ray things simply with my initials, M. 8., which chanced to be the same as before my marriage, and, after some delay, succeeded in obtaining my present situation as governess with Mrs Nixon, The place seemed a very desirable one—quiet, and retired, as Mr Nixon, with whom I made all the a'rangements, told me that his wife would live very qui-tly during his absence in India, I came, leaving my precious boy with Miss Wright and Kitty; but I could not live without him my heart yearned after him so eagerly. I wrote to Miss Wright, and asked her to send him with my faithful Kitty down tc see me, saying that I would find some suitable lodging when they came. To avoid remark, they were to pass this station, go on to the next, sleep there, and come over when I let them know that I could see them, I see you guess the rest, Dr. Summers. ‘Yes ; it was my own child I called you to help me to rescue on that terrible night. I could not rest; and made an excuse to Mrs Nixon that I wanted to take some wine to poor old Jackson. I hoped to catch one glimpse of my treasure as the train passed through the station. I was late, and only arrived in time to see the accident. Poor Kitty’s life was forfeited; and you can scarcely wonder now at my almost frantic state of mind. Since then, I have lived as well as I could, paid good Mrs (Joulson for her care of the fluid, to whom I yearn with all a mother’s deepest love, aud whom I dare not own ; and but for this affair of my ring, which I cannot help treasuring, and the absence of Miss Wright abroad, causing me to risk addressing Mrs Coulson’s letters myself, this mystery would have remained un raveled. When I have left Mrs Nixon. I will write and tell her all my story. How often I have longed to co .fide in your darling Hilda, no one knows ; but I did not dare to do so until now.’ She did not tell her trie as I have told it, hut with many interruptions, sobs, and choking tears, especially when she spoke of her husband, and their mutual love and of the cruel deception of which she believed him as well as herself to be tho victim. ‘He did not knowingly commit this sin,’ she cried. ‘ I am convinced he thought his wretched wife was dead; yet I dare not write to him to ask him. If hj said the one word, "rome,” I mu-t go.’ Hilda’s eyes wore wet with tears ; but never had she to my eyes looked so charming as now, when she sat holding that poor weary head against her bosom. At last she looked up. ‘ Now Harry,’ she began, * what can you do to help her ?’ she said.

‘ I fear but little,’ I replied. ‘ Indeed I can do nothing except go over again the ground Miss Wright has already traversed ; but to do this I must know still further particulars—the names of persons and places, and the precise dates of the various events as nearly as possible.’ ‘ I cannot tell you more just now, Dr. Summers,’ said Miss Brown * I am very tired ; but I will make a full written statement of all that has occurred, which you will > lease consider as entrusted to you and Hilda alone.’ ‘ Of course,’ I answered, ‘any confidence you may repose in ns is sacred. I dare not raise false hopes in your heart, Miss Brown ; but from what you tell me of the character of your husband, I cannot believe he is guilty of any intentional deceit towards you.’ ‘ God bless you for these words !’ she said earnestly, ‘ and thank you for all your kindness. You and Hilda may believe me when f say that although my visit here this evening has been a very painful one, the sympathy you have given me has gone far to lighten my load of suffering. I feel that you believe me, aud look upon me as an unhappy but yet innocent woman; and somehow why, I know not—you have given me a spark of hope.’ ‘ VV ell,’ said I, ‘ we will hope the spark may kindle into a bright flame before long. At all events, I will do my best, when you give me all the promised information ’ She pressed my hand warmly, drew down her veil, and took leave of us ; and wheu Hilda aud I were alone, we talked the matter over 1 I believe I know a great deal more about it than any one else,' 1 said ; ‘ but you really must not ask me to-night, my darling, for I have a great deal to think about, and when I have arranged my ideas, you shall know all.’ ‘ You are a horrid tantalising wretch,’said Hilda; but if you won’t tell, you won’t, 1 suppose. Is there any use teasing you ?’ ‘None whatever,’ I cried, laughing; ‘ spare yourself the trouble ; only a few hours more aud you shall know all I cau discover.’ ‘ Good bye, then,’ said she ; • I will have nothing more to say to you to-night.’ ‘ Good-bye,’ sail I, and went. CIIAI’TEB IY, Next day having been summoned to see a patient some twenty miles from home, I took the rail ; aud on my return journey homewards two gentlemen were my fellowtravellers. whose only peculiarity seemed to be their large umnber of rugs, bat-boxes, bags, and other travelling equipments, with which the centre seats of the compartment wore filled. After a while, I ventured a remark about the weather and tho war news, and was answered by the geat’omau opposite mo, who said : ‘ My friend and 1 feel it very cold, as we only arrived yesterday from India, and have been travelling all night.’ ‘ Indeed,’ said I, ‘ I fear you will find England very trying _ after India, and especially up here, for it is cousidered cold and bleak.’ ‘ I know the country,’answered ho; ‘at least 1 have been in it and have stayed some little time. Do you know Crestou, sir ?’ ‘I live there,’ 1 replied. ‘And, pardon me, 1 believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Nix-on. 1 saw the name on your hat-box there.’ Mr Nixon smiled. ‘You could not well help doing so,’ho said, ‘as it is precisely o pposite to you in very legible letter. But if you know t boston, perhaps you can give me news of my wife and childre n’ ‘ I hey are all well,* I answered, ‘and daily expecting tho telegram which was to announce your arrival inThigland.’ Ah!’ said Mr Nixon. ‘J hope my wife will not be too much startled; but I could not resist the pleasure or giving her a surprise. But may I have the honor of knowing tp whom 1 am speaking F’ 1 handed him my card, and also one to his companion, who up to this period Hal scarcely spoken a word. I le took my card, now, read it and boxed, thou drawing «»no frnn his pocket book, handed it to mo. On it was printed. ‘ 1 ieutenant-coloncl Beau champ, MOfh i>giment ’ 1 started. IJ. ro was the man 1 had determined to find-—the man of whom my brother had written—the man who had deceived Miss Brown—the.

father of the child. I scanned his face attentively-a handsome sensible face—one with deep hues of care and anxiety on the wide forehead and about the mouth; a bright keen blue eye, which one could imagine flashing with ange* at injustice or wrong; yet withal, one that could be gentle and loving as a woman’s ; one that could he no trifler with a woman’s heart and fame, I mused thus for some minutes, and.' at last said—‘lf I mistake not, Colonel Beauchamp, my brother, Tom Summers, is in your regiment.’ ‘ Is he your brother ?’ said the colonel, as his face lit up with pleasure. ‘ There is not a better fellow living. This is indeed a singular rencontre. lam very glad to have met you; and ho cordially held out his hand, (To ho continued.)