LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1515, 24 December 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ROSE CHERRIL : AN EXILE’S LOVE STORY. ( Continued .) ‘ln my country,’ remarked the Russian with the soft eyes and sad smile, ‘ we have women who could give a man the strength he lacked and show him how to strike a blow if bis own courage blenched. There are no ouch men for bravery as our female Nihilists, p. it can you expect these virile virtues of gentle English maidens, who do not know what it is to be oppressed?’ ‘The mouths of tbo English aro chokefull of liberty, and they arc surfeited,’ ejaculated one of the Italians bitterly. ‘As well seek to touch a fat man who lias dined with a tale of hunger as hope to enlist the sympathies of this people in our cause. Even their working men do not understand ns ; how should their women do. so ‘ ‘Women have been the perdition of conspiracies a hundred times over,’ ejacu’atcd Oamoiscr.u, rumpling his hair and then twitching feverishly at his beard. ‘ But perhaps wo aro taking it for granted too soon that Paul Brun is in love. I have heard of the pretty governess, but it was not told me that Paul was paying his court to her. Perhaps his lukewarmness arises f(■,Tui his Improved eiiGumstaui cs ; they say ho is beginning to make money.'

‘ He fought bravely on our side during the Commune, and ruined himself by so doing,’ remarked another of the Frenchmen, whose manners were tranquil as a doctor’s in a sick room. *1 should have thought his disinterestedness beyond question.’ ‘He was young when he made those sacrifices,” observed the gloomy Hatdreich, knocking some ashes out of his pipe. ‘Now that years have elapsed his ardour may have cooled. Men first despise Fortune and then woo her. It is harder to persevere in self-denial than to begin it, and easier to be generous upon impulse than after reflection.’ ‘ Yet Brim is no child, and knew to what he pledged himself when he took our oath,’ cried the Pole Baczki. ‘He was hot enough in our cause some months ago,’ exclaimed one of the Italians, ‘lf he have the itch for gold on his palm his hand will never close tightly on a daggerhilt, and he is no mate for us,’ purred tho soft, sad Russian. ‘Well, the long and short of it is, wemust put him to the proof,” ejaculated Cramoiseau impatiently, ‘if he can justify himself, if he will work with us to the end, well and good ; if not, he knows what to expect.’ It was resolved that Paul Brun should be put to the proof. As to what would happen if he failed to pass the ordeal to which the brethren would subject him no allusion was made. None of those present would have made any fuss about executing justice on a treacherous comrade, and they knew that they could rely on one another’s eternal secresy in such a conjuncture. Their very silence was significant. ‘ To morrow at noon we shall meet again,’ said Cramoiseau, wriggling on his chair. ‘ I will send Brun orders to be hero, and we will draw our lots in his presence. He shall draw with us.’

‘lf he objects or quibbles, he must not leave the house alive,’ said the Pole Raczki. * No. The house is empty,’ said Cramoiseau, ‘ I have no servants here to spy on us. ’

* And yonder river tells no tales/ chimed in Hardreich, as he refilled his pipe. ‘ See how it rolls, the fitting symbol of a mighty doctrine which gathers strength in its course, and is not to be checked by obstacles —at least, not by such as one man can put in its way. Courage, friends ; our doctrines will outlive us all, even as that river will. But I think it is time for us to be going/ Dusk had come on by this time, and the Thames was dotted with the red lights on barges. Overhead a full harvest moon shed mellow beams through the sky and streaked the waters with ripples of silver. The conspirators left the house by twos, and dispersed noiselessly to their different lodgings in the great city of their refuge. The last to go was Cramoiseau, who locked the front door as he went; for he did not live in this house where the lodge held their meetings. No one Jived there. Cramoiscau’s residence was in Soho ; and having repaired thither in an omnibus, he presently sent out his landlady’s boy with an envelope directed to Paul Bran, who had apartments in Bloomsbury. This was safer than trusting the post. There was no letter in this envelope, but only a small piece of knotted string. The receiver would know what it meant. Chapter 111. We left Bose Cherril making her way through Eichmond. At that season of the year this attractive suburb is always gay of an evening. Boad. rail, and stream bring down parties of diners to the different hotels ; the four-in-hand, the barouche, and the mail phaeton spin along the main streets towards the ‘ Star and Garter’ and ‘ Castle/ and oarsmen in lively boating costumes loaf about the pavements, whiling away the interval before dinner in smoking and criticising the teams of the various equipages. Miss SmalwJty’s junior governess was not a little stared at by come of these amateurs ; but she passed along quickly like one able to take care of herself, yet not so quickly, as to seem in a hurry. There is, even in walking, an art which distinguishes the pure-minded girl from those at whom men are not afraid to smile. But Bose Cherril’s heart sank as she advanced, for she saw no signs of Paul Biun. She reached the confectioner’s and executed her commission, which related to some dainties which were to be supplied for the annual feast held at Acacia House when the relatives of the pupils came to see the prizes distributed ; then she went to the florist’s and her errands were finished, so that she might have returned home. But she remembered that she wanted a pair of gloves, and she proceeded further down the street, almost as far as the railway station. Did she really want these gloves, or was it merely that she could bear to go home so long as there was a chance of her meeting the Frenchman ? She was beginning to think it unkind of him not to have stayed to meet her. Dejection and weariness came upon her soul, making her footsteps lag, so that she was glad to sit down upon entering the hosier’s shop. Paul Brim was close at hand. While paying for her gloves Bose saw a tall form hovering near the doorway, and a fiush, half of delight, half of timidity, kindled at once on her cheek. As she came out he accosted her, raisiag his hat and looking very smart in his white waistcoat and spotted blue neckerchief. But he seemed melancholy too, and there was a perceptible quaver in his voice as he addressed her.

‘ Good evening, Mias Cherril. It is my good star that has brought you out.’ ‘ Miss Smahvay sent me out on an errand/ faltered Rose, shaking hands with him. ‘I bless for that/ exclaimed Paul, “and also for something which she told me to-day, and which has made me indescribably happy.’ * She told me—lthink —you are not coming to Acacia Housq again?’ said Bose, coloring. ‘ No ; and that is why I wished to see you this evening, 1 havo been waiting on the chance that you would come out.’ * I am very seldom out alone at this hour, as you know.’ This was said a little archly. ‘ I had a presentiment I should moot you, though ; but had it been otherwise I. should have tried to see you elsewhere, for I must speak to you.’ No answer from Rose. She had an excure for not replying, as the street was crowded, and they could scarcely touch on confidential matters walking thus side by side on the pavement, Paul Bran continued to speak alone, more cheerfully than at first.

‘ What a beautiful evening it is ! I have been admiring the view from the terrace. I saw you coming across the field by the river, and followed you at a long distance. Forgive me for doing so ; but can you guess why i ao much desired this interview ?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Rose, who could not tell an untruth ; ‘ 1 have heard what passed between you and Miss Sinai way ; and, oh, Monsieur limn, I was so grieved to learn that you were in allliction. ’ ‘My sorrow is such as you can partially dispe 1 , if you wi ! l trust; me, Rose, my darling,’ said the Frencman in a low tone. * Let us go the Terrace ; it will be almost an hour before dusk comer, on, and we can talk better there than in the street.’ He called her his darling, but she was not flurried, it seemed so natural now. They walked for the next hundred yards without speaking, and passed on to Richmond Terrace. It was not diverted ; it never is i there were couples sauntering there, and intent on the same subjects, may be, ns Bose and Raul, But the place was not thronged as it is on Sundays, and the French exile could imagine himself alcnc with the -English girl who loved him as they stood beside the hedge together, looking out over the peerless Hndpe ipe. The sun had gone down over a crowd of parks and villas The blue mists on the llrontford meadows were just rising; over Row huug a white cloud, but Twickenham and Kingston were bathed in a clear afterglow of the tint whfeh promises dry weather, and which for the moment res! ores the hues of spring to tho dark August leaves. By a gentle gradation the landscape on the right, of gardens among houses, dissolved into the view on the country quarter of houess among gardens. There was no rawness in the prospect, like that of a struggling colony; no decay, like that of a nation living on its

past reputation ; no desolation, for people of all classes wandered about pursuing their pleasure or their business. On the silent highway flowing through the arches of Richmond Bridge, in boats of every form, were women whom foreigners might have admired for their beauty, and men at whom they might have wondered for their strength But what most of all struck Raul Bran, as he stood for a minute in mute contemplation, was that the boundaries of cities and townships were here unmarked ; that not a fortress could bo seen, not a barracks. not so much as a tower, to guard the capital of the greatest empire in the world. The whole wide reach of land was stamped with the seal of England’s singular happiness in having no foe without or within. * What a country it is!’ exclaimed the exile in a pathetic transport. ‘ Until I came here I never believed that a nation could be so peaceful and contented. In Franco people hate each other on account of politics ; the land bristles with bayonets and the prisons overflow with rebels. You have never seen the slaughter of civil war, my gentle Rose, nor the rancour that lives after it. May your eyes never witness such sights.’ ‘ You talk as if some recollection of your past life were tormenting you,’ said she, lifting her blue eyes to his face with a compassionate look. ‘ My mind is full of torments,’ replied the Frenchman with a despairing gesture. ‘ Things which once seemed just and holy to me now appear as crimes, lam like a man whe has groped long in the dark and emerges into a glory of light which almost blinds him, It is your hand that has led me, and it is from you that come the unutterable pangs which 1 suffer.” ‘From me?’ echoed Rose, riveting a glance of inquiry on him. [To he Continued.)