LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1570, 1 March 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A BUNCH OF DEAD VIOLETS. By Mrs Ai.exa.ndeb Fraser, Part 11. ( Concluded.) Charlie Wilmot threw his arm round her. Hii blood was on fire, his head whirled round. ' Do you think you could lovo mo, Lucille ? ' The child had, like Juliet, ' no cunning to be strange.' Her lovely face grew like a blush r.>sf, her sapphire eyes guttered like the fitara ab >ve her. ' Yes,' she answered very softly. And Charlie, gathering her closer, passionately kissed her sweet red lips. Part 111. 'Crreenway'H Royal TTippodromo' proved a grand success. Throngs of people crowded in, and the departure of the circus from York was daily postponed; and the throng Charlie. Wilmot could be nightly seen. Punctually at the hour of ten, tivo minutes before Lucille came on, he threaded his way to a seat closo t > the entrance of the ring ; and later, v/hen the town gr-w silent and still, a \ai r walked up and down the street, forgetful of sleep, forgetful of everything save themselves. It waa only the old, old story, Bweeter each time it is told, owning as much witchery now as when .-"'dam whispered it to hi 3 Eve amidst tho scented bowers of Paradise ; and between love words and caresses Charlie g eaned that Lucille had nothing foreign about her but her professional name. She was simply a waif, a blray, cast on the rough paters of life, with nothing to gaard her

from evil but the shield of her o.vn innocence ami the loving-lundnesa of God ' R bo was her father, who was he.r mother? Pad she a sister, had she a brother ?' To all of which Lucille shook her head, while the wistful shadow deepened in her iris and the corners of her mouth quivered like a child's.

'And you have no recollection of home ?' fJharlie asked, clasping her nearer for tho sheer sake of her terrible loneliness. 'No.'

Out of the dim caverns of memory she could only evoke the kindly touch of a big brown hand on her head -the words 'Polly' and ' Pet' in a woman's tender voiie ever since she quite a child, Mr (that was Greonway's real patronymic) had been her master, lie was not always cruel; fometimo?, when he was angry, he struck hor, Bating her slender wriat. she showed a purple mark on the soft white flesh, and Charlie, with murderous feelings towards the brute Blodgers. seized the delicito arm and devoured it with kisses, and Lucille forgot tho pain of the bruise in the thrill, those kisses sent through her heart; for Charlie was the first man she had loved, and she loved him with such a great, great foolish love that it swallowed up every other feeling. Seven meetings, each meeting composed of two hours, had gone by. Love cannot be measured by time; it springs up like a fungus in the night. It flourishes apace, and, like the wind, none know whence it cometh nor whither it goeth. With Lucille love was a pure and hoy thing. With Charlie—Well, a man's love his always a mingling of the material. He loved Lucille madly; he could not live whbout her. was homeless, friendless; surely it could lieno wrong to take her from h-r wretched life, from stinging taunts and cruel blows, from what might become deeper infamy, to furround ho:* with comfort and luxury, to strew her path with honey and roses, to lavish on her the whole love, truth, and fidelity of bis soul, Marriage was, after al, but a ceremonial. In the eyes of heaven what could bo more acceptable than a true union of heart? Thus he a r gned, the voice of pasern lending sophistry to his arguments ; and the voice of passion won.

' We have known each other some time now. Lucille,' ho said. It was only the twelfth day of acquaintance ; but, as has been remarked before, love oannot be measured by the commonplace method of hours, minutes, aud seconds. 'Does it not seem yearg and years, pet ?' 'lt seanr.s all my life,' the child answered simply, unconscious how bare ehe laid her heart in her avowal It was quits true. She had existed before, but aha had only lived twelve days. ' T'hey have been very happy, these hoars together ; haven't they, little one ?' did not reply ; she only c'ung tighter to his arm, and bending down kissed his hand. • And what shall we do when it is all over, my child ?? 'When all what ia over?' she asked, in a queer hushed voioo. Not love. He could not mean love ; for love was eternal. ' I moan when the cir us leaves York—when and I part, darling ?' 'Part!' The word broke from her in a whisper. The face he lootedd«wn on was white an tho driven snow ; the blue eyes ware pitiful—so piti'ul. ' Part, Charles!' aho whispered again, slowly, as if waking out of a heavy sleep. Her limbs trembled, her breath came in little faint gasps, and she grasped his arm tightly to sive herself from falling. It was all up now. The child's white face, the tc-rror-ftricken look in her eyea, dashed away every remnant of resolution to do right. He could not marry her, bat they must not part. He stood still and faced her. 'ho you really love me, my little Lucille V Her hands crept into hip, and she laid her cold cheek against his breast She tried to answer, but she buist into a little sob ''• he rapid throbbing of the heart that rested against his own was answer euough. >So Charlie s-tooped and pressed tho quivering mouth, the tearful eyes. ' And I love you, pet; love you so much that it would be worse tlr-n death to lose you!' he cried fiercely, straiuing her to him as though fearful lest something should wrest her away The sudden reaction from fear to hope made her shiver, but a bright fluih swept acofs her face.

'I oannot marry you, Luoille.' He said it honestly, bravely. It wss a sort of salve to his conscience not to deoeive her, even if he wronged her. But Lucille knew nothing of marriage, nor of any tociai laws, so she merely crept a little nearer to him

' Aud I shall always stay with you,"always see you, Charlie?' she asked, without a blush.

A great throh of compunction shot through the man's heart. Her utter innocnce of evil pleaded so strongly for her that he almost re- olved to give her up, even at this eleventh hour. He looked at her, and the beauty of her faae conquered him a<>ain. No, he could not pive her up. He caught her to him, so that he should not meet her pure eyps while he apoke. 1 I ucille, will yon go with mo to-nrrrow to some country whore no one will know us, and then we need never part again?' <0 Charlie!' Only h ; s name; but the smile phe gave, the syarkling light in her eyes, were el quent than a thousand flowers of rhetoric. C'tarlie drew her arms round his neo^ 'Our very last good Di>ih* -" , you kis3 me of your o"*- > P Won t And Uoil'o - .a accord P from "'- > w '* n a boldnesi that sprung stood on tiptoe and kissed him fondly. Part IV. Charlie Wi'mot went home in a curious tumult of feelinjj. The knowledge that in a few houra Lucilln wou d bo his own filled him with a mad sort of happiness ; but, at the same time, conscience smote him with a pertinacity that forced him to listen. Wh»t was he about to do? The moat cowardly action that a man could commit, rte was g< ing to take advantage of a girl's ignorance of evil. Lucille was a wiif, a stray ; but she was as guileless as an infant, with a nature as pure ai g'dd. If she understood right and wrong, would she have hesitated to follow the right ? The answer was honestly, No. ("bailie pictured to himself how Lucille would grieve for him ; he conjured her up, her cheek wan and pal'id, her eyes haggard and sunken. He remembered the torture she went through, and again he faltered in his purpose. Thin came the thought— Lucille inay suffer, but fiho does not sin. It was h ; s hand that would drag her across the great black gulf that divides the pure from the impure. No power on earth could make her recroas that gulf. Suppose he died pud dimly ,*wh it would become of her? 'I his decided him, and, w.th an aching pain at his heart, such a 3 he had never felt in his life before, Charlie Wilmot found himself on the morrow in the down express, resolved to put miles and miles between himsalf and a dire temptation. Part V. And Lucille watched and waited with that tearless agony that is the hardest of all. She could neither eat, drink, nor sleep in the sickness of hope deferred She giew hourly whiter and slighter, and a lassitude stole over her movements. Angry wo ds met her ear, sharp blows stung her flesh ; but she bnrethem all patiently and meekly She did not seem to feel the words and blows somehow ; all within her bad grown numb. Tne last day of Oreenway'a Jloyal Hippodrome at Vork arrived, before the sun 1030 again tho huge caravan would be far from the town. AH through the day Lucille moved in a sort of dream, and not a cramb passed her lips There was a Ions; rehearsal, and Spitfire went through new evolutions, while the hand that he'd lis rein was cold as a stone. \ Then, when the task was over, the girl I crept bajk slowly and wearily to her mean ' lodging, and wrote Charlie a littla letter.

It was the last night of the season, and the circus was crowded to o etflowincf. Tic shnll fife?, the wheezy flute?, the cracked violins, the great drum, and ■the jingling triangles played with untiring energv. Jumbo the elephant floundered more heavily in the sawdust; the extraordinary peacock 3creeohed louder ; dogs, mules, and donkeys went through their tricks and paces bravely. Bauco the clown grinned wider and joked more recklessly; an! at ten o e'.oe.k the gate flew open, and Mademoiselle Lucille, the ' Wonder of the West,' on her trained horse Spitfire, rode into th* ring. One eager rapid glance she threw round the building —a piteous heartbroken g'arce —that rented an instant on a familiar Beat ; then a broad white lino of pain ran round the lips that wore their stereotyed nmile; a strong shudder pas*cd over her slender figure, and Lucille pressed her gauntletel hand down hard on her heart, as if in acknowledgment of her enthusiastic reception.

The performance went on. Spitfire waltzed and capered, pirouetted and vaulted obediently. Tho fifes, flutes, violins, drum, and triangles sounded louder and louder ; Banco cracked his whip harder and harder, and Spitfire flew madly round and round. Then came the final tableau. The whole house rose in a thunder of applause : but-

rio:c by tho entrance to the ring wat | gathered a horror-stricken group. On the ground, her long hnir falling ronnd her like a g'ittering veil, lay Mademoiselle Lucilie ; her blue eyes wide open, a smile still on her lips, and Spitfire's foot upon her chest. Banco the el »wu, paUid through his paint, drew tho little childish figure from Spitfire's fatsd tread, snd, u f % teniusr the dark-green habit, put his hand on Lucillo's heart. A few dead violets mot his touch. Tho poor little heart they rested on was still. A few days afterwards (.'harlie Wilmot came back to York. He had made up his mind ti marrr Lucille. Greonway's Royal Hippodrome was gone, but the ' Wonder of the West' was left behind, sleeping quietly under a newly.made mound. What Charlie felt, God »nd his own heart only knew. He wore a biave front before the world, is years and yea's older n'w, streaks of silver gleam through his clustering browu curls ; bat often and often, when the daylight has waned and shadows trail across the earth, he reads Lucille's little letter : 'That was our very la3t goodnight, Charlie ! We are going away to-morrow, and I shall never see your face again. My heart feels so cold and strange, Charlie—just as if i$ was starved. 'Goodbye, Chafio I I send half the violets you gave me that first night, to remind you of your poor little 'Lucillk' A simple childifli letter ; but as Charlio reads his eyes grow very dim. Then ho takes up tho bunch of dead violets, and presses them to his lips. Those lips never tonnhed woman's lips since his poor littlo dead love laid her last kies on them.