LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1588, 22 March 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

HAROLD RIVERS.

r*'All the Year Round."]

Continued,

Chapter 111.

It is not every woman who on the day of her marriage to her second husband would wear a bracelet containing a portrait of her first husband. But in so doiug, Emilia Warrener had intended no disloyalty either to the living or the dead. She loved Harold Rivers better perhaps than she herself was aware of, and she was quite prepared to enjoy a happy future as his wife, but that in nowise prevented her from cherishing a tender and revtr.nt recollection of the dead, tier first husband had br-en torn from her in a way do tragical and sudden, that it was perhaps only natural that in her thoughts of him a brighter halo should encircle hia memory than if he had died quietly in his bed. like the generality of commonplace m rtals. But be that as it may, when on her wedding morn Emi'ia turned over her little stock of jewellery, as hesitating what she eheuld we.r, the bracelet was the, first artij o that presented itself. Befo e clasping it on her wrist, she had opened the locket and kissed the portrait. ' Never can 1 forget you, my darling—never!' she murmured, and then her eyes blinded with teirp. But for all that, her heart went out towards Harold Bivers, and she looked forward to years of happiness in the warm shelter of his love. When Harold came back to consciousness, he found several people connected with tho hotel round the sofa on to which they had lifted him. 'He'll do now,' said one. ■ Yes, he'll soon be all right,' said another. 'lt's a mercy he did'nt cut his head against that table,' said a third. Then they all left the room except the wait r, who had attended to Harold before. 'ls there anything lean gtit you sir ?' s.aid the man.' ' A little brandy or anything ?' By this time everything had come back to Harold's rtcolleetiou. He sprang from the sofa. ' Where is the lady ? Where is my wife?' he cried. ' The lady is gone sir.'

'Gone ! Gone where?'

' W lien you were taken ill, air, the lady rang for aseistanee. Then she sat down at the table and wrote a note. Here 's the note air and here is a ring winch I picked off the lloor. After that, bir, the l)dy went into her room, and in a lew minutes the came oat dressed for walking aud with a small bag in her hand, and without saying a word to any one she went down-

stairs aud out of the house. But you look ill sir. Had I not_ bettor get you some brandy t'

'No. Yes. Oct me anything; on1yl£"-v« mo alone 1*0? ft Hfctle while.' Gone ! He pat sWlner hlanklv at the note and the ring with eves that Scorned to Fee nether one the other. Then he lathed aloud—a short bitter kngh. 'l* rousthe all a dream—a horrible nightmare,' he ssid l Or else I'm g->ing mad.' Still holding the note and the r'ng. he pressed his hands to his temples, and strove to steady and concentrate his mind.

The waiter came in with a decanter of brandy. He poured arnne into a tumbler ar-d took it to Harold. ' PaHon me sir.' he snd; 'but if you will only drink a little of thin, T think it will do you good ' Mechanically Haro'd took the tumbler , and drank. "Hi* man busied himself for a few momenta with the fire and the curt'dns Harold felt that the liquor was doinp him good. The p-wer of thinking as wc l ! as of feelhlSf Wfl s coming back to him. ' Can Ido anything mo v o far you sir?' said the man, not without a touch of sympathy in his voice. 'No; not now, my good fellow,' said Harold. 'When I want you, I will ring; but when I do rincj don't let any one but yourself answer the bell ' What a confession of lone'ines" and misery ! Two hours ago he had never eyes on this man. vet now it seemed to him as if he was the only friend he had near him.

Gone! The word rang like a knell through his heart. There was the ring that he had put on her finger only a few short hours ago. The echoes of the solemn vows she had taken seemed still to linger in his ear 3; and yet she was gone already, gone perhaps for ever. He had owned her note by this time : but he dreaded to read what he might find there. 4t length he nerved himself and read as follows: ' I leave yon for ever. I can never bear to s<"e you again. I cannot reproach you Words are emptv in such a hitter strait as min 9. The blood of my poor darling cries aloud for vengeance ; but you are my husband, and rav hand must remain unlifted. What a ter-iblo fatality was that which, out of all thewi'e world, brought yon and me together! Farewell. Try to forget your most unhappy wife, as t)he will pray for and try to forget you.' He wrapped the ring up carefully in the letter, and put them away in an inn'r picket Then he sat quite still for a Jong time; thinking, his eyes bent on the ground, and one hand elapsed tightly in the other. He sat for so long a time that his friend the waiter becoming alarhied. ventured to open the door gently and peep in. Slight as the noise was it sufficed to b r eak Harold s reverie He beckoned to the man to enter. ' T think yon told me a little while ago,' he Slid, * that the lady who was with me left t v e hotel without saying a word to any one?'

' Yes sir; without a word to any one.' 'Fe ch me my hat and overcoat.' He would go out and search for her. It might he that he should find her, and succeed in persuading tier ' In persuading her to do what?' he asked himself. Was it possible she could ever live with him as his wife after his confes»ion that it was his hand that had slain George Warren n r? (whom however, he had known under another name). But in any case he must find her ; that was the first thing to do. The next thing would bs to insist upon her listening to the truth—upon her listening to his version of the dreadful business. At present she was evidently the victim of some strange hallucinat : on. He sallied fonh from the hotel, a*>d went first of all to the police station, where he explained sufficient of his sto'yto induce the inspector on duty to a man at his disposal It was not till lone; past midnight that Harold Risers got back to his hotel. In company with the policeman he had visited every likely and unlikely Iplace in a vain eearch for his missing wife. The railway Btation, the steamboats, the hotels, and the lodging-houses had all been visited j and every constable and detective in Dover had been put on the qui virp. by the promise of a lib ral reward in easo their inquiries should he crowned with success. T hen utterly worn out. Har.)ld flung hirnßelf on his bed without undressing and slept till broad daylight I'e lingered in Dover till noon ; but when the mornin" had passed without bringing him anv tidinps of his wife, he determined to go back to London without further delay. As soon as he reached Victoria Station, ho drove st-aicrht to the honse of Emilia's aunt. Rut that w rthy lady'* astonishment at seeing him was too genuine to admit of his doubtiDg her word when she averred that she had neither seen nor heard anything of niece.

Evidently there was nothing more to be done till to-morrow. After a most wretched night he stattad next morning for the farm to which Daisy had been only a week »go. Emilia would naturally flee to her child first of all. Hero, if anywhere, he sh'uld lind his wife. Bat he was mistaken. As yet, Emilia had not been seen there, and he went back to town more miserable than before. Then he asked himself what more it was possible he could do. He could only answer: • Nothing.' All that he could do was to go back to his cheerless bachelor chambers in Bruton Street and there await the course of events.

A week, a month, Bix months passed away without bringing to Harold Bivers any deHnite tiding? of his wife. For three months ho advertised daily in the second column of febe 'Times;" but without the slightest response. For a month he went once a week to the farm. On the occasion of his fourth he that Daisy was no longer there Her mother had come suddenly one afternoon and had claimed her. Theu the two had gone away, leaving them no clue by means of which they could be traced.

Before this, Harold had written a long letter to his wifa, sending it under cover to her aunt. Six weeks later bh letter, with the 8"al unbroken, came back by post in an envelope directed to him in his wre's handwriting. The envelope bore a London postmark ; and he at once went to Mrs Backhouse with the view of persuading her to supply him with her neice's address. Bat the sturdy old lady was not to be cajoled. She av>-rred that her niece had only communicated with her within the last fortii. ht. and that she had given a solemn promise not to reveal her address t> any ■ ne. All Harold could get out of was that Emilia and Daisy were quite we 1 !, and that they were Jiving somewhere ' down at the sea-side.'

Tills was sufficiently vague to be highly unsatisfactory, and Harold began to despair of ev r seeing his wife again. Time had evidently in nowise softened her determination not to see him or communicate with him in any way If she would neither see him nor read what he wrote t« her, how would it be possible for him to disabuse her mind of that horrible belief in his guilt to which she clung so tenaciously ? He had of course been obliged long before this to tell his [sister-in-law everything. He had persuaded her to write to Emilia ; but Emilia knew Mrs Eivers's writing even better than she knew Harold's, and her letter also came back unopened. More than once Harold was miuded to give up his pursuit in despair, and go and live abroad. But by so doing be knew that he should break the last frail link that bound him to his wife, and if that were once snapped, all hope of their meeting wou'd be at an end for ever. He fetill loved her so tenderly that he could not bear to think of her as altogether lost to him, 'i-'o'newhere down at the sea-side.' Ho could not get th< se words out of his thoughts. He remembered Emilia tebing him that h\\e had been born and had lived for several years at a certain nmall sea-side town, and how fond she was of being anywhere near tin water It struck him one day as being not at all unlikely that she might be /iving at this same little town at the present 'imo But for the life of him he could not recollect its name, nor even the county in which it was situated. In this dilemma hs went to his sister-in-law, For once Fortune befriended him. Mrs Rivers hud often heard Emili* speak of her native towD, and stie recollected its name. It was situated in Norfolk, and its name was Spindyke.

(To be continued.)