LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1608, 16 April 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE CIPSYS’ SECRET. [“Danebury News ] ( Concluded .) 4 After all that had passed he did not hesitate. Then, like a ghost walking, she pushed open a door, and entered a sort of closet, where wo at o~ce heard voices I felt Edward Mowt ray shiver, as with the ague, as he too he*rd. * I tell you what it is,’ said a lady, whom I afterwards knew to be the aunt 4 I think that you have sorrowed enough for the dead.’ 1 There is no dead unless he has been murdered, was the answer in a sad, sweet plaintive t ne, ‘ Even tlu nhe would come back to me.’ ‘ Two years yon have m urned him,’ the elder lady remarked in a rather coll and monotonous tone, as if she was weary of the subject; ‘ and now, I think, it is titn<-you yield to the wishes of Pir Roland, who loves you so, who has shown it by two years of patience.’ * And whom I can never love,’ was the sad gloomy answer. long trial ? I have waited two years to win yonr love, ’ ‘ Where is Edward V the girl asked, in a tone that alarmed me, was it the voice of insanity ? 4 Tell me what has become of him?’

4 lf he is not dead/ was the half angry reply, 4 he left, because he knew himself unworthy. All know ho went away on his own accord, Even his father did not understand.’

4 How Edward Mowbray shivered now, and how I heard his panting breath ! ‘Speak not ill of the dead/ the girl harshly cried; 4 he was murdered, or he would not have stopped away from me so long.’ 4 My dear Emily/ he exclaimed very bitterly, 4 this insane grief for ona who is dead or unworthy is proof of great weakness of character. Will you have pity on my love? I will take you everywhere, find yon every luxury and comfort that money can command. Fix the day. and do make yonr long-sufferin> lover happy/ 4 She answered not. ‘Leave her/ whispered the aunt. ‘Do not see her any more to-night. These late h urs are killing her.’ 4 The marriage must take pßce in a week/ was his low savage answer. 4 1 have temporised to »long, my patience is exhaust’d/ 4 I have done my best/ said the poor woman, sadly; 4 1 only hope mischief may not come of it.’

4 Leave that to me,’ he answered, and next moment the door slammed.

4 What was that you promised me last night?’ the girl now asked, in a wailing tone.

‘ I don’t know,’ was the terrified reply, ‘ The lovely gipsy girl now put her finger to her lies, and made a sign. ‘ Follow, with caution,’ she said, and opened a door, thus letting in a flood of light. ‘ I saw a fair, pale, haggard girl reclining on a couch; I saw an elderly lady leaning over her

Then Nina rushed across the room, and bolted the door by which the man h&d left.

Then she turned to the elder lady, and whispered. ‘ He is here—are you ready? ’

But before she could answer Edward rushed forward, and caught the slight form in his arms.

4 Edward ! ’ she gasped, and lay like a corpse on his bosom. •At last! ’ 4 It was still all mystery to me, and I gave up all attempt at explanation.

‘ Great heavens!' gasped Mrs Travers, 4 What does it all mean ? Not dead—and yet so long away ! ’ 4 I can explain nothing,’ gaspei Edward ; 4 but is my darling dead ? ’ * No ; joy never kills,’ was the response. 4 1 expected you, but was afraid to speak.’ 4 Leave them awhile,’ said the Queen of the Gipsies, 4 while she recovers, There’s yet mu h to do.' 4 Edward Mowbray was now a cipher In her hands. His aunt whispered him to go, while she revivrd the girl. The gipsy made vague signs, and pulled him by the sleeve of his coat. He yielded at last, and went out into the passage with flashing eyes and hot flushed face.

‘ The gipsies now took ua up a narrow, winding staircase, used by servants, and fashionably denominated escalier de service. Of course we were wholly in the dark as to the motives ; but the gipsies had done so much, that I trusted them for one.

‘Edward Mowbray tottered aa he followed the women. He was dying with eagerness to return. But why this long ascent. Soon we came to a landing, extensive and wide, where another staircase joined it.

4 We were now in the ruined and uninhabited part of the Castle or Mowbray Hall. The young man looked around helplessly at the walls and at his guides. Acting with a caution, of fear, they they opened the door of a small room, and then entered, leaving the door ajar when inside. None spoke. 4 A strange anxiety, fear, and dread was on our souls—yes, one and all. Then we heard footsteps and voices. We looked out.

4 As I afterwards knew, it was the owner, Roland, and his only man and servant, Nicholas Webb, The latter carried a light and basket in his hands.

4 Oh, my Cod I’ whispered Edward Viowbray, his heart giving a great thump. 4 I could not conceive any explanation. 4 1 am sick and tired of this life,’ said the master of the house; 4 it must not go any loncer. ’ 4 Said so long ago,’ observed the man.

‘That chit must and shall marry me continued Sir Roland ; 4 then I shall sell a and leave England.’ 4 But why should that be done,’ remarked the man, drily; 4 you’ve plenty of money '

4 1 will have more,’ was the hollow reply. 4 As he spoke he opened a door, and, leaving it ajar, went in, followed by his man. We crept after him, like thieves or detectives, I scarcely know which it looked like. But we were too absorbed in the awful and tremendous reality to think of anything else.

*At a table sat a venerable looking man, ■with spectacles on nose, thin and pale, even haggard, from long suffering A book was before him, the pages of which ho turned but saw not He looked up with pitying contempt on his countenance. * What want you ?’ he asked. ‘Edward Mowbray with difficulty restrained a wild and ringing shriek, Nina laid her soft and pretty lingers on his lips, ‘ We have brought you food,’ answered the supposed Sir Roland ‘ Which I loathe,’ the other said,, ‘ Give me light and air—give me back ray liberty—give me back the sou of whom you have foully robbed me—that is what I ask.’ * Your son is dead, as you know,’ coldly rejoined Rolond ; ‘ and know full well. *

‘Yes, he was murdered,’ was the cold answer, spoken in a faint low voice ; ‘ that you might stea l his inheritance and his love. Poor boy, I thought him a child. Why did he leave his poor foolish old father ? ’ ‘ Because he was unworthy j because he had done something unworthy of the name of Mowbray,’ said the cousin of my friend, ‘ Will you sign this paper ? ’ ‘ Never! never will I disinherit my nobß boy ’ the old m <n answered. ‘ This is the last night we shall bring food,’ •oldty rejoined tur Poland. ‘ Death before dishonour,’ the old man again faltered ; ‘ starvation before iniquity.’ * Then die,’ was the furious answer. ‘ Die in your furious obstinacy, while I enjoy your wealth and your dainty niece.’ * Base coward, base coward ! ’ wept the old man. ‘ Where, oh where is my son ? ’ ‘ Here! ’ was the wild, mad, passionate answer, as Edward Mowbray rushed into his arms. ‘The cousin, Roland, turned, drew a pistol and levelled it. I knocked it out of

his hand and him down. The gipsies secured the serving man. ‘The mystery was revealed. During my friend’s absence, an absence contrived by R land, the letter which had caused po much misery was forged bv him soon as Edward was safe out of the way the old man was sequestered in the ruins, and never seen again.

‘ Ihe gipsies discovered the truth, but in the absence of ! dward, did not dare to act But they waited with patience for his coming back We know the rest. ‘Roland and his man were sent into penal servitude for fourteen years. Sir William recovered, as did Emily, even to recovering her beauty. She married Edward, of course, and I am. for many reasons, their intimate and devoted friend. ‘One of these I may explain. Nina was Emily’s companion. We know nothing of hf r hist ry, but on my return home the noble gbl and I were married. The past li forgotten and all are as happy as we can be in this world. ‘Such, gentlemen and friends, is my story,’