LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1625, 6 May 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MISS MOBTRR’S VISIONS. (Concluded.) 1 Morier wan always an excitable person,’ said my aunt, wbo was vexed by this sudden departure, . , , , , „ < Once she Rets a thing into her head, th x p is no chanering her mind ; she has always been fanciful since her trouble' ‘What were her troubles?" said my cousin Nora. Then my aunt told us some thing of her friend’s early life. She was to have been married to a young officer, who was killed in India, and she never really got over the shock, although she was once engaged to some one else. l lt was her mother’s doing, for the man was sunposed to be rich ; but it was a miserable business,’ said my aunt. ‘ Morier nearly died of the strain. She seemed to hate the man, though he had obtained some strange power over her too. He was desperately in love with her ; people blamed her for breaking it all off, but I always advised her to do so.” My aunt ceased abruptly, for, as. sne was speaking the door opened, and MLa Morier came in ready dressed for a walk, ‘ Is it prudent of you to go out?’ said my aunt. 1 1 don’t trust these afternoon gleams.’ < Oh yes,’ cried Miss Morier, eagerly. ‘The day is fine, and I feel so well, and it is quite early yet.* And then, as she seemed to wish for a companion, 1 offered to go with her. We had paid our visit, and we were halfway home, when the fine suns ine suddenly vanished. I was gone and then the cloulds gathered overhead, and in a few minutes great chill-drops began to fall in our faces. We had nearly half a mile to walk, and I felt not a little uneasy about my companion, who was very delicate, and not well able to bear sudden changes of temperature. We were walking along the straight high-road, of which I have already made mention, when the storm broke into a great, downpour of rain and hail, falling straight from the sky overhead. My companion was hurrying along by my side with flushed cheeks and p nting breath. We were very wet by the time we reached the lodge, which looked more dismal than ever, presenting its Italian columns to the rain j but some ebelter was to be found in the portico, and there we waited till the violence of the rain should abate. It was a dreary refuge enough j the field looked black, and the mist was creeping along the ground, the railings were dripping It was early in the afternoon, but the evening seemed suddenly to be closing in. Miss Morier shivered and drew close to the door, and then immediately we heard a creaking The lodge door opened—two shaking hands held it back for us. • You can come in,’ said a voice ; ‘ the door is open.’ Maria started back, and then, with a strange fixed look, said faintly, ‘ We must go in, it is too late,’ and she walked into the lodge. It consisted only of one room, big and dark and dull, and scarcely furnished, There were two narrow windows looking different ways, with lattice panes. There was a big divan in a sort of recess In the centre of the place stood a round table, with a velvet table-cloth half pulled aside, and all stained and dirt j ; the walls had once b-en papered with soma red flock paper, it was falling here and there in discolored strips There was a medicine bottle on one of the winddV ledges, with a pair of shabby old boots covered with mud, and a candle stuck in'o a bent and once gilt candlestick. As my eyes became more accustomed, I recognised the man I had s p en watching us through the gates “You can wait a bit,” he said, but his voice frightened me, it was so harsh and hollow. His face looked pale and sullen, but his eyes were burning An old wig was pulled over his forehead. He stood holding on by the back of the chair. Chapter IV * The rain was still beating and pouring upon the roof and against the windows. The old man had sunk into the chair from which he must have risen to admit us ; he sat staring at Miss Morier with a curious, watchful, inquiring look. He put me in mind of some animal caged away and dazed by long confinement. A sort of mist came creeping from beneath the door. They both looked so strangely that I thought best t > try and speak, I could not understand their curious, fixed looks. ‘ It is very kind of you to let us in,’ said I. “My friend is iot strong, and might be seriously ill if we were out in the rain. It is very good of you to give us shelter. ‘ Shelter !’ said the old man. ‘ Don’t you see that this is the gate-keeper’s house—gates to nothing. I’m my own keeper.’ He spoke with a sneer, and sank back with the effort. Then he began again still staring at Miss Morier. ‘ I knew you were coming. You did not think who it was that was about to give you shelter, or you would have stood out drench ing in the rain sooner than come in.” He said all this a little wildly, I coaid not understand him. Miss Morier looked more and more frightened, and I, too, began to be alarmed. We had sat down cn the only convenient seat—the divan in the recess. I took Miss Morier’s hand ; it was icy cold The man sat fronting us, with his back to the door. He did not speak like a gentleman, nor as if he was a common man. Poor wretch ! what a miserable life he must have led for days past in this lonely place. He began muttering to himself after awhile. < There she sits,’ I heard him say. * She is an old woman now. Who says people change ? I do,’ he shouted suddenly, starting to his feet; ‘they change—they lie—they forget—their false hearts,’ and ke dashed his hand to his head. I was so startled by his sudden fury that I, too, started to my feet, still holding my friend’s hand. ‘ Does she look like a woman you might trust V he cried. * Smooth-spoken and bland, she fools us all ; poor fools and idiots, ruined for her sake. Ay, ruined body and soul 1’ By this time I was fairly terrified. Miss Morier, strange to say. seemed less frightened than at first She looked at the door expressively, and we tried to get nearer to it but he was too quick, and put himself in our way. * You may go,’ he said, very excitedly, pointing to me. ‘l’ve taken you for her more than once, and nearly come upon you unawares, but to-day there is no mistake. I have waited for her all this time, and she can stay a bit now she has condescended to come to me. This might have been her lodge gate once, all new and furnished ur>. It’s not fit for my lady to bide in it for an hour ; but good enough for me to die in, like a dog, alone.’ It was a most miserable, terrifying scene. Miss Morier spoke very calmly though I could see what a great effort she was making. ‘I shall be glad to stay till the ran is over,’ she said, ‘ and then perhaps, you wiil show us the way back.’ Her words, civil as they were, seemed to exaspe-ate him. ‘ bo yon speak,’ he said, in a shrill sort of voice. ‘ Mighty civil is my lady, but she shall not escape for all her silver tongue. I have followed vou all these days—followed your steps, waited your coming ; and now you are to come to me, and you shall not leave me, you shall not leave me I ’ he cried, in a sort of shriek, and I saw something gleam in his hand. He had got a knife, which he flourished wildly over her head. I‘ Yes, you are come,’ he cried, ‘ though you have forgotten the past and David Fraser the ruined man.’

MiBS Morier, who had been shaking like au aspen, suddenly forgot her reror in htr sur prise and spontaneous sympathy. 'Yon. David I Divid Eraser ! Oh ! my pnor David !' she paid stepping forward with the kindest, srentlest pity in her tones, and only thinking of him and his miserable condition, and forgetting all fearr, of herself. I don't know whether it was her v.>ry kindnpss that overcame him. ah ahe spoke, he threw up his arms and let them fall at his side, dropping the knife upon the floor. He spemed to catch for breath, and then, before we conld ei'her of us catch him, he had fallen, gasping and choking at our feet, We conld not rai«e him up, but MUs Mo ier lifted h's head oil to hiT knee, while I loosened his shirt, and looked about for water. There was no water, nothing in the place, and I could only soak my ha» dk*r« chief on the Wet flags outside, and lay it on his head. The rain was stopping ; a boy was passing down the road, and I called to him, and urged him to ht:rr ' f r help—to the doctor'* first and th-n to my aunt's house I Hastily wote a pencil line npo-i the card for him to show, and be set off running. Ther I went back into trie bouse ; it was absolutely bare, neither fuel nor food could I find. There was a candle and there were some lucifere, which I struck, for the twilight was falling. ' Some one will soon be here,' Isaid to Miss Morrier. 'Rub his hands,' she said in a whisper ; and we chafed the pnor eold hands. Thi man presently came to himself, and began muttering again. As I looked at the poor patient, I could hardly believe this was the same man we had been so alarmed by. His wig had fallen off, and we could see the real lines of his head. He was deadly pale, bat a very sweet expression had come into the sullen face. His talk went rambling on in mome strange way. He seemed to know vriss Morier, for he kept calling her by name Then he appeared to imagine himself at some great, feast or entertainment. ' Welcome to my house Maria,' he said ; ' welcome to the Towers Tell the musicians to play louder ; scitle'r flowers ; bring more lights, it is dark ; we want more lights.' As he spoke a bright reflection came shining through the window that looked toward the field. ' Is some one coming ?' said Miss Marie, trying to raise the helpless figure. ' Oh, go to the door.' I went to the door and flung it open, and then I stood transfixed. It was not the help we longed for. I cannot explain what I saw—l cen only simply describe it. The light which had been shining through the window came from across the field, from a stately house standing among the mists, and with many li 'hted windows. I could see doors, the casern :nts all alight. I could even trace the shadows of the balconies, the architectural mouldings, The house was a great square house, with wings on either side, and a tall roof with decorated gables. There were wea'he - cocks and ornaments, and many shining points and decorations, It seemed to me that, from time to time, some dreamy, faint sound of music was in the air. It was all very cold ; I shivered as I stood there, and all the While I heard the poor voice rambiing on—calling to guests, to musicians ' Welcome to my house,' he said, over and over again. ' I built it for her, and she has come to live in it.' This may have lasted some minutes ; then I heard Maria calling, and as I turned away suddenly the whole thh.g vaaished. ' Ob, come ! ' she said. Some gleam of recog nition had dawned into the sick man's eyes. He looked up at her smiled very peacefully, and fell back. 'lt is all over/ she said, bursting into a flood of tears. A minute after there came a knocking at the door—it was the doctor, but he was too late. I cannot account for my etory. I have told it as it occurred. When the doctor came, and I opened the door to him, the field was dark, the black shadews were creeping all about it, the signpost stood upon the mound. I asked the doctor afterward if he had seen anything coming alonp, but he said ' No ; ' and when I told my story, he tried to persuade me it was some eff ct c.f mists on the marshy ground ; but it was something more than that. Perhaps a scientifie name will be found day for the i trange influence of one mind upon another.