LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1689, 19 July 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

DID HE LOVE ME? [From "Tfnsley's Magazine."] (Concluded.) ' Weren't thoy glad to see him ? I can just imagine it.' ' They hugged him and kiesed him enough anyway. 1 One would think you had no one to hug and kisa you, Nell, from the way in which yon talk.' Dear me, what a crosa-jjrained girl I was, to be sure ! What would it signify to me if they had all gone on kissing Ned from now till next Sunday night? ' What did he talk about, child ?' * He told me a lot of stories about whales and snarks, and black people, and palm trees with dates on them—ever such a lot of Btories; only I was busy, yon know, and they took no notice of me. Then he and the captain becan to sing, and they were still in the midst of it all when old Guy came for me.' did not go to her home next day ; she wroto her annt a letter instead, telling her of Ned's return, and saying she could_ not leave him just yet; mentioning all the little presents his boxes were found to contain, with a flashing description of the munificent donor. I went up there every day to work, and the days seemed very short, in spite of Carrie's and Ned's mischievous pranis. They were always teasing and tormenting some one, and my scissors and cottons took to living in curtains, under sofa cushions, and in all kinds of odd places. Then Ned wonld often, on wet days, fetch out some amusing books from his father 8 den, and read out to us as we all sat at work. Sometimes we would laugh at "Harry Lorrequer," sympathise with "Fnarleyow," or get what the ridiculous Carrie called " Wilkie Collins' creeps" over the " Moonstone." He had a trick of sott'iog himself in a folding chair near the little table I worked by, and now and again he would look up at me, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief or melting with tenderness, as the case might be. I told you how good and kind all the I eighs were to me, how they remembered that I had not been born to quite _ such a lowly sphere as the one I now occupied ; so they never treated me like they would have done an ordinary seamstress, but used to let me sit in the room with them, rnd g<it my meals there, instead of in the kitchen with the servants. I suppose they told Ned my little story ; or else it wss hi 3 own innate delicacy that made him always nffeot not to Inow that I was paid for my work, and to treat mo with just the same consideration he showed Nora and Carrio

I wa3 eo grateful to him for this little kindness, so proud and happy when sometimes he would walk up the cliff part of the way home with me, that I forgot that I was only a poor work girl, and let my heart secretly thank him for the new brightness ho had brought into my life. How he used to laugh at our dress discussions at Sea Viw, and give us the most ludicrous suggestion for female attire ! _ Be would dreas himself in a skirt of Carrie, a jicket of Korah, aud anyone's hat—sometimes mine—and, entering the room with dignity, ask who we thought him like. Ah, childish nonsense; bnt how wo delighted in it all ! The winter was come, and still Ned stayed on, though his leave was getting very short. The tears used to come in Mrs Leigh's eyes now, when his departure was talked of; so, though no one could help thinking of his going, no one mentioned the subject. . I thought on one or two occasions Ca; rio s bright eyes fixed themselves on me in an inquiring manner that winter; once or

twice Bho made queer little remarks about her brother, w'nich I, fearful of showing the great love in my heart, always wilfully misunderstood.

It was quite true —deny it how I would—in my heart, quite deep down, lived the image of Ned, dear, kind, gentie Ned, who had never asked my love—how could be? I was only a poor seamstress —but to whom I had given it all—passionate, de»-p agonising love, whose wild aching half frightened me. At last it came ; how we had all dreaded it ! It came; Ned's recall. The old captain gave a little, short, sharp laugh. "To work, to work, Sir? Do you snppope her Majesty keeps a great strong fellow like you to read to a parcel of women folk and dress up in their petticoats ?' Then he walked to the window, took a pinch of snuff, and used his handkerchief ,moro energetically than usual, I thought. Carrio ran up to Ned, and hid her wet eyes'.on hU neck ; Norah poured out the hot water instead of the tea ; Mrs Leigh ah, I shou'd not say what she did ; you who have no Neds would only call her a foolish old woman. Of course, it was no business of mine ; none in the least; I had no right to feel the tiniest atom moved ; but my heart seemed to die away in me, and then—oh, then—l went on cutting the bread and butter!

If you could have seen them all during the day, each bearing up for the other's sake, and each longing to be alone and tike off this mask of gaiety. In the afternoon somehow they went off one by one ; just stole out of the room.

Thank God, I was alone, too ; I might breathe freely now; no more need to hide it all. The twilight camo; I could not see to work, and, nnheoded, the big tears tumbled down on my knee. Then, my love, my darling, I thought I might never see him again ; aad_ in fancy I pictured all possible and impossible horrors, foolish stupid girl that I was ; and my hands went up to my face, and the stifling sobs came, and the big lump in my throat, and—O, would that I had died !

I don't know how long I had been crying like th's when my two hands were pulled down from my face and a voice said : ' Why, what's the matter, Nelly? What are you crying for V

It was Ned who had come into the room and caught me. There was no good denying it ; he had heard the sobbing; so, though I tried to choke it all back, I could not. He still held my hands. ' Why, you silly little pirson, any one would think you had a real big trouble.' Ay, so I had, Ned dear. l ls your mother ill again, Nellie ? Can I help you any way ?' What should Ido ? It was heaven to nave him there by me, holding my two hands in his firm grasp ; and yet I conld not let him think—o, what should Ido ? Do ? Just what I did ; make an utter fool of myself, and begin crying again worse than ever.

* Poor little Nelly ! There, Nelly, don't; tall mo about it. Poor little Nell, dear little Nell ?' His hand went on my shonlder, gently round my neck, and Ned's lipa just touched my hsir. Ah, it waa killing me ; to sit there and make no sign, with my pulses throbbing and my heart boiling over with love for him 1

I jumped up from my chair and ran ont of the room, up stairs, until I reached Carrie's door, where I threw myself, panting and aching all over, on tho door-mat. The door opened, and a moment later Carrie's arms were round me, and she had liftod me into the ea y„ chair by the fireplace. • Why, Nolly, whatever made yon scamper up here like that ? Were you frightened of ghosts down below there, or had you a headache ?'

SiUy, eood-hearted Carrie! Not a headache, dear, but such a weary heartache. 1 It's very silly, Carrie ; but you know I am nervous sometimes ; I am sere a storm is coming up, and I feel all shaken, and have one of my headaches.' ' Lie down on my bed, then and you shall sleep here if you like.' I laid down, and Carrie sat by me until tho tea bell rang ; then, I had not spoken, sho thought I waß asleep ; and as the oaptain was the model of punctuality, and expected his children to be so also, she left me and went down.

How the wind raged? It seemed as though it would beat in the window of Carrie's room ! I could not lie there any longer. I would just scribble a line for her, and, getting my hat and shawl on my way, go home; so, toftly I went down thej stairs and out at the door into the wild, threatening night. flio wind eddied around me and nearly took me off my feet, and I leaned against a low wall to take breath. A step came nearer, and the next moment Ned appeared. * Carrie said you had gone home. How foolish cf you, this wild night! You had far bettor stay till to morrow.' Ah was it fate, then? Was I not to get away from this man ? • I am quite well now ; my headache is gone ; indeed, I can get home.' 'Well, Nelly, I shall come, too. Fancy going out such a m'cht as this. Thera'll bo plenty of wrecks to-aight, and the wreckors will have a busy day to-morrow. We aro in for a real storm, and no mistake.

The wind was against us, and try how we would, we could make little jirogress. All my presentiments came back upon me. What if this were our last walk, this the last time I should see him !' • Trembling again, Nelly ? If you were a fine lady I should say you were hysterical; as you are a sensible girl, I believe you are going to be ill.' ' No, lam quite well; it is only the cold.'

' Nearly home now, Nell, and I want to tell you something before I leave. I must not keep you out here, though. May I tell you to-morrow, dear ? What's that ? A signal of distress! Again! again! Run in, child, run in ! I must go and help, if help ba ' possible. To-morrow, Nell, tomorrow I' He almost forced me inside the hou-e, put his arm round me, pressed kisses on my aching, burning brow, turned and ran down the cliff.

Mother came to the threshold, and, seeing me tottering, put her dear arm 3 about me and pillowed, my head on her breast. ' You have been walking too fast, darling ; get your things off. That's a shot from some ship in distress. Poor things !' How long we stood there 1 don't know. The storm came on in earnest; the sharp claps of thunder and tho vivid flashes of lightning succeeded each other ; down poured tho rain in torrents. The flash?s lit np the distance, and there, not far out, we could see a phip, and the innumerable blacks specks fllittiug about, poor things, in agony. Louder and louder pealed the thunder. I could not rest there, so I broke away from mother and rushed down the cliff to Sea View. Had Ned not said he was going to help ? Breathless, mad with love and terror, I reached the captain's house. ' Ned, Ned !' I cried, when the door was opened 'He is gone,' answered Carrie's voice; * gono out in the life-boat with the men.' ' Gone !' And like a mad thing, I flew on until I reached the beach. •The life-boat.?' I asked of the crowd of fis'ierfolk standing there, all [called out by the fignals of distress from the ship. * She bo gone out, lass. I'm moat afcared she won't do no gocd.' ' The captain's son, he's 'gone in ;hcr 1 cried one of the women. I knew it, feared it, felt it ! O, Ned, Ned, come back to me! More rain, more thunder. Ah, God help those bravo fellowa! The lightning flashed and showed tho life-boat tossing about on the wild white waves ' She'll never weather it! Yes she will, God bless her !' Another flash. Where was the life-boat and her gallant crew ? And where ? All eyes strained seaward, waiting for the next flash to light up tho course of the white boat. Where was she ? The flash came; it showed the boat—keel upward ! O God, where was he—Ned, my darling ? My senses left me. I cannot bring back one moment after that, until I woke to find myself in the little cottage, with mother's loving face looking over me. Days passed, and ttill my mind wandered, and the scone of the beach was quite effaced from me, until I heard old Guy Weeks' voice ask mother at tho cottage door, ' How be she to-day, neighbor ?' ' Not much better, Guy, I'fear.' ' Ah, poor laes, she loved the cap'en'a son's my belief.' Then it all came back, and brought by my scream, mother returned to me. For many

days I lingered between life and death; then in time mother told me the rest of that sad night's events. H ovr, when I broke from her, she had followed me to the Captain's house, thence on to the beach, where she had juet eaught sight of mo when I ran back, like one whose feet had wings, up the steep cliff, and with one wail threw up my arms and leapsd into the angry sea below. Mother flew down to the b3ach, implored and begged the men to go after me—but this fearful night would have shaken the courage of heroes. All looked away, and mother was nearly mad with agony, when old Guy Weeks came up to her.

'We'll go, neighbor, me and grandson Tom ; and by God's help we'll bring your lafs back again !' And amid dangers of every kind they rounded the cliff, ami made their way in their fragile boat to the place where I had thrown myself. There then they found me, bruised and shattered by the fall, washed npon a boulder of rock, utterly unconscious.

Tfcey put mo in their boat and brought mo back to mother, and there I lay for days, and a froy to wild delirium. My hip was broken in the fall, and never raoie, the doctor said, should I walk the well known road to the cot*age door, where I had bid farewell to my hca-t's darling. And he, brave, gallant Ned, he had been washed ashore with Ihe others of the lifeboat's crew; and all was mourning and misery at Sea View. O, heaven, would that I h»d died and my bonnie sailor love had lived!

I lis here all day and all night, Winter and Summer, watching the splashing of those cruel waves on the shore, thinking always of Ned's " to-morrow." What would he hive told me, my heart's treasure ? Was it that he loved me ? Ah, who shall know it ever ?

Years have pessed since thisi Carrie, bright, loving Carrie, comes to see me often, and together we talk of him. She knows I loved him. How well I loved him God only knows.

I have a curly brown lock Carrie gave me. I kiss it and I love it—it if all I have of Ned.

Ah, did be love me?