LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1739, 16 September 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

GEBTBUDE, [From the “ Argosy.”] ‘ I never see her, madam, without thinking of me first cousin, Sir Phelim O’Dowleston, of Castle Dowleroon, county Antrim. I daresay yon have heard of him. Faith, he was a fine old fellow, Sir Phelim; and it was at hit house I met her. She’s a pretty woman now, but she has altered a power since then—grown paler and quieter than she was in those days, when she and Darrel Barnegat used to make the rooms ring with their fun and laughing.’ 'She and who V suddenly demanded Mrs Colonel Power, with very unmajestio sharpness. She had not been condescending to listen to Major Ogilvie at all. She rarely deigned to notice him at any time, in fact; but hia last words roused her. ‘Darrel Barnegat,’ answered the major. ‘ Barnegat, of King’s Eagle; and it's a queer thing to me that it isn’t Barnegat. of King’s Eagle, who is here with her to-day, instead of that fire-eating Cuban.’ ‘Oh !’ ejaculated Mrs Colonel Power, ‘ so she was engaged to him ?’ * Me cousin, Sir Phelim,’ the little old major was beginning, when hia eye caught the expression of Mrs Power’s countenance; or—to give her the full name that she insisted on being called, and that appeared on her cards—Mrs Colonel Power. This

expression checked him. The sharp face of that estimable but rigid widow was turned towards the unsuspecting object of discussion, and the black fan in the blackgloved hands was waving slowly, but ominously. The major stopped at once. It suddenly dawned upon his mind that he had made a trifling blunder. Ho knew Mrs Colonel Power and her sharp tongue of old, aud, it may be added, was not one of her most favorite admirers.

‘lt’s mischief she means,’ was his inward comment; ‘ and it’s mischief against that pretty, inoffensive Mrs Yorke, She has never forgiven her for cutting out Cordelia, the stiff-necked old hypocrite in pettioats I’

The ominous waving of the black fan went on more swiftly. ‘You were saying, I think, Major Ogilvie, that Mrs Yorke was formerly engaged to a friend of your cousin. Sir Phelim,’ continued Mrs Colonel Power. ‘On me sow], there’s Jernagan!’ exclaimed the major, enthusiastically. ‘Jernegan, of Tnrftop. When did he come ? I must speak to him. You’ll excuse me, madam.’ And before Mrs Colonel Power had time to give two waves of her fan, she found herself alone.

It was rather exasperating to he so bereft of a choice bit of scandal, which might have been used hereafter to an advantage against that woman, her pet animosity, pretty, retiring, well-behaved Mrs Yorke. Nothing on earth would have so pleased the august relict of Colonel Power as to find something to cavil at, to condemn, even to shun in poor Gertrude York. As Major Ogilvie said, Mrs Power had never forgiven her for her triumph over Cordelia. Cordelia Power, the eldest of three daughters, had inherited all her mother’s graces of mind and person, and rumor said that if Cordelia was not Mrs Manuel Yorke, it was not Cordelia’s fault; and the fact was by no means to be attributed to a lack of industry on the part of that reaplendant but somewhat raw-boned maiden.

Some years ago, Manuel Yorke, a wealthy planter in Cvba, had passed a season in London; had been intimate with the late Colonel Power, Mrs Power, a manoeuvring mother, had tried to secure him for Cordelia; but he did not bite. Now again they had met here at Carlsbad; Mr Yorke had a pretty, gentle wife, and Cordelia was Cordelia yet. This was why Mrs Power was so stony in her carriage toward, so cordially detested, the pretty Gertrude. She made the young wife her especial detestation among the summer flock of idlers snd invalids, considering it her special mission to crush her into humility’ with much frosty courtesy, and majestic waving of the stiff-jointed but marvellously genteel mourning fan.

The hotel rooms were rather full this evening. There were several new arrivals ; but Gertrude Fork had taken her place apart from the rest, as she often did. Just now, as she sat talking to her little boy, she looked so singularly youthful, that it seemed almost impossible to believe that she was the child’s mother. That she was an American one could see at the first glance, her delicate face, girlish figure, and black lashed, agategrey eyes, were the attributes of no other type ; but she left the country years ago—when she was only fourteen. An aunt, moving in good society, and a woman fond of gaiety, adopted her. In due time she had married Manuel Yorke. Since then she and her husband had wandered from place to place, until the present summer, when, her health failing somewhat, they had lingered at Carlsbad.

Notwithstanding the quietness of Mrs Yorke’s life, and her retiring, gentle manners, she was made the subject of a great deal of comment. People, who found it their duty to be curious in such matters, were a trifle puzzled as to the state of her feelings towards her husband. You cannot need to be reminded what the gossip of such places is. Mr Yorke was fond of his wife, too fond ; he was jealous, nervous, and excitable, his fiery Cuban blood asserting itself strongly in the smallest traits of his character, Nothing was more probable, said the dinner table, than the girl was afraid of him, and nothing so probable, said the ladies’ drawing room, as that the girl had given him cause for jealousy, and thence arose the occasional shade of sadness that touched her delicate young face. Accordingly, the best natnred pitied her a little, and there were very few who did not agree in admiring her youthful beauty, and her tender care for the welfare of her child. Among the bestnatured, the little old Irish major ranked first. He was persistently gallant, and persistently admiring ; he was continually “ on duty” in her behalf, warding off gossip and interference; and, in time, the girl grew grateful, and fond of him. She listered to hiaetoiies of Sir Phelim, of Castle Dowleroon, joined in his Dublin reminiscences, and encouraged her little boy’s childish confidence in him ; and, what delighted the major more than all else, she always relied upon him for advice and assistance if her husband chanced to be absent. So the major was not at all surprised this evening, during his conference with Jernegan, a few minutes after he left Mrs Colonel Power, to hear the sweet voice speaking to him at his elbow, * Major, if you please ’ Or, rather, it may be said, that he would not have been at all surprised, if, on this occasion, there had not been a strange alteration in the voice—a strange, wild tremor, as if the speaker had been terrified. He turned round in an instant; and, turning, was stricken at once with anxious astonishment. Gertrude Yorke was slipping from the divan, upon which she had been seated behind the major, and before he or anyone else could catch her, she lay on the floor in a dead faint.

A sadden hurried movement around; and then some gentleman pushed fiercely past Major Ogilvie, raised the lady up, and pieced her on the sofa cushions. At sight of him the major started in astonishment, and his countenance changed as he gave vent to an exclamation.

‘ Barnegat, by the sowl of me lady 1’ For, in momenta of excitement, the major’s tongue was apt to be conspicuous, Mrs Yorke was assisted to her room, and left to the care of the feminine body-guard, who made a general rush to the scene of action, ready to bustle, and sympathise, and assist, and prescribe after true female fashion.

Major Ogilvie held aloof. In fact, he was not required at all just now. He seemed to be in a bewildered mood. He was grave and silent, and, when he wandered outside to enjoy the cool night air on the terrace, his manner was so changed, that one mighthave fancied him under the influence of an unexpected shock. Leaning against one of the terrace pillars, smoking a cigar, stood the man who had raised Mrs Yorke. A tall man, with a pale, refined face. Major Ogilvie held out his hand, and spoke; some latent excitement or anxiety showing itself in his tone. •By the powers, Barncgat!’ ho said, ‘ this is a bad move. ’

Barnegat—a handsome fellow, I repeat, this Barnegat—long, and shapely-limbed ; Barnegat stirred uneasily, and seemed to find it necessary to give himself time in which to recover his self-control.

‘ I did not know she was here,’ he said, at length, speaking huskily. The major shook his head. ‘A bad move,’ he repeated, ‘if I am not mistaken,*

‘How mistaken ? ’ demanded Mr Barnegat, fiercely. ‘ What the deuce do you mean ? ’ The major cast a cautious glance around him, and then laid a finger upon the other’s folded arms.

‘ Am I mistaken in thinking it isn’t quite over ? ’ he asked, in a low voice ; ‘ the old boy-and-girl love scrape.’ Barnegat laughed. ‘What a sentimental old woman you are, Ogilvie ! ’ ‘ I know what’s what,* nodded the simpleminded, good-hearted major; ‘ and I know what she and you felt for one another. Have you forgotten it, and has she, or do you remember it too well F It looks like it, mo boy ; this fainting the minute she claps eyes on you. Bo open and above-board with me, Barnegat : let me have the naked truth ; for I make myself a sort of guardian to the girl while her husband’s away ; she is too pretty and young to be loft to fight her own battles.’

Barnegat’s cigar went whizzing out into the long grass, sent there by a desperate fling. The man’s eyes were filled with wretched fire, and he broke into a little groan, checked in its birth. ‘ It’s not over with me,’ he said; ‘ it never will be over. I can say nothing about that as to her. I don’t understand women who can play fast and loose with an honest man’s love. Women ! I should say girls. What was she but a girl, a child of seventeen, when she led me on with her pretty whims

at Dowleroon. "What did she throw me off for ■ What had I done to deserve It—to be jilted ? Tell me that, Ogilvie.’ But the major, knowing nothing, could not tell it.

‘ When I thought she was loving me with all her heart. I heard of her marriage,’ went on Barnegat, a pitiful touch of appeal in hia changed tone. ‘And— I would like to ask what her husband has been doing to alter her so ? Where have her pretty, bright, childish ways gone ? I was watching her for an hour to-night, before I showed myself. She is as pale as a white rose, Ogilvie, and there’s a look in her eye that would never have been there if she had been my wife.’ The little major’s hand was again laid upon his stalwart shoulder, with a touch gentle as a woman’s. ‘ Hush !’ he said, kindly. ‘ This won't do, me boy. It isn’t safe. Sure, I scarcely know what to say to ye .- and I know nothing of the past. Mr Yorke made her acquaintance after you went away—and they were married not so long after.’ No response. ‘ I’m thinking, Barnegat, that you had better, maybe, leave here before her husband comes back. He went to Berlin a week or so ago. ‘ The devil take her husband !’ broke out 'Parnegat, stung with wrath and jealousy. ‘ I tell you I shall stay, now I have come. Is Carlsbad not as free for me as for him ? You are getting into your dotage, major.’ * If you would but listen to reason ’ ‘She shall tell me why she jilted me,’ broke in Barnegat. ‘ She must have had a reason ; women scarcely do such things without one. When our regiment was ordered away, and I went to bid her good-bye, she clung to me, and cried like a tender-hearted child on my arm ? The next thing I heard was, that she was gone somewhere with that meddling old aunt of hers, gone without leaving me a word, and here she is to-day, another man’s wife, and the mother of another man’s child, and the minute she see me she faints dead at my feet. What does it all mean, I say ?’ his voice ringing out passionately. ‘ I don’t know.’ The major knew not what to say. He himself had always believed that some mystery must attach to the past, and he knew that it was worse than useless to contend against Darrel Barnegat in such a mood. He knew him of old ; generous, impulsive, and truly Irish in his high spirit and lightness of heart, but there had never yet been a Barnegat who was not a whirlwind when driven to desperation. In his good natured anxiety for his favorite, the poor little major felt terribly nervous. Perhaps, odd though it may seem, his nervousness arose quite as much from an inward fear of Mrs Power, as from weightier causes. Suppose this unreasonable, excitable Barnegat raised a commotion, and caused a scandal! What would not that mischief-making colonel’s widow make of it!

‘ For heaven’s sake, me boy,’ he said, ‘listen to reason. Think of the poor girl, an’ think of the tabbies watching her. Did ye see the ould cormorant, with the black fan ? If ye didn’t, just look out for her. She will be on the watch for yon ; mark that.’ Mr Barnegat made no reply. Turning away, ho went forth into the dusky night. On the following morning as Major Ogilvie was drinking his dose of the waters with the rest, he felt a light touch upon his arm, and, turning round, found the girl’s pretty, pale face, quite close to his shoulder. 1 Good morning,’ she said, in a voice so pathetically sweet, that it thrilled him to the heart. ‘Please to fill my glass for me, major.’ She thanked him when he handed it to her, and, as she took it, ho noticed that the shadow in her sad young eyes was deeper than ever, and that under the black lashes lay faint rings of purple. ‘ I am glad that you are well enough to be out,’ he ventured to say. ‘ Thank you,’ she answered. lam much better. The rooms must have been too warm, or —or I was not as well as usual, major,’slightly hesitating. ‘Please do not alarm Mr Yorke about it when he returns.’

‘Of course not,’ said the major, bending down to Hill his glass again, and trying to speak with good natured indifference. ‘ Where would ba the use of frightening a man’s senses out of him for a bit of faint ? ’ But, thought the major to himself, other tongues will be busy, though mine is still. {To he continued,')