LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1740, 17 September 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

GERTRUDE.

[From the “Argosy.”] Mrs Yorke said nothing more, and the major refilled his glass. While he drank the contents, she stood near the railing, looking away dreamily; but, when he had finished, she spoke to him again. ‘May I walk back to the house with you ?’ she said; and then, all at once, the eyes she had uplifted to his faltered, and filled with a pleading, desperate light, it seemed as if she knew he had read her heart; that It was of no use dissembling. He put her arm within his in a fatherly way, as he would that of his own child, and they walked away ; she holding to him with a carious strength in her slight, clinging hand, Out yonder, beyond the hearing of the drinking crowd, was a line of linden-trees, with rustic seats beneath their shade ; and, feeling that she was trembling, he led her to one of these benches, and made her sit down. He stood before her then, to shield her from observation, her pallor was so great, and the shrinking terror and grief in her large eyes so strong. Some movement that he made seemed to startle her. She misunderstood it. Stretching out her unsteady hands to him with the imploring gesture of a frightened child, he saw that she was in tears. ‘Oh, major, she cried out, ‘please stay with me I ■ don’t leave me I Stay with me as much as you can, until—until Mr Yorke comes.’ ‘ Indeed, and isn’t me best pleasure to be with ye, me dear,’ he returned, in a kind but light accent, as if he did not see her emotion, or know anything of the cause of her trouble. ‘ And I wish the rooms were not so hot of an evening; I’ve been inconvenienced meeelf by it.’ There was a great deal of tact about this rusty little major, despite his slight brogue, and his genuine Irish pride in his titled relations. Mystefied though he was, he would no more have asked her to explain the matter to him, than he would have struck her a blow. He believed that she and Mr Barnegat, who was then a lieutenant, had deeply loved one another in the old days, and why she should have married another, and why she should be so sad, he knew not. Giving her his arm again, they promenaded in the quieter walks, until the soft morning air had swept away the traces of her tears, even if it could not bring tho colour to her cheeks. Returning indoors, they encountered Mrs Power coming forth: who professed much astonishment, and expressed it in her frosty manner. Was it possible that Mrs Yorke had so far recovered as to be able to walk out ? She had observed that she left the hotel alone I Was it not somewhat indiscreet to venture out unattended after so severe ao indisposition ? She had imagined Mrs Yorke’s swoon had arisen from some serious cause. A number of guests were inquiring as to the state of her health, among the rest a late arrival, a Mr Barnegat, In fact, the gentleman who had been near her when she fainted, and who had been the first to assist her. Mrs Yorke parried the concern in her gentle way, and escaped as soon as she could. What with it all, Mrs Yorke would probably have kept her room, but that that would have excited even more comment, so she was seen about, here and there, as nsnal. It cost the major a great deal of diplomatic effort to keep off an encounter between her and Darrel Barnegat _ that morning; but somehow or other, by indefatigable industry, he managed to succeed. Not so in the afternoon. The enemy was too much for him then. Seeing the two alone for a moment, Barnegat strode across the room deliberately, and with evident purpose. Tho major was as good as nobody then. Mrs Yorke half rose from her chair, white as death. ‘Do not bo afraid of me, Gertrude,’ said Mr Barnegat, with bitter sadness, ‘ I don’t wish so harm you.’ And, flinging himself into a chair, he held out his hands to the little boy, who was clinging to his mother’s dress. • Won’t you come to me ?’ ‘ Go to that gentleman, Eustace,’ said Mrs Yorke, faintly, and the child obeyed her. For a moment or so, Barnegat held him, looking down into his dark eyes with a working face. ‘Your child is not like you,’ he said. Gertrude turned her pallid face to tho window, trembling. ‘He is like Mr Yorke,’ she answered.

It seemed to the major that she was afraid of Barnegat; afraid to trust herself to look at him, or to speak to him. Whyshouldshe be ? It must have been her evident tremor which caused the silence. No one spoke ; and the nervous shrinking in tho girl’s eyes was almost pitiable. The little major grew restless under it, and was actually glad when Barnegat broke the pause. ‘ I scarcely expected to see you downstairs to day,’ he said. ‘ I was afraid that your indisposition might be a serious matter.’ ‘No, it was nothing,’ answered Mrs Yorhe quickly. ‘ I often faint; I have not been strong for a year or two now.’ And the flutter of swift changing rod and white on her cheek attested to the truth of her words—that she was not strong. Her timidity held her farther aloof from Mr Barnegat than any stern effort of will could have done. He could no more have spoken out his passion of wrath and pain upon her, as perhaps he had meant in his anger to do, than ho could have forced it upon a panting, frightened child. She shrank away from his gaze, clinging to her child’s band, as to a safeguard. Four years ago she had been a bright, fearless, happy young creature, every hour of whose existence seemed warm with the sunshine of youth. Surely there was something wrong, some mysterious cause, to work so great a change in her. As he held to his place before her, chafing with the inward sense of injustice done to him, tortured by the love that still filled every crevice of his heart, Darrel Barnegat felt that his strong determination to read the riddle was for tho present thrown back upon him. He did not abandon it. But it was net to be read to-day, or tomorrow ; no, nor for many days to omo. On the morrow, when ho had again

approached, and was exchanging a few com* monplace words with her, he saw a swift change pass over her face, and she turne d towards the door, as if moved by some slow, magnetic influence. There was no lighting up of the eyes, no glow of brightness ; nothing but a touch of timid anxiely in her expression; and yet the moment that Barnegat caught sight of the lithe, slender, dark-faced man who was crossing the threshold, he was stricken with a fierce, jealous pang, knowing him to be her husband, as if by intuition. The new comer came forward to her with a quick step—a hurried restless step one nrght say. There was a restlessness in all his movements, in his eyes and in his thin, dark, eager face. He barely gave Major Ogilvia a greeting gesture, he simply glanced at Barnegat; he kissed his child. All in a passing way, as it seemed, while he took possession of his wife. It was just as though he assserted his right of command to her before he spoke. * Gertrude, ’ he ssid in a quick tone, ‘they tell me you have been ill.’ ‘Not ill,’ she answered, ‘I felt a little faint an evening or two ago; the room was very hot.’ ‘ But I say you have beca ill. I see it in your face.’ ‘lndeed no, Manuel.’ ‘Do not say no,’ he cried, as he led her away. ‘lt is not true, Gertrude, Come with me, my dear. Your eyes look as if you had shed tears.. Why Lave you suffered? Tell me all.’ The little major waited a minute, and then touched his friend on the shoulder, ‘ Let us walk ont-ide,’ he said, ‘and smoke a cigar.’ And Barnegat followed him mechanically. Once in the open air, under the shade of the lindens, Birnegat’s passionate misery burst its bonds. He strode to and fro on the walk like a jealous, raging tiger. He did not know who was to blame for the past, but he felt a passionate hatred of the man who, it seemed, had rivalled him. He could have dealt him his death blow without a sting of conscience, though the whole of his after life might have been filled with remorse for the deed. ‘ That is her lord and master, is it ?’ he said. ‘By my faith, he is a despot! What right has snob a fellow to a tender creature like that ?’ ‘ Kow be easy,’ cried the little major, soothingly. ‘You can’t alter what is, Barnegat.’ ‘ She’s afraid of him, I tell you ! She’s— ’

And, with that, Barnegat broke down. Flinging himself on a bench, he buried his face in his hands with a groan. {To be continued.')