LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1793, 19 November 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

EDITH CHETWYND. I was companion to Miss Chetwynd, and had been for two years, I was an orphan, and her mother and mine had been friends in their girlhood, and for her mother’s sake she had taken me to her home, and treated me as a younger sister. I have never in my life seen another woman as beantiful as Edith Chetwynd. She was tall and slender, with pale golden hair, coiled in glittering glory around her classic head, and then her sweet sad eyes were deeply, darkly blue, and her delicate face was perfect from the broad, white brow to the daintly-curved chin. I knew some great sorrow had darkened the girlhood of Edith Chetwynd, hnt as she never told me aught about it, I refrained from asking anyone else. One quiet evening we were sitting in the pale twilight together, Edith sitting in an easy chair, I in a low one at her side. My thoughts were straying away to Frank —Frank, my curly-haired, dark-eyed brother, who had been Edith Chetwynd’s guest for more than a month a year before. Poor Frauk 1 he had come down, his heart filled with love for his sister, with no woman on earth holding a higher place in it, and he had gone away, pale and grave, with Edith Chetwynd’s words—‘l cannot be your wife ’ —ringing in his ears and echoing through his heart. * I love her so truly, Celeste,’ he said, as he held me, weeping, in his arms, ‘ that I cannot linger near her, knowing I cannot win her heart ’ ‘ Ch, why will she not be your wife V I cried. ‘ Does she not know it will break my heart for yon to go forth a wanderer for a woman’s sake ?’ * Better men than I have done that before, Celeste, but none have done it for fairer woman than Edith Chetwynd; but. Celeste, I am not, as you may call it, going forth a wanderer. I have always longed to go abroad, and what better time could I choose than now, when amid other scenes I may hope to succeed in overcoming my love for Edith Chetwynd. Celeste, sister, you cannot dream how I love her, and I could not bear to be near her, and yet so far away. It is better I should go abroad at once.’ I made no answer, but clung closer to him. ‘ Good-bye—good-bye, little sister,’ he said,’ ‘ and love Edith as you have always done,’ and then he was gone, leaving me weaping alone. ‘Celeste, little one,’ Edith’s voice said, breaking in my reverie, ‘ what is the matter ?’ * I—l am thinking of Frank,’ I said. A shadow fell over her face. ‘Celeste,’ she said, bending down, and taking my face between her hands,' *1 was thinking of him as well; you miss him, Celeste, and— so do I. ’

The last words came slowly, and a alight flush stained her cheeks. ‘Edith—Edith I why could yon not love him V I said, impulsively, ‘ what prevented you ?’ Her sweet, blue eyes grew sadder. ‘ The memory of the past,’ she said gravely. * Celeste, I will tell you the story of my life, and than judge whether a heart that has suffered as mice has could be one to give in return for the true and loyal one Frank offered to me. * All my life. Celeste, I lived with my uncle, my mother having died at my birth, my father a short time after j I was left a tiny child to my uncle’s care. •My uncle had only one child, a boy six years older than I was, whom he idolized, 1 have never seen any love equal to that my uncle gave his handsome boy. To me he was always kind, but he had no love to spare, it was all centred on Barton. * Barton and I grew up like brother and sister, but not like very loving ones, for Barton was a haughty, imperious boy, and we generally disagreed when together. *He bad a passionate temper, and having no one else to spend it on, he generally spent it on me, and It was seldom 1 was submissive. * Still we always played together, and liked each other in a certain way. ‘ We had another companion, the son of a well to do farmer, who lived about a mile from our home. * Even in my childhood Edgar Gray was more to me than Barton, ‘ He was the complete opposite of Barton, for he was gentle in bis manner to all girls, but to me in particular. ‘ He was a handsome boy as well, though not as handsome as Barton, but then he was so kind and courteous, that even as a child I loved him, ‘ When I was ten years old my uncle sent me to a fashionable boarding-school to finish my education, and Barton went to travel abroad. ‘ Eight years passed away, and then I returned to my uncle’s. * Barton was still abroad, and Edgar Gray was away studying law, and for awhile £ felt very lonely, and then Edgar came down for a resting spell, he called it. ‘ The boy I left stood before me transformed into a man—a grave, earnest man with the old tender smile of the boy, and the kindly grace I had liked so well. * He was the Edgar of old, and my heart wont out to him then as it had done in childhood, *■ - ■

‘ The Chetwynds were all wealthy, and Edgar was nothing but a struggling lawyer, and yet it never entered my mind that my uncle might disapprove of our love. • Yes, cur love. It may have been his old love for the child that had deepened, or a new love may have sprung up in his heart for the slender maiden of eighteen, but Edgar loved me, and I promised to be his wife whenever he claimed me. * We did not tell my uncle our secret, for Edgar preferred to win a great name for himself, before he claimed me, so ho pressed a lover’s kiss on my lips, and asking God’s blessing on my head, left me, and went forth to the world to do battle for my sake, ‘Six months after Barton came home, handsomer, statelier, more imperious than ever. ‘ Barton and I had never got on well in childhood, but now we were the best of friends ; but I never dreamed that he ever thought of me, save as a sister, till one quiet evening we stood by the window together, gazing out over the bright garden. ‘ What is your favorite flower, Edith ?’ ho asked, as my eyes rested on a bed of sweet rosea ‘ The red rose,’ I answered ? ‘ And yours Barton ?’ ... ‘The red rose as well,” he said, ‘for is it not the emblem of love ?* and then before I could prevent him he had seized my hand, and was pouring forth words of passionate love. ‘Edith—Edith, tell me that you love me 1’ he cried ; ‘ tell mo that your heart is mine 1’ ‘ I cannot tell you that, Barton, I answered, ‘ for, save sisterly love, I have none to give you ’ ‘ Sisterly love ! Oh, God ! girl, do you dare mock me with that expression ? Do you love another, Edith Chetwynd, that you give me such on answer? I ask you for bread ; you offer me a stene.’ ‘ His face was flushed, his eyes blazing, the Ohetwynd passion burning within him. *1 shrank back, terror-stricken, ‘You shrink back from me,’ he said, • but yon need not, for I swear before God on high that you will be my wife —my wife !’ and then, before I knew his intention, he caught me in his arms, kissing my face from brow to chin, and murmuring— ‘ Darling ! darling ! darling!’ ‘ Mad with shame and horror—for was I not the betrothed cf another —I struggled to release myself. - Lot me go —let me go!’

‘He released his hold, and I dashed-out of the house, never stopping till I threw myself, weeping, on a rustic bench at the far end of tie garden. ‘ Edgar ! Edgar!’ I cried. I My darling !' said a voice beside mo, and Edgar himself answered my frenzied cry. 1 What is the matter, Edith ?’ he said, passing his arm around me, for I was trembling violently, * I only sobbed and hid my face on his arm. * Edith, darling,’ he said, ‘ tell me what has happened to so excite you ? Sweet one, will you not tell me V and then I told him the story. * And he kissed you thus against your will, darling ?’ he said, drawing me closer to him; Suddenly a shadow fell across our path. •So this is your lover, fair Edith,’ said Barton’s voice, and I, turning away my face, clung closer to Edgar. * The sight must have maddened Barton, ‘Scoundrel !’ he said, and the next moment he had raised a light whip he held in bis hand, and struck Edgar twice across the face. Edgar released me, his face white as death, save the two scarlet seams where Barton’s whip had fallen. ‘ I cannot fight before a lady,’ he said. * I will settle with yon again,' ‘Then he turned to me. ‘Good-bye, Edith,’ he said. ‘ I raised my face to his, and he pressed one long, lingering kiss on my lips, ‘ Good-bye— good bye, my darling!’ he said, ‘ The next morning arose bright and fair, but 1 came down stairs pale and troubled, a dim foreboding at my heart, a foreboding that deepened when I Lund that my cousin had ’eft the house at daybreak. ‘ I went into the breakfast room My uncle was standing at the window.’ ‘ I will tell him all,’ I thought; perhaps he could do something. ‘Uncle,’ I said, and then before I could utter another word, there was a sound of hurried footsteps in the hall. ‘Miss Edith,’ said a servant, opening the door ; but before I could answer, my uncle had pushed me aside, and passed into the hall. ‘ln an instant I knew the truth. Edgar and my cousin had fought, and Barton had fallen, ‘ I followed my uncle. Yes, there lay Barton, dead in the prime of his manhood, dead in all the glory of his yonth, dead in his magnificent strength and beauty, a red stain below his heart. ‘ Yes, Barton Ohetwynd was dead, snd the man I loved a wanderer on the face of the earth. ’

‘Yes, fiom that day Edgar Gray waa a wanderer in a foreign land, though Barton’s last words were : 4 It was a fair fight, and one of my seeking.’ I never looked on Edgar Gray’s face again, for I could not wed the man who had shed the life blcoi of Barton Ohetwynd, and it was better we should not meet. 4 Three months later my uncle died, and I was 1< ft alone in the world. 4 Judge now, Celeste, is my heart one to be given in return for Frank Emerson’s ?’ 4 Mies Chetwynd, a gentleman down stairs,’ said a servant, opening the door; ‘looks like you, Miss Celeste,’he added. 4 lt is Frank—lt is Frank!’ I cried, springto my feet, 4 I know it is ’ 4 Come with me, then, Celeste,’ Edith said, and we weot r o vn together. 4 Celeste ! little sister ! he said, kissing me very tenderly, for it was Frank, and then turning to Edith, ho said : 4 W iss Chetwynd, I have called with a message to yon from a dying man; I promised him that I would deliver it 4 1 was in Paris four weeks ago, and while there a man was shot next door to me, 4 1 heard that he was a countryman of my own. so I went in to see him, and Edith— Miss Chetwynd, he raved in delirium of you —I know it was you, for I heard your story. I stayed with him, and did all I could for him, but it was useless; his wound waa fatal, he was doomed to die. 4 You know Edith Chetwynd V he said to me the night he died, and I answering 4 Yes’ he asked me to bear a message to you. 4 Tell her,’he said, 4 that I did not mean to take his life, that I was willing to take an apology till the very last, but he insisted on it being settled with pistols Tell her I have expatiated my crime, if crime it were, by years of sorrow ; ask her to give one sigh to my memory, for I loved her to the la.t. Tell her I have often looked on her face when she knew it not, but that I have never dared to touch even the hem of her robes ’ They were his last words, he gave one weary sigh, and fell back dead.’ White as death grew Edith Chetwynd’s face, as memories of the past came up before her. 4 The last link of the past is severed,’ she said, turning to me. I saw words of love trembling on Frank’s lips, bat he was too noble to utter them then. 4 You will stay with ns awhile,’ she said, raising her eyes to Frank’s face. 4 Celeste has longed so much for you, ’ and then she was gone, leaving us together. 4 Celeste—Celeste !’ he cried, 4 think how she is suffering ; did yon see how white her face was, little sister ? I could give life itself to make Edith Chetwynd happy.’ 4 Frank,’ I said, laying my hand on his arm, 4 did she not say that the last link to the past was broken ? Frank—Frank ! the future is before her.’ 4 Celeste, do you mean that there is any hope for me ? Do you mean she can ever love me?' 4 Ever love you, Frank ? She loves you now, but she does not know it. You can make her happy yet. She may not love you as she loved Edgar Gray, with all a girl’s passionate, romantic fervor, but her woman’s heart is yours.’ Years have passed since that day, and Edith Chetwynd is my sister —in love as well as in law—happy and beloved, as well as loving. It is seldom a shadow crosses her beautiful face, but I know as well that the cherry voice of Frank, falling on her ears, or his footsteps in the hall, will banish the memory as quickly as it came, for I know that Edith Emerson is happy—very happy in her husband’s loyal love.