LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1815, 15 December 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE DAY YOU’LL DO WITHOUT ME. Chapter 11. (Concluded.) The first three years that passed after their parting had gone by peacefully enough, though they were burdened by dullness and poverty. Still they were spent in her old home, among her loved ones, Bat the last five had seen her knocked about from ono family of strangers to another —now as companion, now as governess; for her father and mother were dead, and all May inherited from them was a patient, brave heart. There had been no lack of lovers during these long years—lovers who were ready not only to woo, but to ‘ marry and a’,’ if she could only have awakened from that early dream, and loft off wearing that little twisted gold ring, fut she cculd not bring herself to do either. She clung as tenaciously to her old memories as she did to that frail little pledge of the affection Lionel Hastings had forgotten. So she preferred working her way on wearily enough, to forfeiting her claims to cherish hope and her ring. ‘ She was far too beautiful to be a governess,’ all men said ; for time had matured and enriched the beauty that had been very bright and bewitching at sixteen. Poor May ! She longed sometimes to show Lionel the beauty that others prized so highly. Surely if he could see her he would remember Balton and their old ‘ young love.’ Her present occupation was a congenial one to her in many ways. She was acting as secretary amanuensis to a lady, who insisted on being ‘literary,’ and who, luckily for May, was really fond of reading good works. This lady was sufficiently bright and clever to be able to collect about her a brighter and cleverer circle, and the ability to do this proves no inconsiderable talent. It was while mingling with this circle that May heard the name of her old love again for the first time for eight years. ‘ Lionel will be here in an hour, my dear Mrs Gaspard,’ May heard one evening, and looking round, she saw a stately matron with Lionel Hasting'a eyes. ‘ His mother I’ she thought with a thrill, as she obeyed an irresistible impulse, and got herself nearer to Lady Hastings, longing to speak to her, to do her some service, however slight, for the love of the unforgotten Lionel! Suddenly, the fact that he would be before her in an bout recurred to her, and the thoughts of how he would look and feel and act upset her self-possession, and made her falter in the advsmes she had teen about to make to Lady Hastings. But that lady being very keen about beauty, had already marked her. ‘ Who is the girl with the crown of gold ?’ she asked of the hostess ; and Mrs Gaspard, who was proud of her well-selected library and handsome companion, answered —‘ My secretary. Miss Baron. Quite a jewel. I wouldn’t have her in the house for the world if I had a son.’ Lady Hastings laughed easily. * Those fears are quite out of date; men are so much wiser than they were. What does she do V ‘Everything,’ ‘ And how does she do it ?’ ‘ Magnificently. I hope no one will discover her value and rob me of her. She saves me all trouble, and sings like a prima donna, for thirty pounds a year.’ ‘Pray make her sing presently,’ Lady Hastings said. And at the same moment Lionel entered the room. May felt as if she words ‘ Lionel, don’t you know mo ?’ must be painted on her face, as after speaking to Mrs Gaspard and his mother, ho turned, and carelessly scanned the form and features of the girl who wore his twisted gold ring upon her finger. ‘ A golden beauty !’ was bis thought as he let his gaze travel away from her. ‘ Never seen her before ; quite new, evidently.’ It was a relief to her that at this moment Mrs Gaspard came to her and issued her polite command in the words— ‘ My dear, will you sing ?’ The acute agony she experienced at his non-recognition could not have been borne in silence. She must either have cried out or laughed. Heaven help the women who laugh in their anguish; they suffer more than those who weep. She must do someth’ng, she felt and so it would be as well to sing, and as she got herself to the piano, and took off her gloves, she stole another look at him, and he was looking at her admiringly. His lips had loft a kiss on hers which had never been brushed off. And he had forgotten her! Oh, the pain and shame of it 1 bhe plunged into something, and sang it well, though every fibre trembled. When she had finished it, he was standing by her, ready to offer her a compliment. Again she turned her great pleading violet eyes upon him; but he did not know her. The little ring shone in the lamplight, for May never killed it by wearing another. Doubtless he admired her lingers, but he never noticed the ring. He spoke to her of her masters, of those who had trained her voice, discussing them and it intelligently. Her voice ‘reminded him of a queen of song whom he had heard in Vienna, ’ he said, and he added that he never forgot a voice. ‘ Would she sing again ? He would like to remember hers. ’ How dear ho was to her in spite of all his unconsciousness! How desperately dear ! How she hated Lady Hastings at that moment, for coming up to him, and putting her hand on his arm, and telling him that she must ‘ take him again !’ How she envied the mother! How she loved the son I ‘ I am to hear one more song, and then I am at your service. You will sing again, will you not?’ he said, and Lady Hastings backed his request by saying : ‘lt is really asking too much of you ; but do.’ She could not resist the impulse before her—though she strove to be blind to it—rose the scene and the actors in it—the day that was full of all Summer glory, sweetness, warmth and light the velvet lawn and weeping willow and rose-covered vicarage, and the splendid boy-hero, to whom a lovely shy little girl was reading poetry. She could not resist the impulse. Como what would, he should bo reminded of that scene, too. And so when her pearly notes in all their purity smote his ear they fell on the words: ‘ You love me in your tender way! I answer as you let me ; But oh ! there comes another day— The day that you’ll forget me !’ And after one eager gasping glance, he exclaimed : * Why, its May—May Baron !’ and her song came to an end. It would be pleasant to record that as she was revealed to him, his love for her returned without delay. But mine is a true tale, and therefore I cannot wrest it to my own pleasure in any such way. As he recognized her, ho admired her immensely, and remembered that even in her girlhood she had not been gawky after the manner of other girls. But he entirely forgot that he had ever loved her, or ever acted in such a way as to teach her to love him. There was not the slightest approach to that high misdemeanor in fashionable life—a scene. His self-possession was so eoey, so perfect, that May at once recovered her own. True she ceased singing the instant he exclaimed : ‘ Why, it’s May—May Baron !’ But even his mother could find no fault with the Blow, sweet smile and gentle inclination of the head with which the beautiful and clever companion greeted her father’s former pupil. ‘ Let me introduce you to my mother,’ he said at once; and May found herself made known to her mother, who complimented her ‘ on the possession of a charming voice.’ He did not notice the ring. As soon as she recognised that he was absolutely without any recollection of what she had snpi posed them to be to ono another. May took ca’-e that he should not see it. She slipped on her glove, and when that was done she felt safer. Bat she need have had no fear. He had forgotten the episode of the ring as utterly as he had forgotten the words ho had spoken when she read the poem under the willow tree—the same poem she had sung this night. Presently ho asked after her father, and May had to ice herself in order to avoid breaking down as she replied that he was dead. He admired her very much. It was quite a treat to meet with that genuine radiantly gold hair, in conjunction with such intensely violet eyes. She was altogether ‘ good form,’too, and ho lazily wondered if she was married. She had not corrected him when he had introduced her to his mother as ‘ Miss Baron ’; but that might bo due solely to the fact of her having lived long enough to have discovered that it Is not worth while to correct any ono for anything. She was dressed well, too. Lionel liked women who were well dressed. He recalled a vision of her in the old days climbing up a tree to get apples for him, in a torn dross and a ragged garden hat,

‘ Are von living in town ? ’ he asked. * I am living here with Mrs Gaspard, and I must go and attend to some of my duties,’ she said, ilsing and smiling at him as composedly as if her heart had not been nigh unto breaking with revived hope and bitter disappointment. She had pictured meeting him a thousand ways, but not one of the pictures had been like this! Ho turned to his mother as May crossed the room away from them. ' She must have made a sensation when she came out,’ ho remarked. ‘My dear Lionel, she is very handsome and nice, but she has never made a ‘ sensation’ or ‘ come out,’ as you seem to think. She is and has boon a governess all her life, I suppose. But she is really a beautiful woman.’ ‘ Magnificent! I was in hopes she was married, that I might have seen more of her. She used to be a clever girl, I re r ember.’ Then there was a fresh arrival. Lovely Lady St. John, the leader of the wildest, gayest, most daring sot in town, entered, and in another minute a ‘ friendly’smile flashed round the circle as Bartio Friel lounged in. Of *ll spectacles on the face of the earth, lady St. John’s reckless disregard of appearances was the most obnoxious to Lady St John’s brother. He was fond of her, proud of her, well inclined to believe that there was —as she used to assure him—“ no harm in her intimacy with poor Bartie.” But he could not endure the looks that were cast upon the affair. And in exact proportion as he loved his sister, he detested Bartio Friel. So now, with a sterner face than Lady St. J ohu’s friends and aspersers oared to smile into he proceeded to take leave of his hostess and bow himself out of the room. As he was doing this, he heard the man who was carelessly compromising Ida—the man he most disliked in the word—ask : “ Who is that with the jet in her hair? She is the loveliest womrn ont!” As these werda fell on Lionel’s ears he remembered that he had not said good bye to the “loveliest woman out,” who was no other than his old friend and playfellow, May Baron. Ho made his way bade to her : and some little delay being caused by the increasing crowd, by the time he reached her, Bartio Friel had gained the introduction and was engaging in conversation. A sharp angry spasm of annoyance—he could not define the cause of it —seized Lionel Hastings, and he turned away and left the house without giving another word to May Well, it was over! And it was over without her having derogated from her feminine dignity at all. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in this; but the dubious satisfaction was not balanced altogether by the keen anguish she felt at that utter forgetfulness of his, ‘ After this, I can never wear his ring again,’ she thought, and she tried to take it off. That ring had been given to her as a pledge, and he had forgotten that he had given it! That night the ring and his one letter were packed up and carefully put aside. Bhe could not make up her mind to destroy them, though something told her that it would be wiser to do so. But ‘just for a little longer,’ she pleaded with this instinct of hers. .And so ‘ just for a little longer’ she kept them. Mrs Gaspard prided herself upon ‘living in a whirl.’ She went everywhere, and received every one one, and so May, her beautiful companion, was very much before the eyes of that portion of the world who constituted Mrs Gaspard’s ‘set’ at this juncture. Further, Mrs Gaspard had ‘no prejudices,’ she was fond of averring, and so Bartie Friel, who was rather a black sheep by this time, received a warm welcome whenever he came to the house. But though a black sheep, he was a marvellously attractive one ; 'and so people talked about him about what he was doing, and what he might be expected to do. His admiration for Miss Baron was not a secret very long. Bvery one heard of it; among others, Lady St. John, and Lionel Hastings. It is greatly to be feared that every one is afflicted with that baleful thing a communicative friend. At any rate, Lady St. John was so afflicted, and thus it happened one day, when Lionel was quietly having a cup of afternoon tea with his sister, that they learned from the lips of this friend that Mr Bartie Friel was positively going to marry that Miss Barron who lived with Mrs Gaspard I Lady St. John received the tidings with the utmost sangfroid, ‘ls he? ’he asked indifferently. And the friend replied in a friendly manner, ‘Yes. I wonder he has not told yon ! ’ What conld Lady St. John do but acquiesce in that wonder faintly. ‘ Bartie Friel marry that girl ! ’ Lionel exclaimed the moment he was alone with Ida ‘ She shall know what he is before she is a day older. Why, she’s a good girl. The fellow would shook her out of her life or her reason, ’ * Oh, Lionel, don’t be harsh ; don’t malign him,’ she muttered. Lionel scowled. ‘ Then spare me, ’ she pleaded in a lower voice. ‘ I know yon blame him, but spare me. Let him marry her if he loves her,* and then she began to weep bitterly. He would make no promise, but he went away from her feeling sorely distressed. Was she not his own sister ? ‘ Poor girl,’ he thought bitterly; and then he remembered the other one. At least he would—for old friendship’s sake—go and hear from May Baron if there were any truth in this vile report. He could not help calling it a ‘ vile report, ’ as he reflected on some portions of Bartie’s career,’ and contrasted them with all he knew of May. * Why, I was in love with her myself when I was a lad,’ he thought, and he wondered if May ever thought about that. An hour later he was inquiring for Miss Baron at Mrs Gaspard’s door, and hearing that she would receive him. She was quite as composed as on the occasion of their meeting that first night—quite as composed, and quite as beautiful. He conld not stand by patiently and see her become the prey of such a one as Bartie Friel. *On the score of old friendship, I am going to presume greatly with you—greatly, bliss Baron,’ he began. She opened her eyes in astonishment. “ Haven’t you forgotten the old friendship yet?” she said, “ What a wonderful memory you must have!” ‘lndeed, I have not forgotten the old friendship,’ ho replied gently; ‘it prompts me to say something you may not want to hear.’ He paused, and her treacherous heart began to beat. But she was mistress of herself. His ring and his letter was nestling in her bosom all the while. And he could speak calmly of ‘old friendship!’ ‘Men differ from women with a vengeance,” she thought. * He who kissed mo, to ask if I have forgotten our old friendship!’ ‘ They say yon are going to marry a man of whom you know very little,’ ho began softly. And her face and heart grow like stone. ‘ Tell me, is this true ?’ She made no answer; and he thought, ‘ She is resenting my interference; she has forgotten how fond I was of her when I was a boy, and she looks upon this as mere impertinence. Nerving himself by all he know about Bartio Friol, ho resolved : * He shall never have her! The splendid creature ! She deserves a better fate than to be a worn-out roue's wife ;’ and he spoke warming with his words : ‘ You’re astonished at my presumption in interfering; I feel sure of that. But May, I cannot forget the old days when we wore children together. Can you ?’ She bent her head down lower, and he could not see her eyes; but ho went on, ‘ You have forgotten probably, May, and why should you have remembered, indeed ?’ But I will remind you, and then you will understand that it was more than mere friendly interest that prompts mo to interfere.’ Memory jogged him at this moment, and he went on glibly— 1 Yon may have forgotten how I loved you darling’— ‘ Have not you been the one to forget ? ’ ‘On my faith, no! Not now, when I see you again,’ he protested ardently, and then, as he clasped her in his arms, she showed him the ring and the letter, and sang him a verse from the song that had awakened his memories ‘ I do not fear the darkest way, With those dear arms about mo; But oh! I dread another day — The day you’ll do without me !’