LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1868, 18 February 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BUNKETT'S LETTER. Part of a Honeymoon. [From "Temple Bar."] (Concluded.) Chapter 11. Mr rning follows night ; yesterday was a splendid Tuesday, to-dayis a splendid Wednesday. In September the sun, after toiling through hot August, takes his work easily. The hands of the West Church clock already point to the number seven, yet he has only been up for about an hour, and his rays fall fresh and cool upon the long sweeps, and upon the gently swaying foliage of the trees, in which the Bparrows are keeping house so busily. Dame Nature is lavish of her jewels this morning ; she is wearing them all apparently ; among the grass they lie thickly scattered, sparkling and gleaming in the sunshine ; across the railway on the hillside where the sheep are breakfasting, and all up the steep Castle Bock, up, up to the gray old battlements, on every shrub and bush and blade of grass she has hung diamonds. Within the ramparts the Highlanders are all astir, the sun glancing upon their scarlet jackets, and the breeze from the Frith stirring their tartans ; but in the gardens beneath quietude and solitude reign. No, not entire solitude, for there at the west end, near the fountain, one human being can at least be seen —a slight female form pacing up and down, wrapt in deep thought, too absorbed to cast even one glance up at the lady of exalted position who, through Summer and Winter, frost and snow, wears her scarf, her only g&rment, with such airy grace. Clothilde Paulyn, after an almost sleepless night, has risen early and unrefreshed from her couch, and, tempted by the view from her windows of the garden, in their fresh, cool beauty, has thus wandered forth. For twenty minutes lias she walked about thus, her eyes never lifted from the gronnd. At last, rousing herself, she raises her head with a sigh and saunters toward one of the narrow bridges whioh span the railway. At the moment of stepping upon it she becomes aware that a gentleman is_ also in the act of crossing from the other side, and one surprised frightened glance tells her it is her husband. Her firßt impulse is to turn, but that immediately overcome, she proceeds forward very slowly. The bridge rises in the centre —on the top they must meet; a moment before this happened a train speeding along the line, in a great hurry seemingly to get into the station, with a loud whistle puffs up a thick cloud of white smoke, whioh completely envelops the pair ; when this has vanished they are close to one another —they have met The Princess Street Gardens have been the scene of many a meeting and many a parting; lives' happineases have been made there, but alas! also many, many a heart has broken, in the shade, beneath the steep Castle Bock; but of all meetings, this I think is one of the most awkward. The moment's envelopment in vapor has enabled Clothilde to do one thing—make up her mind as to her behavior, her miserable night and unhappy morning of course, having already, though unconsciously to herself, given the impetus in a certain direction ; still decision, though lessening her embarrassment, does not altogether remove it and his manner adds greatly thereto. The smoke has altogether vanished, not a puff remains between them ; and here stands he, handsome in the morning light as an Apollo, an aggrieved look in his blue eyes ; and here stands she, the soft draperies shading the sylvan form, the witching mignon face and irresistible eyes upturned to her offended lord and master. «We met, 'twas in a cloud !' she says, holding out one hand, with a lovely, deprecating smilo. For a moment, at this unexpected greeting, the corners of the little golden moustache relax, but the small outstretched hand has to drop rejected, for Grenville, very tall and straight, falls apparently to percoive it. •You aro out early this morning,'he remarks, glancing carelessly downward on to the railway. • Yes, the gardens looked so lovely !' then stammeringly and with the color (lushing all her face, she continued : ' I was going to climb the hill to see the view. Will you not ' oome with me V

A. look of surprise, which he docs not attempt to conceal, crosses his face ; then coldly agreeing to her proposition, they Saunter across the bridge. Under the ruined arch and op the shaded winding path they go, the wind stirring the branches of the trees above and below them, painting Clothilde's cheek a bright pink, and playfully, if embarrasaingly, floating her soft skirts against her husband. 'Let us rest a moment here, Grenville,' she says presently, somewhat breathless with the ascent.

They have reached one of the wooden seat 3 placed at intervals for the rest of the weary. But little view can be obtained from it. Both, however, have apparently forgotten the object of their coming. Behind them rises old Castle Bock j before them wave the tall trees, and between the foliage shine glimpses of the whitecrested Frith, flowing in the morning light away past fair Edina ont into the ocean. 'Stay a moment, Clothilde,' cries Grenville, as the former is about to throw herself exhausted en the seat; ' I fear this place is a little too earthy to be comfortable ; let me trjr to improve matters before you venture to sit down.' In taking his handkerchief for this purpose from his pocket, he draws with it, by mistake, something else, which falls upon the seat and lies exposed to view. This is a photograph, one which this morning, with man's wanted love of self-torture, he had taken from his desk and gazed at with jealous, angry eyes, scanning the handsome features whilst tormenting himself with the question as to the place that its original holds in the heart of his, Grenville Paulyn's, own wife. The picture is that of an old friend of thejlatter, Charley Shore, the man he believes h.s wife to love. Absorbed in bitter thought, he had, instead of replacing the carte in his desk, by mistake put it in his pocket, and now here it lies face upward under Clothilde's Every eyes whilst he, losing all presence of mind, stands watching her eagerly, the red which at first flushed his face djing ont. leaving him very pale. But if he is agitated, his -wife surely does not share his emotion, nor perceive it. With the easiest, mest natural manner in the world, she lifts the carte to examine it more closely. ■ Portrait of a gentleman ! Therefore, I suppose I may look at it, Gren ?' she cries laughingly. 'Had it been a lady I should certainly have shut my eyes till I received permission to look.' But Grenville's heart is beating so fast that he forgets to answer her. Her manner perplexes and astonishes him ; but at her next words the dull pain which has been gnawing his poor heart for the last twenty honra seems suddenly to cease, and the whole atmosphere of his life is once more flooded with sunshine.

' Oh, GreD, how handsome! Who ia this man, with a face like the pure Sir Galahad's? I thought I had seen the photos at least of all your friends! Who is it ?' she asks, looking straight up at him. In her face, voice and manner there is nothing, he feels, with his whole glad heart, but real, undoubted, questioning interest; innocence and truth shine as plainly and unmistakeably as the sun on a glorious midsummer day. He answers her now, though not in the way that she expects. Opening his great strong arms, much as a bear does when about to bug his prey, he folds them around her so closely as to lift her from the ground, leaving the little boots with the tall heals feeling about vainly for their accustomed resting place. ' Oh, Olothilde, I have been making some dreadful mistakes,' he cries in a voice smothered partly with feeling, partly because of the very close contact into which he has brought his mouth with a soft cheek. ' A dreadful mistake, but you will forgive me. my darling, won't you—forgive me that I thought you loved this man ? It was all so plain ; I can't understand it, and now you don't even know him.'

'But know who, Grenvllle?' asks poor, bewildered Clothilde, struggling out of his arms to her feet, with red, puzzled face and hat knocked on one side a la ' Fille de Madame Angot.'

• Why, this man In the photograph—where is he? Oh, here he is—l've been standing on him—this man here, Charlie Shore!'

' Charlie Shore ? Is this Charlie Shore ?' questioned she it amazement, eagerly taking the picture from his hands and scanning it with the greatest interest. • Of course, it is—old Char.ie Shore, the best fellow out. But what do you know about him, Clothilde ? ' Her expressive face tells that her associations with the name are not altogether of an agreeable nature, and an ashamed look burns on her face as she replies, but the shame is not for herself, but for another. 'He is the man that my Cousin Clothilde loves,' she stammers ; * and 8he —that is, mamma—waß not pleased with her ; she is still abroad ; we have not seen her for a long time.'

' And her name is the same as yours ? ' Paulyn asks quickly with face and voice as of one upon whom the full light of day has been suddenly Jet in after grouping darkness. ' Almost ; she is Olothilde Marie Toll»m. ache ; I am Clothilde Du Berri Tollemache—'

• Are you ?' he interrupts, looking dowm at her with a triumphant, possessing smile. «Oh, Clothilde, have you forgotten already tbat yesterday you married a husband ? ' Seating himself, oblivious to all things earthly, upon the bench, he draws her down within his encircling arm ; and the closefitting feminine shooting jacket disappears entirely within the masculine tweed-clad arms; and the golden moustache roams softly at will over the lovely blußhing face, while Grenville confesses in his wife's ear that he has been a dolt, a fool and a brute. And so they sit, within the gates of Paradise.

And the birds whisper together in the ivy, silvery whispers ! and the plays around and about them with its wild racy gladsomeness —the wind whkh all night long has lain npon the bosom of the Frith, and with the early morning light swept landward.

' Oh, Grenville,' whispers Clothilde, gazing dreamily forth from her sweet warm bondage toward the white-crested waters, 'is the sea as happy as we are, do you think V But Grenville answers not in words ; only, with bewildering, passionate gesture and love-striken looks, stoops his fair handsome face to press with clinging mouth the perfect lips of his bride.