LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1931, 3 May 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE DABK CORNER.

It waa a brown house, square and spacious, closely surrounded by tall dark fir trees; while heavy vines, honeysuckle, and prairie rose clung to its walls, and closely twined about the windows. The fir trees cast a shade above the house and around it; no thin shimmering shadow with light foliage outlined, but dark as a pall, through which no slanting bar of blessed sunshine ever penetrated. The house was near the street, but its occupants were as securely removed from observation as though it stood in the heart of a dense forest. It was comfortably furnished within; and a tidy, though not tasteful, hand had arranged everything with minute exactness.

For years but two persons had lived within its walls, the owner Paul Geary, and hia housekeeper Charity. The former was a widower, of perhaps two score years, tall and pale, with dark gray eyes, and hair slightly silvered Charity was some ten years older, prim and square, with stiffly starched caps, and a style of dress whose fashion had passed away with her girlhood. Fifteen years before, Paul Geary married, and brought his bride to his home. After one year of happiness, he one morning awoke to find his idol turned to clay; his wife had broken hei marriage vows, and fled with a man he had believed to be hia friend. The exact particulars no one ever knew ; for they dared not question Paul, and Charity, like that benign quality whose name she bore, ' covered a multitude of sins.'

Five years afterwards hi 3 wife returned, a pale shadow, and after a week's illness died. She was quietly buried in the village cemetery, but further than this no one could learn.

Time passed, and the fir trees cast longer shadows across the lawn, but seemed to bring no change to the inmates of the house. Kumor said that a little girl, on returning from school one day, found the day gate ajar, and spying some pale rose 3 in bloom, entered noiselessly, and after plucking a few that climbed over the porch, she glanced timidly about, and exclaiming, with a shudder, ' -'b, what a dark corner !' while Paul, hid. den behind the vines, exclaimed, 'A fitting name, bnt more descriptive of my heart 1' Terrified by the deep voice, the child ran down the path and escaped, and thereafter the place was called "Dark Corner.' One day when Paul rode down to the village, he accidently that a stranger was dying at a wayside inn. He gave little heed to the report, until he heard the name, Robert Kingston. 'Can it be little Robbie Kingston,' he 'my schoolmate and friend V The thought weighed upon his mind, until, determined to satisfy hiiuself upon the subject, he entered ihe inn, and asked to see the dying man. Great was the surprise of the attendant*, when Paul, with noiseless step entered the sick room. His f eara proved true. Pale and still, at the gates of death, lay the companion of hia bovhood. whose face he had not looked upin for years before. Kneeling by the bedside, was a young girl, her face buried in her fair hand«, whiie thick clustering curls of gold fell over them ; bright hair so like Robbie's when a boy. Bending over the bedj'de, and tenderly touching the damp looks of his dying friend, ho said :

' S ;bbie, don't you know Paul Geary ?' A smile lighted the features of the dying man. ' Paul,'ho spoke fain.ly, 'you have c urie in answer to my prayi r. Fate has dealt ha-dly with mo since we parted, and now I leave my child, my little Lily, almost penniless and without a protector.' Ho was too weak to say moro, but a look of entreaty entered hia fast glazing eyes.

The bltohx tide ot eary low swept over Paul's thirsting heart, and he said tenderly, ' I wi 1 be her protector, Eobble, fear not for her future.'

fo the man died peacefully, and when he was burled, Paul took the sorrowing Lily to his home. It was a " nine-day's.wonder " in the village, though all landed Paul's action in the matter.

' His age renders it entirely proper,' said Mrs Hanlon, the oracle of the town.

'And his good character, too,' chimed her echo, Mrs Law ; and she was nearer right of the two. Paul bore on his forehead, and in his whole demeanor, the mark which nature stamps upon all her noblemen- There might be mere popnlar men—men with greater depth of thought than he, but none who saw him could f lil to be impressed by his calm dignity, and his sacred sense of honor.

His heart naturally warmed towards the child of his friend, but he had been so long accustomed to solitude, and quiet gloomy ways, that the days seemed sad and long to poor Li'y, who had been almost the sole object of her father's love. She soon learned to view Paul with dread, 'he is too icy and btrange,' she thought. Paul spent the greater part of his time in t> e library, which was neatly fitted up and c ntained a fine collection of books. He contributor to several popular magazines ; now a sage treatise, and now a touching poem emanated from his pen, but as he wrote under a non de plume, Lily knew nothing of the nature of his productions.

One day as she was practising in the parlor, the door leading to the library opened, and Paul came out, pen and in hand. She stopped her music, thinking it might disturb him, but he requested her to resume. She took up the strain she had left, and Paul commencing writing. ' I am afraid I will disturb you,' she said, at length. 'Go on 1' he exclaimed, somewhat impatiently, 'it inspires me,' So she played for hours, and he wrote on. At last he rose. 'Thanks!' he said, abruptly, and left the room, leaving Lily to wonder more and more at his strange ways.

At another time he a'ked her to sing ; bat she bad only commenced, when he broke out in a hymn of an entirely different character from the song she was singing. Hurriedly finishing, she left the room to indulge in a hearty fit of laughter, while Paul sang on, apparently oblivious to everything around him.

' What a singular man,' thought lily. ' I wonder if it is possible for me to thaw him out and make him at all companionable.'

% She tried in every way to draw him out, but he was almost uniformly taciturn, and, discouraged at last, ehe left him to his solitude.

Charity did not prove so unbending. She hunted hen's epgs with Lily, picked out the largest apples for her, and made little fancy piea and cakes for her; though Lily was seventeen, she seemed to Charity a mere child.

One day when Paul, who never missed his drive, rode out, Lily went into the library, and leaning her cheek against the windowpane, stood watching the storm. She felt so lonely and weary, that the tsars were soon dropping down her cheeks as fast as the raindrops fell without. Paul, returning unexpectedly, found her thus. She hastily wiped her eyes, thinking he would not notice her as she passed out, but he paused in the doorway Baying, * What have we here —tears ?' Lily turned and faced him. ' Yes, tears,' she said. ' Sit down and tell me the cause of this.' ' I can tell you in a few words, sir. lam tired of this lonely life, and I wish to go cut and earn my own living, I can teach, sew and scrub if necessary, but I cannot live in this manner.' 'Your father gave you to me, Lily ; do you consider his judgement at fault 1 Are you too proud to accept a home irom the guardian appointed by him 1 Do you wish to tak* almost the sole pleasure from a life whose joys have been but few? ' I ily'a tear. 3 began to fall afresh, 'Lily,'he cri»d, 'dry your tears, if you do not wish to drive me mad ! ' She looked up in astonishment. Could it ba that he did not c insider her a burden, after all ? * Do you dislike the place ?' he asked. ' No, but I am bo lonely. When my father gave me to yon, he thought you would love me a little, at least, and not treat me as a perfect stranger.' A look of surprise crossed his face. ' So you wish me to love you,' he said. ' Of course I do."

Be leaned against the mantel for a moment ; his face was very pale and his lips compressed. 'So you wish me to love yon ?" he repeated slowly, at length his features relaxing ; ' I might, perhaps, if you were not so beautiful.'

' Beautiful!' exclaimed Lily, in astonishment, ' I did not know you ever looked at me until to-day. If that is all, I've no doubt I could disfigure myself in some way.' ' Very likely. But suppose I should love you, do you think you could care for me 1' 'Well, perhaps I might, just a little, that is, I could, if you were not so homely.' *Am I homely 1 I was not aware of it. Perhaps I might improve my appearance.'

' I've no doubt you can.' 'Suppose you make a suggestion or two.' 'lf you were to smile occasionally, it would be a great improvement. If you wish to learn how, I will teach yon, with pleasure.' ' Is it possible that I never smile V 'You never did, to my knowledge.' He was silent for a few moments.

' I have made a great mistake,' he said, at last; •I am suprised that you could endure to live in this manner so long. In the first place, I should have told you that it is a great pleasure for me to have you hero ; the house seems more like a home. Then you ought to have taken more exercise, and to have other society. But really, it never occurred to me that you would not amuse yourself in whatever way you like best. I will try to do better if you will forgive me, and never speak of leaving me again. I loved your father, and it is a dear pleasure to be entrusted with hia child. Whenever you desire my e ervices in any way. tell me, and do not feel hurt if I am sometimes moody; it is my way.' Lily went to her room in a happier frame of mind than she had known for months before.

' I wonder if he really thinks I am beautiful ?' she soliloquized, as she peeped in the mirror. ' I think he must, for a man who never "miles, certainly would not jest. I wonder papa never told me so.' She seated herself by a little table, resting her chin upon the palms of her hands ' I do really wonder if I could not do something to make him like me,' she mused. 'Oh, I have it;'springing up and clapping her hands, ' I'll comb my hair before I retire at night, and leave it tumbled in tho morning, and see what he says to that.' So, next morning, when she appeared at breakfast, he hair clustered in little golden rings all over her head. • Good morning,' said Paul, ' how wonderfully your hair is like your father's to day, Miss Lily. I always admired bis, I remember when we were boys.' Lily laughed. ' I was trying to look homely,' she said, 'so I didn't curl my hair this morning.'

Paul Bmiled in return. * I like it better so,' he said. ' O,'said Lily, 'you really look passable when you smile.' * Do you really think bo ?' By this time the smile ran over his face, and discovered a dimple in either cheek. Lily could not repress her delight. 'lt transforms you completely,' she said. ' I should never be afraid of you, if you would always smile. ' You are afraid of me, then ? 'A little. I was, I mean, lam not now,'

'And. you must never bo again.' Before the meal was ended, the icy barriers that separated their hearts had melted away ; they had began to understand each other, and were already firm friends. Charity, waiting on the table in silence, for once opened her eyes wide in astonishment. But there was a sort of plcasureable feeling connected with the look, and when tho table was cleared and she sat down to her own lone y meal, she gave a sigh of relief, saying, ■ i can see how it will end. and it is beat so.' Meanwhile Paul and Lily had adjourned to the piazza, still engaged in animated conversation. 'You must [drive out with me to-day, he said, 'Do "you ride on horseback, Mios Lily ? ' lb be continued.)