LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1974, 22 June 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A WOMAN'S DREAM. [Abridged from " Truth."] It is a dull thing for a bripht-witted girl to be mewed up in a country house in the society of old people who do not care to entertain any but persons of their own age. Ida Coventry's uncle and aunt had meant kindly by her in adopting her as a daughter; but it bo happened that they lived in a lonely part of a slow Bhire, among neighbors whose ohildren were all grown up, married, and settled. There was not a marriageable girl or young bachelor in the district—that is to say, among the gentry —for even the vicar of Ambledon's curate was a grayheaded man of fifty, troubled with a wife and a swarm of brats. Poor Ida, who was a pretty girl and dearly loved gaiety, dancing, and flirting, felt bored to death at Ambledon Hall; but by far the most miserable ordeals to which she had to submit were the dinners which Sir Bevil, her uncle, gave several times a month to divers of his brother magistrates and their wives. At these dreary banquets the gentlemen talked politics, and the ladies prosed on all topics except those which could interest Ida. Now and then some compassionate squire paid her a stilted compliment across the table, or one of the ladies would condescendingly question her about her pursuits—whether she had a Bible class, whether she practised regularly so many hours a day on her piano, whether she read Bishop So-and-so's sermons, and so forth ? Ida's position in the house was one of semi-dependency, and though all the gueßts treated her with politeness, there was not that careful deference in their manner which they might have displayed towards a daughter of Sir Bevil's. Ida felt this, and disliked her uncle's friends as much as she despised them. The poor girl, In fact, pined for some sympathetic face and voice; therefore it was a positive relief to her when one evening, coming down to the dining-room, she perceised a guest whose features, demeanour, and general bearing differed altogether from those of Sir Bevil's ordinary friends. He was a young man of about twenty-five ; tall, strong, fair-haired, with a light golden beard and large, soft, blue eyes. His head was that of an artist or a poet, whilst his gait and manner were those of a perfect gentleman, devoid of any vulgarity or tendency to self-assertion. She expected that her uncle would at once introduce him by name, but somehow, to her surprise, the stranger, having bowed to her when she entered, sat down to examine some photographic albums, and nobody paid any attention to_ him. There was something so marked in his isolation, that Ida fell to wondering who he could possibly be. She remembered that Sir Bevil was expecting an architect who was to build a new chancel to the village church, and she supposed that this might be thy man, and that he was being kept at arm's length by his host and hostess from some preposterous notion that he was not their social equal. Presently the guests filed in to dinner, and Ida took the arm of an old squire, who hobbled lame from rheumatism. There was just one gentleman more than there wera ladies, so the stranger walked into the dining-room alone. He sat opposite to Ida, and the first time that his glance met hers he smiled. Ida blushed. From this moment a secret current of sympathy was established between the pair, and Ida continued to watch the stranger with a growing interest, and a keen sense of mortification at the treatment to which he was being subjected. Not only did the company abstain from all intercourse with him, but he was not aßked the common questions which are essential at a dinner table. The servants filled his glanses and set successive plates bafore him without inquiring whether he would prefer this dish or that, or one wine to the other. Sir Bevil and Lady Coventry never once showed, by word or sign, that they recognised his presence. So much discourtesy disgusted Ida, who at last resolved to bo very brave and to

address the stranger herself. She reddened, and had to cough a little before she could say audibly across the table— * Don't yoa think our country lanes losk very well with this winter's frost on their hedges ?* The at! anger smiled acquiescence and bowed, but ho- returned no verbal answer. There was a moment's awkward pause, and the conversatiion which Ids» had meant to start perforce dropped. * Dear me, can the poor man be deaf and dumb ?' reflected Ida, and her heart sank.

Obviously this could be tao only explanation of the mystery. Nobody spoke to the man because he could not hear. But surely, then, he could not be an architect ? Perhaps he was 'a distant relative of Sir BerilV, or some local magnate of an eccentric turn of mind, who liked to be received in this unceremonious way, aud objected to have hia infirmity noticed. Anyhow, there he sat silent, Ida's heart filling with pity for him, and he did not Icok at her again till towards (he close of dessert, just before the ladies left the room, when he raised his eyes and bent them on her with a sudden expression so shocking that it made her grow chilly all over. Up to then the stranger's features had been placid ; but now they seemed convulsed with an agony of pain and fear. Gazing at Ida with an appealing earnestness quite horrible in its intensity, the strauger turned hia eyes and nodded Lis head towards Sir Bevil, just as if to intimate that he stood in mortal dread of him. Then he put a forefinger to his lips, as though to enjoin silence. Petrified with astonishment and terror, Ida could only stare, half doubting the evideuce of her senses ; and before sbe could fairly realise what had happened, Lady Coventry gave the signal for the ladies to retire. The stranger did not join the ladies with the other gentlemen after dinner. Ida, who was too much agitated to join in any of the conversations that were going on, opened her ears to catch any allusions that might be made to the stranger; but she heard none. By-and-by she pleaded a headache aa an excuse for retiring early, and went off to bad—but not to sleep. All night through she tossed on her couch, thinking over and over again of the sight she had witnessed, and marvelling whether she had not been the victim of an hallucination. But the countenance of the stranger haunted her too distinctly to allow of such a misgiving. Ida resolved that next morning she would ask her uncle who the stranger was. and meanwhile the solution of the affair that occurred to her was that the poor man was perhaps mad. Additionally distressed by this conjecture, Ida felt that she could not bear the darkness, and so lit her candle and tried to read. But ever between her eyes and the book appeared the awful face of that unknown man, who had ca3t her such a frightfully wistful and beseeching look, as if he stood in need of her protection. The next morning Ida was alono at breakfast with her uncle and aunt. She bad hardly sat down, and was about to lead the way to the question ishe had determined to put, when she perceived the stranger standing in morniog costume on the terrace outside the dining room, and staring at her through the window. Once again he pointed to Sir Bevil, but this time with his finger, and flattening hia face against the pane, as if he were going to scream rather than speak. Ida started from her chair trembling in every limb.

'Uncle, who is that man?' she asked, motioning towards the window, but recoiling from it.

The stranger had walked off hy this time, and was out of sight. ■ "What man ?* asked Sir Bevil, astonished. ' Why, the gentleman with fair hair and blue eyes who dined here last night—the gentleman to whom nobody spoke ; I wondered whether he was not deaf and dumb ; he was there a moment ago looking through the window.*

' Whom can you mean, child?' inquired Lady Coventry, apparently even more surprised than her husband. 'There was no gentleman except those whom you have often seen here before,' taid Sir Bevil, and he named four neighboring squires ; ' but none of those correspond with your description of this stranger.' ' Well, then, my senses must be leaving me,' ejaculated Ida, shuddering, and she buried her head in her hands.

Her uncle and aunt were very kind in trying to restore her to composure, and they succeeded. Ida saw no more of the stranger that day, and she was fain to accept the explanation suggested by a doctor, who was hastily summoned, that she bad had a kind of hysteric delusion. She was advised to take plenty of out-door exercise, and to drink port wine. This was all very well, but in her heart of hearts poor Ida felt persuaded that theie was something more than a delusion in this, and she started at the least unexpected footstep, noise, or breath of wind, expecting when she turned to encounter the sight of that sad, handsome, agonised face, with its eyes so imploring. A month elapsed. One morning Sir Bavil, expecting to receive the visit of his solicitor, who was coming from London on business, closeted himself in his study with a box of deeds and family papers. Ida, not knowing that he had given orders to be left alone, entered the room unawares to carry him a message, and there saw him seated side by side at his table with the stranger. The stranger's chair was close to Sir Bevil's, but a little behind it, and he seemed to be examining over the baronet's shoulder a miniature portrait on enamel, at whioh the latter was himself staring in an abstracted contemplation. On seeing Ida, Sir Bevil hastily rose, and endeavored to hide the portrait away; but it fell from his unsteady hand and rolled on to the floor. Ida picked it up. • Great heavens !' she exclaimed, whilst her knees shook from fear; * this is the portrait of that gentleman in the chair behind you 1' 'What gentleman?' faltered Sir Bevil, turning deadly pale ; ' give me that portrait, Ida; why, I—see nobody in that chair.' 'Look! 1 cried Ida, retreating, as her eyes opened wide with horror; ' look at him, nncle! Oh, what does he mean? Why doea he point at you bo ?' ' Good God!' exclaimed Sir Bavil; he had turned, too, and to all appearance caught sight of that unearthly face, which had now assumed an expression of implacable menace; for, covering his eyes with his hands, he tottered forward and fell heavily to the ground with his head on the fender. The stranger had vanished. Ida found herself alone in the room with the body of Sir Bevil, who was dead. * * The affair was hushed up, and it was said that Sir Bevil had died from a stroke of apoplexy. But from the family solicitor, who overhauled the family papers, Ida heard waifs of a dismal story about a young cousin of hers who had been heir to the title and estates of Sir Bevil before the latter had inherited them. That cousin had been found dead at the bottom of a stone quarry. Had he been pushed into it ? Had he fallen into it by accident ? Ida never sought to fathom the dreadful mystery. It was enough for her that she had seen in a vision, clear as day, the original of that portrait which Sir Bevil had held in his hand just one moment before he had been summoned abruptly to give his life's accounts in the world where there are no secrets.