LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2006, 29 July 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

PHANTOM FORTUNES. (Concluded) Mrs Forrester gave a ball two days later, and, from sundry hints and blushes, Gvveu gathered that Percy Vincent would be there. Mildred, when she appeared, was perfection personified, in ivory silk and blnsh roses. ' She looks good enough to eat,' said Mrs Roland admi'ingly. * I doubt If she would digest well,' retorted G wen. with a bitter smile. And Percy was there, looking as bright and as handsome as ever. He was very courteous to Gwen—courteous with almost a tinge of hauteur in his manner. Mildred brought him to her. As she stood a little apart, she saw them coming. Had she not been watching them all the evenmg ? Poor foolish child ! And she fancied that Percy was unwilling to come, but that Mildred persisted and carried her point ; >nd the beautiful bewildering face, upturned to his, haunted Gwen in her dreams that night. • *«.**•

'lf you please, marm, the jeweller has called about the stone 3 you would like to be reset.'

' Very well, Mary, I'll come down directly.' Gwen threw down her book, and, going over to a curiously inlaid cabinet, took from it a plain leaden box containing Miss Meadows's jewels. * Now where shall I find the key ? ' she thought. ' Mrs "Roland, you don't chance to have seen a tiny key that would fit this lock ? '

' No,' replied the lady : ' such a valuable key as that of your jewel-box would scarcely be likely to be left about—it would probably be with the list of jewels, I should think.' 'Dear me, what a sensible creature you are ! I remember now—there was something in the envelope that felt like a key. Yes, here it is.'

6wen left the room, and went down stairs to the library. The box was opened, and the glittering gems were displayed. There they lay in a little nest of pink cotton-wool —emeralds, diamonds, rubies. They were very beautiful. Gwen drew her breath hard, with a little Irrepressible thrill of joy that all theee treasures were hers. The upper lid was difficult to raise, and Gwen took the box over to the window. Something bulky was underneath. In another moment a half startled cry escaped her. The jeweller supposed that she must have hurt herself, for she waß white to the very lips. Yes, she was not well. He had better go now, and she would write to him respecting the jewels. 'Oh, what shall I do ?' Down upon her knees sank Gwendoline Moulton, with the lost will elapsed in her haud. Must she give it up, and go back to a life of hardships and poverty again, take up the broken thread, and plod wearily on as before? No, she could not! Oh, it was cruel to give her a taste of luxury and wealth, and then to deprive her of it! Deep sobs burst from her, great tears rolled down her cheeks. What if she destroyed it ? No one would know I Everyone believed that Miss Meadows had intended that her first will should be carried out, and sbe, Gwen, bo her heiress.

For one full hour did the good and evil angels do fierce battle within her, and then she rose from her knees, pale and tearful, bnt strong to do the right. Her good angel had almost conquered, when over the snow-covered grass came Mildred Sherrington. ' What,' cries the girl, springing to her ft>et—'shall she enjoy what I am beggared of ? Is it to her that I must yield ? She has robbed me of my lover, but—her fortune is still mine!'

For a moment her good angel hovers about her, and then takes his flight. * # * *

From that day forth Gwen is an altered woman —listless and sad, nothing pleases or amuses her. Mrs Roland has seriouß thoughts of giving up her situation. The castle is indisputably dull, now that its mistress refuses to entertain. The widow remonstrates, and Gwen yields, and for a. space the house is thronged again with visitors, and among them comes Horace Mathers, and the old tale is told once more, but to unheeding ears. Gwen says she is never going to marry. And by and by she falls ill, and the castle is shut up, and she goes abroad. But nothing interests her; she is utterly misersble ; the pleasure-loving girl has grown into a listless, unhappy woman, And then Gwen can bear it no longer; Bhe hates the wealth that has made her stoop so low, hates herself because she has so fallen, and the pride and jealousy that have caused her to err so dseply. She will make amends, and, when she se3S her rival reigning where she has held full sway, surely she will have been punished enough in the humiliating consciousness that her frailty and deceit are known to her. ' And she is to have all, and I nothing! Oh, she might take the Castle, if she wonld leave me Percy's love!' sobs the poor tempest-tossed girl. They are on their way home, and, eager as Gwen is to reach England, she can but acquiesce in Mrs Roland's decision that they shall rest a day in Paris before they cross the Channel. # * * # #

It is evening, and they are sitting together in their pleasant apartments at the Hotel Bristol, when Mrs Boland glances up from the paper in her hand, saying—- « Gwen, what was the Christian name of that Miss Sherrington you so detested ? Mildred, was it not ? She is married, I see—suoh a grand affair.' Already ? Owen's heart thumps violently, and a lump rises in her throat. The widow continues, 'Eight bridesmaids dressed in pink, with appleblossom".—l don't like that—savours too much of the lady's maid. Goodness, what a list of presents! I always find that the richer people are, the more presents they get 5 and the poor little brides to whom a gift would really be acceptable, are minus any, save from their relatives. Well, where was I? Oh, the bride's dresa was satin, trimmed with Honiton lace and orangeblossoms I Ah, I should like to have seen her!—Why, what's the matter, dear Gwen ?' as the girl rises suddenly, pushes back her chair, and hurries from the room. * * * # *

Her story is told. With deepest humiliation and shame she has confessed it all—how horribly she was tried, and how the temptation proved too strong for her. 'But I can truly say that I have never had a single happy moment since,' she says, with fast-filling eyes. ' How you must despise me, Percy! But it wasn't the money I cared for I couldn't bear to think of her ruling here here, where I have been bo happy !' ' Her V vaguely. i Yes —Mildred—you know. But I will try to like her now for your sake, Percy.' ' For my sake ? I don't care a button whether you like her or not. Gwen !' •No,' —sadly, but flushing a little—' I suppose not. It can't make much difference to your wife.' ' My wife ? What on earth are you talking about V «Of of —why, is not Mildred Sherrington yonr wife ?' He bursts into a hearty laugh. 'Why, child, what an imagination you have ! I admire Mies Sherrington immensely, but, as to marrying her—well, I certainly never had the fainteßt wish to do so ; and now there is a pretty effectual reason why I shouldn't—-simply because she is somebody ' Oh, Percy!' Gwen's face ia eo radiantly lovely that the young man bends over her, Baying earnestly :

' Darling, how could yon for one moment think that I cared for Mies Sherrington or Mia<—anybody else P Yon had pretty plainproof that I loved yon and yon only. Owen, when I believed myself a rich man, I asked yon to be my wife ; when I was poor, I held aloof ; but now that I am rich again, Gwen, don't turn away from me, child—l have loved you so 1' ' Oh, I don't deserve it!' she says through her happy ta ara. ' Percy, it isn't a good moral at all. I ought to be punished! I have behaved 80 badly I' ' We none of ns get our deserts,' he laughs fondly, 'or I very much doubt whether I should be the happy man I am at this moment. Let ns thank the ' Phantom Fortunes ' that have become a substantial reality, and tha fickle Fates that have brought us together after all ! '

THE MYSTERY OF BRYNGWYLLT. A long straggling village ; at the eni of it an old-fashioned ivy-covered pareonage with a white gate and red gravel footpath, flanked by fancifully-cnt yew-trees, leading to the front door. Through a latticed window, the cnrtains being yet undrawn, were to be seen a spacnus room, its sole light the ruddy glow of a cheerful fire, and, bending over a snowy-clothed table, loaf in hand, the slight graceful form of a maiden, A group of laughing bright-faced children scrambling over a puppy completed a rural and fair domestic pictnre in the Eequestered village of Aberffrwd-con-Carnarvon, North Wales, on a chilly evening in January. The Vicar of Aberffrwd was a man beloved by all who knew him; liberal, highminded, and pious, his virtues were acknowledged alike by rich and poor, though the rich were not abundant within a wide radius of his parish. His wife had died, leaving him the sole guardian of a youthfa family, the eldest. Knid, being at thejtime but Itwelve. She became his little housekeeper, his comforter, his little all-in-all, & child thoughtful and unselfish beyond her years. As the subtle and peculiar graces of gentle

womanhood gradually succeeded thesprightly charms of her childhood, so unfolded the nobler graces of her expanding eoul. la her personal appearance sbe was very lovely ; her small features were chisellsd with exquisited .'refinement, so much so as to draw from the envious the remark that they were 'too sharp.' Sweeping black lashes enhanced the beauty of her bright truthful gray eyes, and the snowy brow was crowned with a wealth of waving chestnut hair. She was preparing the bounties of the board in the cosy fire-lit dining room, and tea, a meal

always enjoyed at the vicarage, though usually a noisy one, was just ready when the vigar entered, tired and cold fr >m his round of parochial visits. 'Enid,' he said, when they were all seated at the table, 'have you seen Miss Llewelyn to-day V

'No, papa. Why?' ' Nothing in particular, my dear. I knew how often you were there. I may tell yon when these little roysterers are ont of the way,' he added, smiling on the cheery beaming faces. The Christmas holidays were not yet over, and Enid's hands were full just now. After she had put the children all to bed later on, she rejoined her father, who was now alone in his study, comfortably seated in an easy-chair. Throwing herself at his feet before the fire and resting her glossy head upon his knees, she reminded him of his question at tea. ' Well, my child,' he began, ' the servants at the hall have been inventing fresh tales.

The old housekeeper is as superstitious as a heathen ; it quite angers me to think about it. Not content with frightening themselves the women must need walk down to the village to re-waken fears bat too slightly dormant in the foolish minds of the people. From every quarter I have been assailed about this ghost-light or corpse candle as they call it. ' Light, papa ? That is new ; they had heard only sounds before. They must be worse than ever.' ' I don't know what they heard, saw, or felt,' he returned, testily. 'I don't waste my valuable time by inquiring. Probably they may have seen some light in the closed wing—the moon's reflection from a window, or shooting stars passing throught their own bewildered brains.' 'How vexed poor Mfss Mary will be—and she so nervous, too ! I wish I had seen her-

t>day ; bat I was busy with the Dorcas, and it is so far to walk there and back before dinner.' ' Never mind, pet; she will do well enough. Ton must not kill yourself with over 'work ; tide over on Robin to-morrow and stay all night.' ' Very well, papa; but I would prefer not remaining. You know ' •What do I know, pussy ?' laughingly demanded her father, * Well, Ralph Keith returned yesterday—and I don't like to be there long while he remains,'

Enid shivered, and drew closer to the vicar's chair, as if the subject was an unpleasant one, • Please yourself, darling—though I don't suppose Keith will devour you.'

The entrance of Enid's brother Frank, a youth of sixteen, changed the conversation from Keith and the ghosts, for the good vicar would not encourage among his younger children the belief in legends and ghosts, too prevalent, alas ! amongst the country people around. * * # * The lonely and romantic village of Aberffrwd nestled in the midst of a fertile valley nearly surrounded by bold and rugged hills. It was principally inhabited by farm laborers and a sprinkling of quarrymen, employed in a slate quarry near at hand. A small and swiftly-running mountain stream, widening in its course as it reached the village, was honored with the title of river ; and its confluence with a sister-stream suggested the name of the place, Aberffrwd —' The confluence of the river.' In. winter, indeed, it was the junction of many rivulets, when the wild mountain torrents rushed fiercely along the rocky beds, and foamingly lost themselves in the river beneath.

By the side of the river a narrow footway led to a rustic wooden bridge, railless and old ; across it a wicket-gate opened on a dark and marehy wood ; and then the ground rose gradually, till the sward became dryer. Giant elms and pines and fir trees of colder growth reared their sombre heads here, and between, their branches a view of the hall itself was visible.

Its real name was Bryngwylt—' The bleak hill;' and on the summit of a bleak and dreary loohing hill it stood. It was an ir-regularly-built pile of massive grey stone j huge turrets rose in unexpected places, and, to the right, a low and curved wing gave to the whole a lop-sided appearance. Formerly a moat Burrouaded it, but the water had long since dried np, and the bare, stony sides ana damp gutter at the bottom looked grim and uninviting indeed. Over the portcullis were carved in granite the arms of the Llewelyns and their motto, • Ygnyr yn erbyn y byd' —'The truth against the world.'

The Llewelyns were of noble descent. For long centuries they could trace their history unbroken to an ancestry renowned in the annals of the Britons. Many of them—men of valonr and chivalrous deeds had fought nnder Llswelwyn ab Gruffydd, their iaat prince. Those pompous doors, now so seldom moved, had swung open for the egress of the noble, as they went out to fight for their liberty, their country, and thir homes. They had opened aleo for the entrance of conquering heroes, the bard, the minstrel, and the guest of the feast —for the fair, the great and the noble. Within those grey walls the sweet sounds of the ' triple harp' had been heard at festive gatherings. Alas, how changed was the hall! A blight seemed to have passed over the nowdeserted rooms. Moth-eaten furniture was within, and moss-covered pathways were without. It was said that a curse was on the place since an ill-starred Llewelyn, under the foul inspiration of the 'green-eyed monster.* had imbrued his hands in human blood The only occupants of Bryngwyllt were a few domestics, its present owner, Ralph Keith, and his step aunt, Miss Mary Llewelyn. Not in the direct line was Balph Keith. His step-father, Mr Llewelyn, had died, leaving his young widow to enjoy the estate till her death, when it would descend to thelronly child Maud. Shortly afterwards, Mrs Llewelyn, while staying In London, made the acquaintance of a gentleman named Keith. She married him, and in twelve months lost her seoond husband by a fatal fall from his horse in the hunting-field. One son, Balph, was the offspring of this marriage. {To be continued)