LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2010, 3 August 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTERY OF BRYNGWSLLT, Concluded.') ‘Mr Keith!’ cried Enid, sharply, in a pained voice, ‘ let me speak. In mercy, do not torture me thus. You cannot know what you say ! You mast leave me !’ ‘ Leave yon now ! he cried, hoarsely. ‘Am I so condemned beyond salvation in your eyes that yon imagine I am mocking’ But you do not understand—how should you?’ he continued, his voice softening. ‘ You can never realise what I feel now, after hopeless years spent In the vortex of crime and Satan, to see a way of hope, a way of escape, Enid 1’ In a hasty whisper—‘But one short day ago I dared mthave addressed you thus ; but now—now I am freed from a great trouble. Oh I’, ho cried in frenzied tones, ‘save me from further sin—save me from myself! Yon cannot refuse, Enid. There’s a demon in my heart—it kills me. I feel it now ! Cast it out, dearest—out, away for ever!’ His wildness terrified her. ‘Yon are cruel, Mr Keith. Do you not see how I tremble at your fierceness?’ ‘ Only say you will be my wife ; then I will let you go. You must, Enid ; thera is no way of escape. I will take my queen for my very own. Oh say the word that makes you mine!’ Great beads of perspiration dropped down his white face, and the swollen veins stood cut like knotted cords upon his brow. Before Enid could move he caught her passionately in his arms and rained hot kisses over her face. ‘My wife,’ he murmured'—my own fair, lovely wife! ’ Enid shrieked and struggled violently till she had freed herself from his wild embrace.

‘I hate yon," she cried, ‘yon had, vile man ! I loathe your very presence ! Marry you? I would sooner die a hundred deaths ?’ He recoiled as if he had been struck, and the ashen pallor of his countenance was awful to witness in the weird gloaming. ‘ You have spoken the words of destruction to me,’ he said, in a despairing sort of wail—‘utter, entire destruction. Is this the end of it ? Can you do it, Enid ? Can you send me to my death V She burled her face in her hands and sobbed. A fearful struggle was passing within her. What if she completed the wreck of this wasted life ? What if she sent the man to final headlong perdition, when a word, a look, would save him ? It was not for long. Could she kneel and ask Heaven's blessing on the unhallowed sacrifice ? Could she save him and bo true to duty—to her father’s teaching, to herself, and—ah, that other one ? No, she dared not; she would not. The struggle was over, the answer ready. Raising her large, truthful eyes, filled with tears, to his, and clasping her white hands together, she said calmly—- ‘ I can never be your wife, Ralph Keith — I will never do this great wickedness; but, oh, may you still repent! My prayers you ever have.’

‘ You mightas well curse me, Enid Howell,’ he died, * but cursed I am, and shall be to the end of my days.’ They were the last words she ever heard him utter. With hasty steps he strode down the hillside, and was qnickly lost to view in the hazy shadow beneath. Enid threw herself upon the short grass, and wept long and sore. At last with an cflirt she roused herself, and reached home to find them in great consternation at her lengthened absence. Hastily murmuring something about having rested on the way, she drew her father into his study ; there, seated on his knees, her soft cheek pillowed on his silvery locks, she related the terrible scene through which she had passed. Late into the night they talked, and when at length they separated for repose, a happy light beamed in the maiden’s grey eyes, and a calm smile played around her dimpled mouth. Chs ptkr VI. Enid was sorry to learn that Miss Mary was daily expected back at the hall, for she felt that she could not run the risk of meeting Ralph Keith so soon after that cruel ordeal on the hillside; she knew, too, that Miss Mary would inquire the reason of her absence, and she and her father had resolved to keep a solemn silence on the whole subject—each felt it too sacred, too holy, to be rudely handled or lightly discussed. Summoning up all her courage, Enid set forth one day, after several pressing invitations from Miss Llewelyn, for Bryngwyllt. Arrived there, the servant told her that her mistress was ont, bnt would be In shortly ; also that Mr Keith had left a week before, and had not returned. Her mind set at rest on that score, Enid seated herself to read, but she felt unsettled, and again stood np and paced slowly np and down the old library. Then a bright thought struck her. uften since the night when Mrs Davies had called her to hear tho ‘ ghosts ’ had she mnaed over tho light in the moat, then

the increasing commotion, and the cloaked man seen sinoe.

* What fun it would be,’ she thought, *if I could discover the entrance to the haunted wieg and solve the mystery!’—for that it was more a mystery than imagination, she felt convinced. She rembered hearing that the secret entrance was supposed to be from the bottom of ths moat, through the vaults. Putting on her hat, she went out of the postern door and peered over the sido ; but evidently there was no means of descent here. The steep stony sides were perfectly perpendicular, and there was not a crack wherein to find a footing. However, she was not near the part she wanted, and she did not relish the prospect of wading through the bed of mud at the bottom of the moat; so she crossed the bridge and wa’ked round till she was exactly opposite to the haunted wing, then she crept to the edge and keenly examined the side. At a short distance below her she discovered a small hole, sufficiently open to admit a foot; but the task she contemplated was no easy one. Even should she reach the hole it was probable there was no more ; moreover, there was nothing by which to hold, and, should she slip, she must fall into the muddy gutter beneath ; the ascent, again, would be equally if not m-re difficult.

But Enid was a girl that neither grew fainthearted over a few hardships nor feared a little dangerous climbing ; she had been accustomed to the free independent ways of the country, and the wild, fresh air of the rocky hill-tops for that. So, without a moment’s hesitation, the turned, and holding the top with her hands, placed both her tiny feet in the crevice; then, carefully stooping till her hand found a place for a lower grip on the side, she lowered herself, and was fortunate enough, by feeling about with her toes to discover a second hole ; from this she dropped easily to the bottom. But, when she saw her situation, she regretted having ventured ; she was standing in a damp oozing marsh, a few stragg'ing, green, rushes here and there the only things in the way of vegetable life. In moving she almost trod upon a large toad—the only representative of the animal creation—which gazed fixedly at her in disapproval of her intrusion. With a slight scream she jumped on to a stone that was raised considerably out cf the water ; then, putting her hand against the house to steady herself, she scanned every portion she conld that was likely to conceal a spring. Her patience was at length rewarded by the discovery of a narrow loophole between the blocks of granite; but nothing could she make of it; and, after searching for a few minutes longer, she turned to retrace her steps, in disgust at her fruitless expedition. In turning, however, her dress caught on a rusty nail. She stopped to extricate it. and, overbalancing herself on the loosened atone, fell heavily against the wall. She felt a little stunned and dispirited ; but, on rising, it seemed as if part of a block of granite had slightly receded. Half desperately ehe pushed it. Oh, joy! It turned ■lowly on a pivot 1 The block was nothing but wood, painted like granite to resemble the rest; and this was the secret entrance.

How she unfastened it or the real spring opened Enid did not know ; she supposed it had some connection with the nail and her fall. Eagerly she sprang throngh the opening into a low, small vault. By a few rays of light that seemed to penetrate the darkness from a skylight high above, Enid discovered a spiral Iron staircase, which she swiftly mounted; at the top was an oaken door, on which the dust of years lay thick. Pushing it open, she entered a large chamber. Dirt and cobwebs nearly covered the great bay windows, and bestrewed the once bright oaken floor. Enid told herself, shuddering, that she stood at last in the haunted wing. She went on throngh several rooms, evidently the suites apportioned to the former ladies of Brengwyllt. In some costly bed -hangings were decayed and mildewed, and pictures obliterated by damp i in others knick-nacks and statuettes told they had been boudoirs. The furniture was worm-eaten and rotting; the mice scuttled away in every direction at the appearance of the unwonted visitor ; over the whole there hung an oppressive air of utter desolation and blight. Enid was naturally a brave girl, and far from superstitious ; but now an indescribable feeling of horror and loneliness seized her, as she recalled numerous tales and legends that she had heard. She started at the sound of her own footsteps, and half expected to see the fair form of the unfortunate Gwendoline confront her from some shadowed recess. As she reached the last room she caught sight of a door with a heavy chain and padlock hanging from its handle. It waa unfastened, and she went in, but started back in quick astonishment. It was a small chamber, lighted only by a lofty and singularly barred skylight; in the centre stood a table covered with a white cloth, on which were a teapot, a cup and saucer, some knives, and a loaf half nibbled by mice. Here were no signs of decay! The articles were common-place and modern ; the dust did not look of a week's duration ; the boards were still clean, as if from recent cleansing ; the embers looked as if they had not lain there long. But what was the strange smell filling the stifling atmosphere ? There was a bedstead in one corner, and—ah, what was that lying on it ? A poor, emaciated, shrunken form, with hollow, decaying cheeks! From that came the awful smell of death. With a wild, hysterical scream Enid turned and fled—through the rooms, down the staircase, into the moat. With an almost superhuman effort she clambered up the steep wall, and hurried across the bridge into the house, her eyes fixed and staring, her soft hair floating in loose luxuriance behind. She dashed into the library, where Mies Mary and Charlie Darrell had just met, and the doctor had hardly time to spring forward and catch her in his strong arms, ere she fell fainting to the ground. Chapter VII. Enid had told her strange tale ; they had sent for the solitary policeman of which the village boasted ; they had made their terrible search. The woman—for the body Enid had discovered was that of a female —was pronounced hy Doctor Darrell to have been dead about six days. By her side they found this writing : 1 This is the confession of me—Balph Keith. When this is discovered, if ever it is, I shall be out of the reach of justice. This skeleton was once Maude Llewellyn, my step-sister. But to begin at the beginning. When I returned to Bryngwylt, and found my mother on her death-bed, long ago, I was overwhelmed with difficulties ; debts—some enormous ones threatened me on every side; in fact, I came down here to evade my hungry creditors. I was rendered completely desrerate at last, after receiving an angry letter from one who had discovered my whereabouts. Then it waa that an awful scheme suggested itself to me, a vile crime. Day or night, I could not get rid of the thought ; it tormented me ceaselessly till I yielded and formed my plana to entrap Maude, my sister, and immure her in the haunted wing, and become myself possess r of Bryngwyllt, then my duns would bow and cringe before the wealthy master of such an estate —safe enough I should be then, * Well I knew how readily my mother would transfer everything to me, her idolised son, when Maude, the rightful heiress, should have disappeared. I knew, too, how easily any one conld be kept concealed in such a place ; everybody, being more or less superstitious, avoided that part of the house. I had learnt the secret of the private entrance from an old servitor, now deceased. I dared not contemplate murder I shrank from that. No, thank Heaven, whatever have been my sins, I was saved from the red stains of innocent blood.

•I patiently bided my time, and hearing one afternoon that my mother was slightly better, and that Maud proposed riding over to Aberffrwd, I crept to the stable and loosened her p'ny’a shoe. The result was success ; she had reached the village before ho cast it, and returned on foot. In the loneliest part of that lonely road I sprang cut, masked, and seized her rapidly gagging her to prevent screams. I secured her in a distant wood, and leisurely walked into the hall in the midst of the general confusion at her non-appearance. Assuming the role of a distracted brother. I instituted a search; and, taking care to send the searchers far away from where she was, under the cover of darkness and absence of all from the house I got her unseen into the rojm prepared for her. It is this very room. « At early dawn I rejoined the crowd of eager searchers, and pretended to have found her hat overhanging the river. It was dragged— of course, to no purpose, and the notion became prevalant that she had slipped into the swollen stream and had been

carried away by the powerful current. Being winter, this seemed probable, and the inhabitants of Aberffrwd were so exceedingly simple-minded that suspicions—if suspicions there were —were soon forgotten. (n a place leas primitive, amid people mere sophisticated, it is likely all would not have been hushed so soon. My poor mother’s death was hastened by the shock, and, the will having been altered to my satisfaction, 1 became owner of Bryngwllt. ' I swear I have never starved nor neglected Manda Llewelyn. I was puzzled how to act at first to prevent her constant screams from being heard ; but, after fair premises of speedy freedom, I quieted her Then in a while she became hopeless, and was always afterwards still enough. I have supplied her with all needful food and clothing. It was comperativeiy easy forme to do this ; my strange wild ways were not noticed. This was the rev=on of my constant visits to hated Bryngwyllt. lam the ghost of the walled up wing! I made the noises I flashed the lights—l am the cloaked man with the lantern I did it to scare persons from the place and keep np the ala> m.

‘ Well, to-day she died. I wonder she lived so long. I cannot write what follows but with the tremor of despair in my hand. My heart’s secret I never meant to reveal ; hut I met her—my love. Maude had just died ; I was freed from the corroding shackles of my crime. I dared to woo her Oh, Heaven ! I deserved her answer ! From that scene I have rushed hi her and written this. My life is wrecked —my last hopes are blasted ! I bid an eternal farewell to Wales.’ Then followed the date on which he had met and left Enid among the lonely hills. The police made strict search for him, but the only information tin y ever gained was that a man answeiing to his description had sailed, about two days after the data of the confession, in an immigrant ship bound to Australia

And so the Mystery of Bryngwyllt wa* ended, though whether the country folk ever got over their dread and horror of its haunted wing is doubtful. Good Mr Howell lived to a ripe old age, the old vicarage being ever brightened by the merry voices of his chil Ten’s children. Miss Mary did not live long after the crashing climax to a life ever sad and weary ; so the once majestic pile, closed mid desolate, has become the home of owls and bats.

Charlie Darrell must have conquered hia r. pngnance to the country and country damsels in a wonderful fashion, .or else Enid must have been mistaken in imagining that he retained a particular affection for the society of gay London life; for when old Dr. Price retired —which ha did on hia return from a certain visit to town—Dr. Darrell, hia successor, and his pretty youthful bride Enid, took up their abode st their cheery clematis - covered home In Aberf rwd; and, in the words of the old fairy tales, “ there they lived happy ever afterwards.”