LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2025, 20 August 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

JOHN BALL ANT YNE’S WOOING, ( Concluded.) ‘ May I not help you ! My mistress does not need me; and it is lonely upstairs ! ’ And without waiting for a reply she began so deftly to clear away the dishes that a sudden pang beset John’s heart. He turned away, silent and disturbed, and left Alice to complete the work she had begun, Early the next morning he heard a sweet voice trilling among the flowers, and looking out he saw Alice bsneath his window, tying up some fallen roses. L Forgetting all his feeling of the night before, he hastened out to her, wondering that he felt so glad, when he noted the warm blush with which she greeted him. If he had thought her charming before he found her doubly so now. She was a very daughter of the sunshine, and the bright rays which so often reveal imperfections in the fairest, rendered her only more fair. ‘ Are you the gardener, too ?’ she asked, smiling up in John’s handsome face. • Yes,’ he could say truthfully, for the dowers were his delight, and when at Hose Cottage he spent many hours each day among the roses that gave the place its name.

That was a taste in common, and Mrs Merton, coming out an hour later, found her friend atd pretty Alice still at work together. Ah, that hour had wrought a wondrous change in John Ballantyne’s heart. There was an indescribable charm about this girl, who was ' only a maid and Mrs Merton, looking in her glowing face, and listening to the pure bright fancies so shyly expressed, could not help making comparisons very unfavorable to the heiress, whom she had left moping within doors. But what if John should grow to care for this girl ? That would never do. He might wed a poor girl if he like—he had wealth enough to be independent of public opinion there; bat her family and position mast he beyond reproach. And this girl, not knowing ho was beyond her reach, might try to win him.

Perhaps this thought gave a sudden stem coldness to Mrs Merton’s manner, which Alice was quick to feel. ‘ One must not be too familiar with one’s inferior, even though she be as charming as this maid,’ Mrs Merton said to John, in French.

‘ Well, and what if she be only a maid 5 ’ he replied, his eves fairly devouring the girl’s beauty. * She shall— ’ ‘Pardon, I understand. Permit me to retire, ’ said Alice, also in purest French. And bowing with the grace an empress might have envied, she turned away as she went, giving John onesad reproachful glance that burned into his heart.

For one moment he was angry with his old friend.

‘ You have wounded her cruelly! ’ he cried, and turned to follow Alice.

But Mrs Merton laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder. * John,’ she said, gently, * I think you had better go away for awhile. I must dismiss you from your position, before harm is done.’

‘I will not go till I see her once again,’ said John, almost fiercely. And in the word “her” he told the whole story. For him hereafter there was but woman in all the world, so quickly had love come—so quickly had the heart he thought dead leaped into new life. • I love her.’ He said only that; but Mrs Merton knew entreaty would be powerless to move him.

Vexed and troubled, she went into the house, to learn, if possible, something of Alice’s family and history from Miss Marshall, but at the first question the heiress started up, and, declaring she was ill with a headache, retired to her room, where she did not emerge again that day. It was in vain that John tried to speak with Alice, He saw her several times, but she avoided him so unmistakably that it would have been a rudeness beyond him to force himself upon her notice. But as twilight fell he saw her enter the library with a book, and hastily followed, determined she should not again escape him.

* What do you wish ?’ she asked, raising her head proudly, and looking full at him. Her composure chilled hia heart; surely she could not care for him. Why, man though he was, it thrilled him through and through, just to stand before her and drink in the radiant beauty of her face. ‘ Pardon me,’ he said, almost humbly; will you listen to me just one moment V She bowed with a haughty, careless grace that stung him, ‘I love you,’ he burst forth, passionately. *lf all the world disapprove. I’ll love you. Be my wife—my wife —and no man shall dare remember that you were once a servant. Ah, will you not be so kind ? I love yon dearly!’ The blush in her fair cheeks deepened as she said ; «And what if I refuse to wed one who is also a servant 1 Your heart must be lightly won, since ’twas but yesterday we first met. If I were a lady, your equal, would you dare woo’me thus hastily?’ *1 am no servant!' cried John, hotly. * I have only been playing the part. lam rich; I have position, an honorable name, everything to offer ; and I will make you happy if you will only love me.’ ‘And would yon indeed marry a servant!’ the girl asked, softly._ ‘Yes, a thousand times yes,’ he cried. ‘I love you —you, for yonr own sweet self ! Love, come to me 1’ and he stretched cut his arms with a world of passionate longing in tone and gesture. Alice drew back, ‘Wait,’she said, with sweet seriousness. ‘ I cannot tell you now. I must think. It is so strange— ’ * I will wait days, months,’ John Ballantyne cried, ‘ if only you will bid me hope at last.’ ‘ Will you go away—quite away - for one week!’ Alice asked, hesitatingly; ‘ and then —’ ‘And then,’ he cried, rapturously, —‘then I shall come back to claim my bride ! ’ Without so much as touching her hand in farewell, he went out, and, seeking Mrs Merton, told her (as he was in honor bound) that ho was going away at once, and why. _ The week went by, and with the day’s return John Ballantyne came. And as ho descended from his room, whither ho had gone to remove tlm dust of travel, Mrs Merton greeted him smilingly. ‘ Where is Alice?’ he asked, with all a lover’s impetuosity. ‘ First go to the parlor ; Miss Marshall wishes to speak with you,’ hia hostess replied. And without giving him time to utter the remcnstrmco she real in his face, she pointed to ths parlor door and vanished. He entered hastily, then paused amazed. Near the window stood a lady, the ssft rays of the setting sun falling over her and making a rare picture. She was dressed in fleecy lace, and on the beautiful white throat and rounded arms diamonds glittered—diamonds worth a king’s ransom.

Was that radiant beauty his little grayrobod Alice? Yes, for those starry, violet eyea smiling up at him, were the eyes he loved. But the rich drees—ho could not understand it. ‘Alice,’ ho said; then, as she did not speak, ‘ Mrs Merton said that Miss Marshall wished to speak to me. la she here ?’ he asked. • Yes ; for I am Miss Marshall. Have you nothing to say to me ?’ John Ballantyne understood, and hla heart sank like lead. She, too, had been playing a part, and now she appeared in her rightful character as an heiress, striving to dazzle

him with him splendor—to let him see that, with all his wealth, he conld not aspire- so high. Well, it was but another strobe of fate. He could bear it, as he had before. ‘ I loved you for yourse'f alone—honestly, truly. Do yon mean to show me how I have presumed f he said, reproachfully. ‘Ah, cruel!’ the sweet voice murmured.

He gave one look into the lovely face upturned to him and opened his arms, and took his bride to his heart for ever.

‘Did you think yon were the only one masquerading?’ Alice asked by-and by. ‘I had a foolish fancy that I wanted Mrs Merton to know and love me for myielf; so I changed places with my maid (net names, for Alice is a part of my own name) just for a day, not thinking I should find—’ ‘A husband !* said John Eallantyne, completing the sentence in a very lover-like manucr.