LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2121, 10 December 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTERY OF LOUD BBACKENBIIRY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B. EDWABDS, Author of "Barbara's History," ''Bebenbarn's Vow," &c. ( Continued. He said of course all that was polite, and protested that he was in no danger of disenchantment. ' A genuine old place that has not been travestied by restoration can't fail to be interesting, ' he said ; ' and Brackenbury tells me the Orange is quite untouched.' ' So untouched tbat it is falling to pieces about our ears. Some of the rooms indeed are not supposed to he safe, and we are afraid to go into them.' * That is a pity.' ' A great pity; but we cannot affjrd to keep the place in repair.' * Oochrane's archaeology is not confined to bricks and mortar/ said Lancelot, turning the conversation. * He's deep in pro-his-toric man—believes in flint implements, and all that sort of thing, you know. He made acquaintance to-day with our troublesome friend, Isaac Plant, and his head juat now runs on nothing but the dark folk.' ' I should like to know if they are really a separate race,' said Mr Cochrane.- ' I have lived among them all my life,' Miss Savage replied, ' and I have never doubted it.' They were still standing where they first met; but Lancelot now proposed that the horses should be sent to the Orange. ' So leaving us free to walk home with you, 'Winifred,' he said. ' That is, if you are going home, and will let us see you along.' ' But can you trust that fellow with your horse ?' asked Cochrane, ' Yes ; because the road runs parallel with the Bidge, and we shall have him always in sight.' So saying, he shouted to the sandcarrier to go qnietly forward, and wait for them at the top of ' Cherry Orchard Lane.' Then thfy_ walked on slowly, following the path, which sometimes rose a little and sometimes dipped, and was hardly wide enough anywhere for two. Miss Savage and Mr Cochrane went first—he, as often as not, treading the steep slope below the path, and performing this feat with a surefootedness highly creditable in one whose walking powers were chiefly cultivated in Pall Mall and St. James's street. Lancelot came after with the dog. * But do they live apart. In a village of their own 1' asked Cochrane, going back to the ' dark folk,' ' They live apart, but not in a village.' replied Lancelot from behind, ' Their cottages are scattered about the moor—that is to say, about the highest part of the moor; a bleak, bare district, remote from everything and everybody. They don't congregate. You'll find two cottages together—sometimes three—but nothing like a village.' 'Do they intermarry with the other peasantry ?' * Not a bit of it. They marry—if you can call it marriage—everlastingly In and in. Bnt whether they go through any kind of ceremony, blessing or cursing or promising, I don't know. Anyhow, if a "dark " girl takes up with one of our people she is scouted by her own,' ' Even the children hold themselves aloof,' added Misi Savage. 'lt is only within these last months that a few of the mothers have let their little ones come to our national school; and there they sit all together, frightened and suspicious, like small savages jaat caught. They never join in play with the others ; and the moment school is over, they scamper off to their homes like rabbits to their burrows.' 'lt Is the oddest thing I ever heard of,' said Cochrane. ' What is their religion.' ' Nothing at all, I should say,* replied Lancelot; 'or if anything, some kind of serpent or devil-worship." Miss Savage looked back, half smiling, half reproving. 'No, no.' she said. 'They are wild—ignorant—lawless ; but they are not as bad as that.' ' And how do they live V 'The women make fringe and pillowlace. The men carry sand to the potteries.' *To say nothine of fracturing the_ Commandments en tloe with perfect impartiality,' added Lancelot. * The fact is, they're about as bad a lot as a man could well lay his finger upon out of the Isle of Portland. But I'll take you over the moor to-morrow, and you shall see them in their dens.' 'They are not half as black as Mr Brackenbury paints them,' said Miss Savage gently. To which Mr Cochrane replied that they were at all events black enough to be Interesting, and that he was impatient to know more of them, ' Be sure you see old Lois.' « Old Lois' who is she ? The legendary : centenarian of the neighborhood ? ' ' She is a very, very old woman—nobody knows how old. Her grandmother was I bnrned for witchcraft ages ago, when she | was a little child, and she used to say she remembered it.' * How delightful! Perhaps she remembers the Crusades, and will tell me something about the origin of her people. They came over with one of your ancestors, did they not, Miss Savage ?' « With Herbert de Langtrey, who is said to have joined the Third Crusade, and to have brought home with him twelve Saracen captives. So runs the story, but we have no evidence for it.' « But Herbert de Langtrey was a real personage, I suppose 1' 'Oh yes, he was a real personage. And he only came home from the Third Crusade, but went out again some yearß afterwards with the Fifth, under Baldwin, Count of Flanders, and fell at the siege of Constantinople in 1203. You may see his effigy in the old parish church a melancholy noiseless gentlemsn in chain with his feet crossed to show what he did in the Holy War.' *He might well look melancholy,' said Lancelot. ' Isn't he the fellow who left his bride on her wedding day, and came home to find her dead ?' « No—that was Wilfred de Langtrey—a very different person. But Mr Coohrane will bo wearied to death by these old tales!' *On the contrary, they interest me immensely,' replied Cochrane. * Pray tell me about Wilfred de Langtrey. Was he also a Crusader V ' Oh, dear, no—the Crusades were over long bafore his time. He lived in the reign of Henry VI., and was taken prisoner at the Battle tf Patay in 1429. Bat lam a bad story-teller. lam giving yon the end before the beginning.' ' I prefer it that way,' said Cochrane. ' I always read the third volume of a novel before I read the first. Pray go on—or go ' Well, I ought to have begun by saying that he was betrothed to a oertain beautiful Lady Ge:aldino ; and that being summoned quite suddenly to the war, he married her in all haste, left her the same day, and sailed straight for France, where it is said he distinguished himself at the siege of Orleans —that was, I think, in 1428 ; and the next year he was taken prisoner.' ' Then of course the lady died V ' Not while she believed he lived. But his captivity lasted for years, and though he wrote, his letters never reached her. At last, when she could hope no longer, she died.' • And he rode into the conrtysrd just as she had breathed her last breath ?' Miss Savage smiled. 1 Nay, you are laughing at my story,' she said. * By no means : bnt that is how all such stories end. They reproduce themselves like solar myths. However, he did come back ?' ' Yes—when it was too late.' • And turned monk ? ' « No—he did better. He carried bis sword to Venice, and died fighting the battle of the Republic. Would you like to eee the Lady Geraldine'u grave ? She is aupposed to have

open buried on tho highest point of the ridge jnsfc above our heads.' He declared that he should like it above all things. So they left the path for a track leading still higher, which brought them presently to a little knell on the brink of a cliff almost overhanging the meadow. Here, shaded by a clump of stunted firs, and almost overgrown by brambles, stood four weatherworn granite slabs, placed edgewise in the form of a trough, come eight feet in length by three in breadth. The enclosed space was full of weeds. A fifth slab, evidently part of the ancient covering stone, lay half buried in the ground a few yards eff. ' The story goes that she asked to be buried here en the spot where she watched daily for his coming,' said Miss Savage, half shyly, as deprecating the incredulity of her audience. ' You see what a view it commands. The place goes by the name of the Bride Stones ' ' There must have been a painful disparity of age—several centuries at least—between Sir Wilfred and the fair Geraldine,' said Cochrane, smiling. ' This is neither more nor less than a kist-vaen—and in excellent preservation.' * A kist-vaen—what 5s it Y 'A sepulchral monument, commonly called pre-hiatoric—probably the grave of some early British chieftain. But do not look so disappointed. Miss Savaue. The thing is much more curious than if it really contained the bones of ycur traditionary heroine.' 1 But I prefer my heroine to your chieftain ; and I don't feel inclined to give her np.' 4 Keep her, by all means, my dear lady. I don't ask you to give up anything but her grave. But this monument is a most undeniable kist-vaen. It has been opened, too—a long time acro ; apparently, by the look of that cover and the depth at which it is burled.' 'I wonder who opened it,'said Lancelot. •Your friends, the "dark folk," no doubt; and all they got for their pains, most likely, was a handful of bones, a few potherbs, and perhaps an old bronze torque. But I should like to re-open it. Xhey may have overlooked (omething.' ' Yon are welcome to excavate it to any depth you please,' said Brackenbuiy, indifferently. 'Am I ? Then you must provide me with a couple of diggers; and if I come upon the Lady Geraldine, I promise to hand her over to Miss Savage for Christian burial.' Then looking round, almost for the first time, he remarked upon the extent and beauty of the prospect. ' Yon see part of three counties,' said Miss Savage ; ' and on a clear day, fifteen towns and villages' ' I can well believe it. What plaoe is that with three or four chuich spires yonder ?' ' Singleton, where we were eating our luncheon a couple of hours age,' answered Lancelot. ' And this queer quadrangular building Burrounded by trees ? This time it was Mies Savage who replied. 'That is Langtrey Grange,' she said, smiling. Bat the smile was quickly followed by a sigh. {To he continued^