LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2152, 18 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTEEY or LORD BRACKBNBURY: A NOVEL, BY AMELIA B. EDWAKDS, Author of “Barbara’s History,” “ Debenbatn’s Vow,” &o. ( Continued. * We all have our own troubles, Lotties,’ replied Winifred. And with this each went her own way. Another mile of lane, and The Orange, with its patterned front and picturesque gateway, gleamed out between the leafless walnut boughs. As Winifred came in sight, a gentleman sitting on the parapet of the little bridge over the moat rose and went to meet her. He had been a frequent gnest of late, coming every day, and sometimes twice a day ; andyetterday he had followed as Miss Langtrey’s chief mourner. Winifred was not taken by surprise to find him waiting there. She bad more than half expected him. ‘ I thought you would, perhaps, come this morning. I much wanted to see yon, lam going abroad.’

‘ Going abroad ! ’ ‘Yes—to Munich; aud I want to know how far it is, and how long it takes to get there?’

Lancelot stared at her. The abruptness of the announcement astounded him.

‘Why, Winifred,’ ho said, ‘you take my breath away I Whom do you know in Munich! ’ ‘No one I mean to board !□ a school. I want to learn German, and to take musiclessons. Perhaps 1 may enter an artist’s studio. 1 fancy I have some little talent for modelling—at all events I should like to try.’ Lancelot looked grave. There was a nervous eagerness about her manner that puzzled and troubled him.

‘ltis a wild project,’ he aaid. * Have yon named It to Mrs Pennefeather ? ’ ‘ I have named it to no one—nor shall I name it till all is settled. In the meanwhile, I rely upon yon to help me.’ * What do you want me to do ? ’

Well, first to advise me abont the Grange, Can yon think of any one who wonld attend to the place when I am gone ? ’ * Yes—that would not be difficult.’

* And can you find out about the schools in Munich ?’

* I dare say I could do that also ; but, candidly. I do not like the idea.’ •Why not?’ * For several reasons—one being that Munich is a little St. Petersburgh in winter, and that to-morrow will bo the Ist of December The city stands on a plateau snme seventeen or eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea.’

* Yes, I have read abont it. The country is sometimes covered with snow for months, and people go about with sleighs with bells. I should like it very much.’ ‘ I don’t think you would like the life in a Bavarian school, or the society of German school girls. All sausage and sentiment.’

‘Nay, lam not hard to please. If they are kind to me, I shall like them well enough. • ‘ Then you wonld feel lonely among strangers in a strange land—you who know nothing of foreign life. Think how you wonld miss the familiar faces —the old people—the . . .

Bbe interrupted him impatiently. * But I want to miss them—don’t you understand ? The familiar faces and places are all pain to me now. I want to get away from them. If I can but go somewhere far away, and learn new things, and try to forget the old ones—that is what will be best for me. lam more lonely here than I could bo anywhere else.’ * But, Winifred . . . ‘ Ah, no; yon don’t understand. Ton don’t know how dearly I loved her—perhaps I hardly knew It myself. And now everything reminds mo of her. . . 1 must go away.’ They had been standing on the bridge ; but as Winifred aaid these last words, she tamed toward the house.

‘And for how long?’ asked Lancelot, following her. ‘ For a year. I shall he glad enough to come hack to the old place and the old life by the time Christmas comes round again } but that one year I must have.’ They passed under the gateway, and crossed the courtyard, where Winifred’s white pigeons were industriously strutting to and fro, searching between the stones for any stray grains that might yet remain from their midday feed. ‘ Shall we sit hero ?’ she said, when they came to the porch, ‘lt is so dreary in the

house.’ There was a deep recess on eaoh side of the door, and in eaoh recess a seat supported ou grotesque brackets ; and these seats and brackets, and the ceiling carved with the Langtrey arms and motto, and the worn, uneven floor, and the massive medissval door studded with huge nails, and the clustered and twisted columns outside, were all In old black oak. Here they sat—Lancelot trifling gloomily with his riding whip; Winifred shrinking back intr the gloom of the corner opposite. For some minutes both were silent. He had been telling himself all along that she must have change of scene. He had thought it all out, in fact, and arranged her winter for her in his own mind and in his own way. It waa annoying to find her with plans made and matured. ‘You could not stay here alone all through the winter,’ he said, presently. * I know that, of course. I came to day, indeed, with the idea of talking it over with you.’ She looked up, but said nothing. * You know that I have relations in Italy —a widowed aunt (my mother’s eldest sister) and a score of Italian cousins, more or leas. I have not seen them since I was a boy; but Cuthbeit used to visit them now and then. They are decent people enough, and live in a pleasant part *f the conntiy, not far from Fistoja. My aunt always spends her winters in Rome. She knows you quite well by name. How would it be if you went to her for a few months ? she wonld not be like a stranger; and Rome wonld be pleasanter than Munich.’

* I would rather be with strangers—l prefer Munich,’ replied Winifred quickly. For she felt that to be among those who wonld consider themselves privileged not only to condole with her in the present, but to sympathise with her an. regarded the past, would bo of all torments the most “Intolerable. ‘ Then Munich, I suppose, it is to be, he said, seeing that her mind wns resolved.

‘Yes.’ ‘And as soon as possible V ‘As soon as possible. Can I go next week?' ‘ I fear not. I think yon must make up your mind to wait ten days or so. However, I will do my best. As for The Grange, yon may be quite easy on that head. I will be yonr head steward, and Mellor shall come over two or three times a week.’ Now Mellor was bailiff for the Brackenbury property ! and she knew that all would go well in bis hands, ‘ Thank yon, Lancelot,’ she said, simply; ‘ you are very good to me. ’ ‘And to whom should I bo good, if not to yon ?’ He waited, as if for t n answer; but no answer came.

Then there was another silence, interrupted presently by the opening of the house door and the appearance of Mrs Bridget, who came to say that luncheon waa waiting. It was, in vulgar truth, dinner ; for old Miss Langtrey had been rsed, after her brother’s death, to keep farm honse hours and live on farm-house fare. But Mrs Bridget had a keen sense of the family dignity ; and, finding Lancelot in the porch, she judiciously translated “dinner” as “luncheon.”

Winifred rose, expecting him to follow ; but he put out bis band instead. ‘Good-bye,’ he said. ‘I will try to arrange about Munich for you ; but I don’t think you will see me back again under a week.’ Then, turning to the old wrman, * I need not ask yon to take care of your young lady, Mrs Bridget; you have done that always.’ •Indeed, sir—my lord, I mean—l have tried to do my best,’ replied Mrs Bridget.

‘And now, more than ever, she needs all that you can do for her.’ ‘l'faat’s true, my lord,’ And, putting the corner of her apron to her eyes, the old lady retired with a series of curtseys. Lancelot still held Winifred’s hand. Ifc lay in his, as cold and almost as pale as snow. ‘I can do nothing more for you p’ he asked. ‘Yes, indeed I—and I had almost forgotten It. Do you remember Lettice Leigh ? ’ * Lettice Leigh P ' ‘That handsome, fieroe-looking girl, who used to live with the Corbishlys on Barfield Moor, after her father died. She went away some years ago, nobody knew where. Is it possible that you have forgotten her ? ’ Lancelot’s face darkened, I have not forgotten her,’ he said. * What of her 7 ’ 1 She has come back. T met her just now in the lanes—with her little boy.’ * Ah, she. has a chili ? ' ‘ A beautiful little blue-eyed boy. not a bit like herrelf. She looks very rasged and wretched, and has been leading a tramp’s life, she telle mo. And where do you think she has gone for shelter ? ’ ‘ Not to tho moor, I’ll answer for it. When a moor girl breaks with her own people, you know they cast her out for ever.’ ‘ Lancelot, the poor soul has taken refuge in that horrible hovel at the foot of the JRidge j and I want you to roof it in, and patch it up for her, and let her live in it fer life, if she pleases.' ‘ What Blackpool ?' Why, I was thinking of pulling it down the ether day, and only spared it at Cochrane’s entreaty, because he wants to sketch it the next time he comes down. But by the way, I heard from him this morning; he wishes me to say everything sympathetic on his part.’ ‘ I am much obliged to Mr Cochrane,’ said Winifred, absently. ‘ He is an excellent fellow—and so clever ! I don’t think yon half appreciate him, Winifred. ‘ I beg your pardon ; but I was thinking of Lettice Leigh. May I tell her that she cm stay at Blackpool as long as she likes, and that you will make it woathertight for her and her poor little child J’ * What! spoil Cochrane’s sketch and eject old Abel Brant’s ghost —the only ghost I have upon the property ?’ ‘ls Blackpool supposed to be haunted, then 1’ ‘ Undoubtedly. And nothing offends a ghost, yon know, like putting his residence in repair. Well, to please yon, Winifred.it shall be done.’ ‘Thank yon, Lancelot.’ ‘And now, once again—good-bye.’ * For a week ?’ ‘ For a whole week. God bless you,’ Her lips moved ; but no words came. He lingered a moment —turned quickly away—crossed the courtyard and was gone. Still she stayed in the dusk of the potch listening. She knew that he had gone round to the stables. Perhaps she hoped that he would come back for another farewell If so, she waited in vain; for presently she heard the sonnd of hia horses hoofs in the •table-yard ; then fainter as he rode round by the back of the orchard and across the bridge ; and then—no more. (To be continued on Saturday.')