LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2156, 22 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTEEY ov LORD BRACKENBURY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS, Author of “Barbara’s History,” *‘ Debenham’a Vow,” &c, ( Continued . Chapter, XXXIIL ■WAS IT HONOR OB LOVE ? Winifred battled bravely through the long week of Lancelot’s absence, even summoning courage to go to church that first miserable Sunday, and weeping quietly under her veil when Mr Penneweather preached his funeral sermon. What made it harder to bear, was that it was a week of visitors. People who had rarely taken the trouble to call when Miss Langtrey was alive, hastened now to profess their regret that she was dead f and the old courtyard echoed daily to the unaccustomed sound of wheels. Many and various were the vehicles ranging from the modest one-horse chaise of the neighboring parson to the country magnate’s big old family chariot bnng with fringed hammer cloth and bedizened with armorial bearings. Nor were there wanting visitors of the humbler sort: wives of tenant farmers, and poor folk from the cottages round about. All these when she was in the house, Winifred received in person ; enduring the patronising sympathy of her Grace and her Ladyship, and listening as gently to the old crones who set their lamentations for “ the missus ” to the tnne of their own ailments, as to the parsons’ wives who enforced their condolence with quotations from Scripture and sage counsel as to the wearing of flannel. ‘lf they wonld but leave me in peace! If they would but let me be miserable in my own way I’ she said, making her wail to Mrs Pennefeather. * They mean well; bnt they all put on the same face—they all speak in the same voice—they all say the same things. I am sick of hearing that ‘Afflictions are blessings in disguise,* and that ‘Whatever is, is best,’ How can her death be a blessing, and for thebest P 1 dare say I am very wicked ; bnt these worthy people enrage me, and make me rebellions ! '[ long to remind them that there are times when everything is for the worst, and to to'l them that I hate all this pretending and preaching! When your good husband came to me and pointed out how that it was God’s will to take her ; and that because it was God’s will I must submit and bear my loss—when he said that, I knew he was telling me truth. I knew that he himself believed every word as he nttered it. And that did me good—that gave me strength—that comforted me. Bnt these people pity me, and patronise me, and preach to me, as if I was a child or an outer barbarian ; and it drives me wild I’

pall OUiOD UlQj OUU pio «L AA GU a a A A JL won a child or an enter barbarian ; and it drives me wild I’ To which Mrs Pennefeather replied with a shrug, that Winifred’s visitors were a pack of idiots, and that she had better be “ out,” if more came on the same errand. ‘ Bnt I can’t be always oat,’ said Winifred, innocently. *1 do go out, and stay out, as long and as often as I can ; and even so I get canght. Yesterday, jnst as I was coming home—and it was nearly dusk— Lady Forbes’ carriage overtook me; and she came in, and stayed an honr, ’ Mrs Pennefeather gave her an odd look. ‘Ah, my dear,’ she said, ‘what wonld become of society, if everyone was as literal as you ?’ • Nothing wonld induce me to let Bridget or Joan say I was ont when I was at home, if that is what yon mean P’ exclaimed Winifred, with a flash of sadden scorn. * Nor wonld they tell a falsehood, if I were so base as to wish it. 1 Mrs Pennefeather langhed aloud. ‘Ton use very big words for very little things, my child,’ she said, airily. ‘All the world understands now-a-days that ‘ Net at Home ’ is a civil way of saying one doesn’t want to be bored; jnst as ‘ I have the honor to remain your obedient servant ’ means that the writer looks upon himself as an infinitely bigger man than the person he is addressing. These are accepted euphemisms.’ * I don’t know what yon mean by euphemisms, ’ said Winifred; * bnt they sonnd to me exactly like falsehoods.’ And although Mrs Pennefeather was at some pains to explain that a euphemism was a kind of indispeneible verbal oil which helped the wheels of the social machine to 1 work smoothly, Winifred was so ignorant and so obstinate as to remain unconvinced.

At length Saturday came again—the Saturday on which Lancelot was dne at The Grange. *1 think yon will hardly see me,’ he said, ‘before this day week,’ Those were his words. Had she not repeated them to herself a dozen times a day ever since 1 And now here was Saturday! It had been long enough on the way; bnt it was come at last. And Lancelot 1

She did not once ask herself 'Will be come?’ but only Will he come early?' ‘ Will he come late ?’ That he might for any cause be a day behind, was a possibility that never once occurred to her. She would as soon have expected the sun to put off rising. However, he did not oome early. It was an uncertain, stormy day ; and the weather kept visitors away. Midday passed, and the afternoon hours struck at intervals that seemed twice their ordinary length. Never had time gone so slowly. By and by, as the day began to darken, she put on a thick shawl and went into the garden. Here she walked slowly up and down, watching the ragged cloud-drifts as they coursed across the sky, and listening to the wind among the trees. It was not a cheerful garden at the best of times ; and now, all dusk and damp, with dead leaves rotting in the paths and bare boughs dark against the sky, it looked forlorn enough. The old summer-house, too, was fast falling to ruin ; and the sundial was long since broken, • Poor Cuthbert! ’ Ay, poor Cuthbert! The place always reminded her of him. It was there they sat. It was there he put his betrothal ring upon her finger. That ring was locked away now. She had not worn it for years; she would never wear it again. It had passed into a relic. All at once, she held her breath and listened. Surely she heard something P—a faint, indefinite something that came and went with the wind, and resolved itself presently into the measured heat of galloping hoofs ! Then her heart gave a leap, and she went round by the cherry orchard (as far as the little gate that opened into the courtyard. Here she waited, and still the galloping hoofs drew nearer. Then they echoed under the gateway, and Lancelot rode into the courtyard, , , He made straight for the porch; dismounted, and in the act of dismounting, saw her where sho stood.

‘ bid you expect me ? ’ he ashed, throwing his reins to Benben.

'Yes; I waa sure yon would come.’ He smiled.

* Then your faith in me was greater than my faith in myself. I scarcely hoped to do it in the time ; for I have met with all kinds of delays, and, to crown the whole, something went wrong with the engine a mile or two this side of Birmingham, and the train was two hours late. However, here I am; and before dark, too ! Yon are coming in from a walk V

‘ No ; 1 was in the garden.’ ‘Then shall we go back to the garden, while I tell yon about Munich ?’ He said this because he had observed, or fancied he observed, since Miss Langtrey’a death, that Winifred liked better to talk with him out of doors than in the house.

‘But you are tired —yon would rather come in and rest?' she ssid hesitatingly. ‘ Not at all. 1 shouldn’t mind walking all round the moors before dinner.’

Bis appearance contradicted his words. He looked pale and fagged, and he was splashed from head to foot. ' I am ashamed to appear in this plight,’ he said, ' but the roads are rivers of mud.’

* Yon come direct from London T’ * I come direct from Munich,’ * From Munich I Ton have been to Munich ?

‘Of course, Where else do yon suppose I was a 1! this past week P’ ‘ I did not know—l did not think. Tsuppose I concluded you went to London.’ ‘ As if it could have taken mo a week to go to London and back! Ho; 1 went

straight to Mnnioh, and from Munich have come straight back again, Don’t look so horrified ! It is by no means a long jonrn*/, and, as I said before, I am not tired. And now tell me—are you still in the same mind about going away ? ’ ‘Yes ; in precisely the same mind.' * Then I have found a home for you. Not in a school—l went to a dozen schools, without seeing one in which I thought you could feel happy. This is the house of a Protestant pastor, one Dr Krcutzmann by name, whose family consists of a wife and two orphan nieces—simple, quiet folk, all of them ; homely in their way, and thoroughly respectable.’ And then he went on to explain how the nieces being heiresses on a modest scale, had been brought up by the Krentzmanns, who had no children of their own ; how Frau Krcutzmann had a brother, who was an architect and knew all the leading artists in Munich, and how, by hie help, Winifred might readily obtain any introductions she pleased. As for the house, it was a substantial old fashioned dwelling, once a farm house, and stood a little way out of the town.

‘ A regular Bavarian homestead,’ he explained, ‘ like the Noah’s Arks of the Tyrolean toy-boxes, with overhanging eaves, and rows upon rows of windows with bright green shatters, and over the door a fresco of Saint Christopher with the Infant Christ on his shoulder. Then there is a garden, which will be pleasant In spring; and as for winter I don't think it can ever be very cold indoors, for there are stoves in all the rooms, and the walls are three feet and a half thick.’

* It sounds like a rural paradise!’ 'As for accommodation, there are some twenty rooms in the honse, several of which are unoccupied. I went over the whole of them—apule-chunbers and all; and I saw a little suite of three rooms at the end of a corridor on the third floor, in which, I think, yon conld be comfortable.’

‘ Three rooms 1 What should Ido with three rooms ? I want only a cell to sleep in.’

‘ I beg your pardon. If you study Art, yon must have a studio ; and the end room will make a capital studio. And besides your studio yon must have a bedroom for yourself and a bedroom for your maid.’ ‘But you don’t suppose I should take Bridget to Munich! What would become of The Grange 2 ' What, indeed ! No—l am precisely aware that yon cannot take Bridget to Munich.’

* Nor Joan, because of the dairy ?’ *My dear Winifred, I never dreamed of transplanting either the venerable Bridget or the blooming Joan. You mast have a Bavarian maid—in fact, yon have one already.’ * What do you mean 2’ 'I mean that you could hardly make the journey without an attendant, and that a maid will add greatly to yonr comfort in a household where the mistress is her own oook, and the young ladies wait at table. Ton have no idea of the primitive way in which these worthy people live.’ * I have lived in that primitive way all my life,’ said Winifred. ‘lt will not be new to me.’

{To ie continued on Tuesday,}