LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2238, 30 April 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTEEY OF LORD BRACKENBUBY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B, EOWASDS, Author of “Barbara’s History,’’ “Debenbam’s Vow.” &c. ( Continued.'] * But what has become of your other party ?’ ‘ They came by water, Signore—having left their boat at the landing place below, 1 have lot them out by a side-door which opens upon a path cut in the chff.’ ‘Yes, yes, I know—the path that leads down to the sea. Is the door locked ? Quick —give me the key.’ The man stared—a pallid, sickly fellow, with a club-foot, which dragged painfully behind him as he limped along, ‘ Scusate, Signore,’ he said, civily. 4 I am forbidden to let my keys onb of my own hands ; but I will let you through with pleasure. Limping, ne iea tne way along a walk masked on one side by a laurel fence and bounded on the other by a lofty wall. This path ended in a door opening upon a grassy platform, below which a path, cut here and there into steps, wound down the face of the cliff.

4 Walt hero for me, Winifred,’ said Lancelot, as the custode turned the key. 4 1 have a fancy to see in which direction those people are gone. No, no ! —don’t follow me. The steps are shallow and slippery Stay where you are. ’ Shallow and slippery though they were, his own foot was swift and true. Springing from ledge to ledge as fearlessly and familiarly as if no sixteen years had fled since last he trod that perilous way, he made straight for a jutting shelf of rock some sixty or seventy feet below. From this point all the windings of the downward path, and the coast-line for half a mile or so, were open to view. The post road from Castellamare to Sorrento ran between the basojof the cliffs and the sea, To the left it vanished round a hold head-land, on the shoulder of which a gang of quarrymen were at work. To the right, it descended at a gradual incline, and was lost to eight behind the little promontory, or Molo, which here encloses the harbor of Castellamare.

Shading his eyes with his hand, the young man looked up and down tho road, and np and down the path, and saw only the quarry-men on tho cliff side, and a peasant driving a male along the dusty thoroughfare below.

What had become of that 4 other party ?’ They left their boat at the landing place ; so said the custode. Where, then, was the boat ? Surely the landing-place ought to ha visible from here! Or was it hidden by that group of water-washed rooks over which the surf was foaming ? This he could not remember. Donbticg whether to go on or to wait, he stood hesitating. If he went on he would lose sight of the rocks and of that spot where the landing-place must lie hidden. If he remained up here, he should at least make sure of seeing the boat pat off from shore.

I (All at onca he saw a man out upon the rocks—a sailor with open shirt-collar and knotted kerchief flying in the breeze. Heedless of spray and anrf, the fellow leaped from crag to crag, patting bis hand to the side of bis month, as if shouting, and waving his broad-brimmed straw hat above his head.

Then, presently, he clambered’down, hand under hand, and dropped apparently into an unseen boat below. Ifet a moment or two, and the boat itself emerged into sight some hundred yards or so further on; a ship’s boat, manned by six blue jackets and a steersman. In the stern seat, still with their backs towards the shore and their faces towards Naples, sat the two strangers —the lady in her brown hat and dropping feather; the gentleman with his gold-laced cap. Lancelot watched them through his glass. He looked, as It were, right down into the boat, and upon the upturned faces of the rowers. They were pulling straight from the shore; as straight as if bound for the opposite side of the bay. Once clear of the surf, their oars rose and fell with the precision of clockwork. Every moment the strip of blue widened between them and the rocks ; every moment the boat seemed to diminish, and their faces to become less distinct. Now they alter their course, bearing away in the direction of Portico ; and now he moved—he in the gold-laced cap .... Will be look back ? No; he stoops to fold a rng about his lady’s feet! He bends towards ber, as if in earnest conversation, ... he rests his arm on the back of the seat . . , * Lancelot!’ So far away already 1 The feature of the rowers are.no longer distinguishable , . . * Lancelot ! —give me yonr band. I am afraid to go back . . . and I am afraid to go forward!’ He finng the glass upon the sward, and ran to help her. u * Disobedient wife ! Did I not tell you to stay where yon were ?’ ‘ What woman ever yet did as she was bidden ?

4 Take care ! The steps are broken away . , , . So: now yon are safe. But what possessed you to venture down alone ?’

4 What possessed me ? The spirit of mutiny—of curiosity—of jealousy.’ 4 Jealousy?’ 4 Why not ? Do you suppose that I have none in my composition ? Ah t how little yon know me ! I conld be as green-eyed as Othello, if yon gave me cause. But what has become of year innamorata 2’ 4 What do yon mean ?’ 4 ls she gone ? Have Calypso and Odysseus changed places, and has the enchantress sailed away, leaving the hero disconsolate ! Is that her golden galley ?’ Laughing, she snatched np the field-glass and followed the course of the boat. ‘Come,’ she said, 4 you may as well make a clean breast of it. When did yon meet her ? What is her name ? Above all, is she pretty ?’ They had again changed their course, and were making, apparently, for some point between Castellamare and Torre dell’ Annunziata. Already the boat was so far distant that Lancelot oonld scarcely distinguish the rowers from the rowed. And yet, . . if Winifred had not taken possession of the glass .... 4 Yon will not tell me whether she is pretty ? Decidedly yon mean to make me jealous !’ 4 My dearest girl, if it were not altogether too ridiculous.’ ...

‘ Well, if it were not altogether too ridiculous—what then ?’ * Then I would tell yon that I have never, to my knowledge, seen that lady’s face; that I don’t know whether she is young or old, plain or pretty!’ * You expzct me to believe that ?’ * I expect yon to believe whatever 1 say —seriously.’ And again his eyes wandered to the boat; now so small that it looked like some kind of six-legged Insect paddling along the face of the waters. * It was not the lady who attracted my attention; but her companion. He re minded me of—of a fellow I used to knew—years ago—in my old studentdays. ’ * In Paris ?’ * But it was only a chance resemblance 1 Shall we go up again V He helped her back, step by step, till they reached the upper level. Here the lame cuatode awaited them. * Who were those people ?’ Lancelot asked carelessly. * Where do they come from’’

The man shook his head. They were strangers ; ho knew nothing of them. • Are there any private yachts or ships of war stationed at Castellamare ?’ * Ho; there was nothing of the kind. Some six or eight merchant craft, he believed, were lying just now in the harbor; but as for ships of war, they had not seen so much as a gun-boat in these waters for the last ten years.

Then they went back slowly; resting awhile in the orange-walk, and turning aside to look at a little ‘ casino,’ the walls of which wore encrusted with fragments of inscriptions and bas reliefs discovered among the foundations of a Roman villa which once occupied the site of the present residence.

‘And now, dear, you have seen it all—the . house in which I was born ; the gardens, ’ the orange-walk, the old cliff-path by which we went up and down so often —Uuthbert and 11 He kept his boat at Castellamare ; but it used to be brought round every morning to the landing-place yonder. There was one cranny in the cliff, I remember—lower ■ down than where we stood just now—ln which an acanthus had taken root. It flowered every summer. I wonder if it grows there still! . , . Ah ! well 11 am not sorry to have seen the old place once more ; but never again—never again !’ With a sigh he gathered a sprig of myrtle and put it in his purse, and presently they were rattling along the coast road, in a cloud of dust, on their way back to Sorrento. But Lancelot was silent and thoughtful all the rest of the day. Chapter LXI. * NO BIGGER THAN A MAN’S HAND.’ Lodging in Sorrento at the Hotel della Sirena, Lancelot and Winifred found the place fall of English, and themselves surrounded by a halo of popularity. Nor—having regard to the romantic nature of the British tourist—was that result surprising. Youth, wealth, rank, good looks were theirs; and besides this forefold passport to success, our bride and bridegroom reaped the fruits of that peculiar interest which attaches, however irrationally, to the earlier stages of matrimony. ‘ Lord and Lady Brackenbury—on their wedding tour—only two months married, I hear—brother to that Lord Brackenbury who disappeared so mysteriously, you know, about five years ago—immensely rich —coal mines somewhere in the north— Pretty P—oh, awfully pretty—quite beautiful, in fact—No money, they say—anoient family—quite a maniage du coeur—charming couple ! He paints, you know—was to have been an artist—makes lovely sketches —the father was British Ambassador here at Naples, for ever so many years—most extraordinary affair that, about the elder brother —ob, murdered ! undoubtedly murdered excessively eccentric used to travel, armed to the teeth, with a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of jewelleiy in an iron box—a premium to brigands, as one may say. Indeed, yes—what else was to be expected ? —No, I don’t think the body was ever found —quite a cause celebre—Did you notice Lady Brackenbnry’s dress this morning ? Wasn’t it peifeotly exquisite, and so simple ! —ah, well 1 my husband is over head and ears in love with her— and yours ? —How amusing ! —But really, you know they are very nice—couldn’t be nicer—l have written to my people In Cheshire to be sure to call upon them, as soon as they return home—Lancashire did you say ?—Ah well, their place is just on the borders of both counties, —partly in Cheshire, partly in Lancashire—you may call it which you please! By the way, wasn’t Vesuvius lovely last night ? Did you see that streak of fire on the Naples side of the cone ? The landlord said it was sulphur; but that’s nonsense —it mnst have been lava Giuseppe, our courier, came to us before we left the ‘ table d’ bote ’ to say how fine the mountain was, and to ask if we wonld like a beat—we were on the water for nearly three hours—oh, delightful 1 smooth as glass —we did not get back to our rooms till nearly midnight—yes, indeed I —most fortunate—many people are here for months together, and see nothing bat a little smoke all the time!’

Such, with variations, was the kind of gossip going on daily among the visitors at the birena. Conscious, meanwhile, of a prevailing atmosphere of smiles and pleasantness, Lancelot and Winifred took life on its sunny side, and made perpetual holiday. They rode on donkeys, they boated, they walked, they drove; they ran over for a c-uple of days to Capri, and saw the blSt grotto ; they made the excursion to Amalti and Salerno; they sketched everywhere—among the pines of Massa, and the lone rocks of Galli, and the pathetic solitudes of Pompeii. They, too, saw that “break of fire" on Vesuvius—a thin red line edged by a wavering fringe of Inrid smoke. Lancelot at once pronounced it to be a slender stream af lava. Next morning, however, there was nothing to be seen save a long brown splash, and a fresh deposit of sulphur round the lip of the cone.

All this time they were daily planning the ascent of the mountain, and daily deferring it in favor of other excnrsiona ; Winifred being, in truth, more anxious to go than was Lancelot to take her.

1 If my husband made a full confession of his sins,’ said Winifred, ‘he would own to having purposely and maliciously interposed every obstacle be can think of !’

‘ I would be glad if you gave up the idea,’ he replied. *lt is an unfit excursion for a lady.’ • Ladies go up every day !’ • Ladies do many things which they ought not to be allowed to do—Vesuvius being one of those things, and the Great Pyramid another. ’

‘ Nevertheless, I have set my heart on ascending Vesuvius and Pyramid also, if ever yon take me to Egypt, Bat you promise that it shall really be tomorrow ?’

« If yon must have it so, and nothing happens to prevent,’ * What should happen ? —An eruption ? Perhaps you have bespoken one for the purpose!' ‘ Just that! Shall we say—Positively for one nighttonly; Amphitheatre Boyal, the Bay of Naples. By special desire—tomorow, Wednesday, the 16th instant, that renowned performer Mount Vesuvius will have the honor to Erupt at midnight precisely. The audience are requested to be in their seats by forty-five minutes past eleven. Carriages to be ordered at break of day. Prices, . ■ ■ well, what about prices ? Shall we be justified In saying a guinea a stall?’ Winifred first laughed, and then looked grave. • I think it is rather shocking to make light of anything to serious,’ she said, ‘ You are right, and I ought to know better. An eruption took place one autumn, while I was at school at Lausanne. I saw the scene of disaster afterwards, and a terrible scene it was. A whole village—the village of Oaposecoo —was overwhelmed. One poor old man had both feet shrivelled; several brave fellows who were rendering assistance to the sufferers were blinded by the burning ashes; and some very old people were burned alive in their beds. There was great misery all that winter among the unfortunate refugees, most of whom fled into Castellamare. Ah, dear child, it is but too true —an eruption of Vesuvius is no laughing matter. ’ This conversation took place one Tuesday morning in a secluded creek known at Sorrento as “Queen Johannah’s Bath.” Entered from the sea by a narrow breach in the cliffs, this creek expands within into a deep, pellucid pool, completely shut in on every side — deep as an urn . By rocks encompass’d. An arch of mined brickwork spans the cleft which was once the water-gate of an Italian vil a. The surrounding cliffs are thick set with brick foundations, and fragments of reticulated vaulting. On every ledge, and in every cranny, grow mosses and wild flowers; and on the grassy level above, hidden away among violet roots and brambles, may yet bo found by those who care to seek for them, patches of mosaic pavement, and coins, and graven gems. To this solitary spot they had often come of late ; Lancelot with his sketching materials, Winifred with her book. It was a nook for a painter, or a poet, or a pair of lovers. Through the dark arch they caught a glimpse of the hay, and the gliding sails beyond. In the translucent depths beneath their foot, every shell and seaweed and starfish were visible ai if seen through a microscope ; while the air was filled with sweet scents of clover and wild thyme, ‘ and the murmuring of innumerable bees.’ All that day the sea was calm and the sky cloudless, Not a leaf stirred upon the trees ; not a ripple broke the glassy surface of tho bay. Even Vesuvius, seeming to share in tho universal languor, sent up so imperceptible a thread of smoko that but for the little canopy of cloudy which hung motionless above the oone it might have boon I doubted that the mountain breathed. {To he continued on Tuesday,)