LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2240, 3 May 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTEP.V OF LORD BRACKENBURY; A NOVEL. BV AMELIA B. EDWARDS, Author of “ Barbara’s History,” ’’ L’ebonbam’s Vow.” &c. (Continued.) The night that f Towed was vary still and hot; and up till twelve o’clock the gardens of the Sireua were full of loiterers watching the fireflies, sipping coffee and iced drinks, and smoking cigarettes. Even when the last of these were gone, and tho hotel was closed for the night, the little world cf Sorrento was still abroad, twanging mandolines at street cornera. laughing and chattering and atory-tsllieg down by the water-step < in tho harbour; and singing barcaroles from boat to boat out i" the bry, Lancelot woke early next mrrnirg. He looked at his watch It was four o'clock, and through the closed jalousies he could see that the sun was ehimng. Very softly he rose, stole into his dressing-room, and opened the window. The sea was as smooth, tho sky as cloudless, as yesterday. There was not a sail in sight; there was not a human being stirring. Thera was a dreamy scent cf orange blossoms on the air ; the thrushes were singing in the garden below; and a lovely cloud, rosy and golden, “ a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand,” burg over Vesuvius like tho cloud that rented on the Ark.

The young man looked long at this fair, familiar scene ; turned away with a sigh ; then partly dressed hinue'f, and sat dewn to write.

For several mornings he had waked about this time—in fact, ever since that visit to tho old villa, now nearly a week ago—aad each morning ha found it impossible to sleep again. So, having an accumulation of letters to answer, ho made a virtue of necessity, and went to work. Bat t'.e work was not easy. His thoughts wandered ; his pen stopped ; end he caught himself more than once staring into vacancy, and there seeing, not tho wardrobe in front r f his writingtable, bat the home of his hoyhond, the lawns and ihrubberies in which he used to play, and a certain grassy knoll on which three figures stood, with thsir faces towards fee sea One of these figures haunted him. Ho was impatient with himself for his own folly ; ha told himself again and again that it was a mere chance resemblance-that it was no refcemblanca at all—and yet .

aad yet he could not shako off tho impression ! So strong was that impression, and so startling, that he rode over next day to Caatellamare for no other purpose than to make inquiry about the shipping there lying at anchor. These inquiries, however, resulted in nothing. The harbor was crowded with masts and tho quays with rough seafaring men ; but the vessels were all Italian traders from various parts of the coast ; some from Reggio, some from Leghorn, two from Tarento, three or four from Maraala, one from Bati, and at least half-a-dtzen from Genoa. Besides these, there was a small Government steamer belonging t> the does yard, and a score or more of those picture 1 que luggers laden with pottery, maccaroni, wine, oil, and grain, which ply between Narles and the smaller coast towns. As for local fishing and pleasure craft their name was legion. But J-inglish yachts, or English vessels of any kind, there was nr no.

And now, an end to dreams and fancies. Horo were letters from his lawyer, his architect, his builder, his agent, and a dozsn more, all waiting to be answered out of hand. He must get these answers written before breakfast; for, at eleven, they were to start for Naples ; and at Naples they had arranged to put up for a ccup’e of days in order to ascend Vesuvius from Resina next morning. 9o again ho dipped his pen in the ink, and went on writing. Presently the clock on the mantelpiece struck five. Then fancying that ha heard a nound in the next room, he rose, and peeped through tbo half-open door. Winifred still slept. Her hair fell in heavy masses on the pillow; her cheek rested on her outstretched arm ; her hand, half drooping, half unclosed, lay just where -It wan lying when he left her. Listening to her gentle breathing, looking upon her beauty with a painter's eye and a lover’s tenderness, Lancelot lingered for a moment ; then turned away to resume his work. But, glancing towards the open window as he passed, he beheld a startling change in the placid stream without. Instead of that little roseate cloud which reminded him just now of the cloud upon he saw a huge column of smoke rising in white and golden-tinted misses against an Intensely clear blue sky. F von as ho gazed upon it, the speed and density of this column increased with amazing rapidity, os if propelled each moment at a higher and higher pressure. Ha ran to wake Winifred.

» Get up, dear,’ ho said, * Got up at once! Vesuvius is smoking magnificently, but it may not last many minutes.’ She got np flushed and startled, lotting him wrap her in a w»rm dressing-gown, and following him to tbo window. Even in that brief moment, the smoke had doubled in volume ; and still, with inconceivable force and swiftness, it kept rushing upward—developing, spreading, changing, towering higher and higher ; piling itself mass above mass; assuming a thousand atrango and fantastic shapes ; shapes of sunlit promontories, of castles, lions, capes, aqueducts, Alps! It wa* no longer a column* but a gigantic plume ; it was no longer a plume, but an arch—an arch indescribably splendid and stupendous,spr.nnng half the horizon. Winifred clasped her hands and stood breathless. ‘ Oti, Lancelot i’ she said, awe-atrnok, ‘ it is an eruption.’ Chapter LXII. ‘for FEAR OF THE LAVA.’

For a long time—perhaps an hour, but it seemed like half - i - day— Lancelot, and Winifred watched thie splendid pageant of which they were, apparently, the only spectators. Not a living creature seemed to he awake in all Sorrento. At length, a sleepy porter appeared in the gardens below, then a couple of veDurini; and by and by the place became filled with little groups of idlers, staring at the mountain and the By eight every ono in tue hotel was rip and out; tho English all talking of ‘the eruption ; ’ the Italians all denying that it was anything but a temporary disturbance. , ‘An eruption? Oh. near, no —nothing of the kind ! ’ said the smiling landlord. ‘Eruptions do not begin in this way. A fine sight—nothing more ! These ladies and gentlemen may rest assured that iu Will ad bo over In an hour or two.* Then, turning to Lan-clot and Winifred, who were breakfasting at a little table in the garden, he added ; ‘ Milord and miiadi will not be disappointed of their excursion They will aaoc-nd the mountain to-morrow all tho same. Ah, wo who know Vesuvius are not easily deceived by appearances ! ’ Lane slot was of the taudioru a opinion. The boatmen, the vetaurrini, all told tho same tala. Vesuvius was smoking a big pipe this morning, instead of a little cigarette—Ecca tatto I By tine—the weathercock pointing due west, although there was not a breath Stirling-the huge smoke-arch reached right aorcaa the eastward arm of the bay, roofing

in all the coast between Vesuvius and Gastallamara. The Brackenbury?, meanwhile, put off the carriage til the afternoon, and spent the mornicg in thtir own balony, vhere Lancelot sot himself to sketch the convo lutions of the smoke. All at once he laid down - hia brush and listened.

‘Do you hoar that!’ ho said. It was something so low, so deep, so remote, that it seemed rather to be felt than heard. It wai more a trembling of the air—or the earth—than a sound. * What is it ?’

‘ Hush! It comes again ?’ It did come again; louder but not less remote. It sounded like the throbbing of a deep and mighty organ pipe, Then again it died away. At the same moment on immense volley of black vapour shot up into the midst of the lovely cloud, mingling with there masses of white and gold, and turning them copper and purple. Then the subterraneous thunder rolled louder and longer j and the smoke pocred out all black, rent with flashes of lire ; and three small streams of lava, white and teething, began slowly crawling down the cone.

That this was the beginning of an crupticn was now beyond doubt. All nature seemed to know it. The birds ceased singing, and (led to the bushes. The cattle came straying home alono from the pasture. The landlord’s big hound slunk into his kennel, and howled dismally. The air meanwhile became hot and heavy ; while far away at the other side of the mountain, apparently In the deep hollow between Monte Pomme and the cone, a cloud of steam and smoke marked the path of some vast lavu-stieam not visible from Sorrento, ‘lt is impossible ! ’ said Lancelot. ‘ Nothing remains the same for ten seconds together. Form, color, light, shadow, change and Interchange and shift incessantly !—I give it np.’ The balcony was strewn with sketches begun and flung down unfinished. He gathered these scattered leaves into a portfolio. and put away his colors. ‘ What shall we do ? ’ be said, pacing backwards and forwards. ‘ Will you bo afraid to go to Naples ? Dr are you inclined to stay hero, and watch the eruption from a distance P Don’t you feel a desperate longing to do something ?—to go somewhere ? ’

Winifred at once taid that she would rather go to Naples. It was already evident, indeed, that the main flow of the lava was on the Naples side. Even while they were yet debating when to start, a column of tawny smoke began rising from some point behind the Observatory. This column was presently followed by another, and another ; all separate as if indicating the sifc-s of great fires. The cloud ■ arch, meanwhile, had spread almost to the environs of Sorrento.

It was late in the afternoon—nearly five o’clock—when Lancelot and Winifred drove into Castellamaro. They found the harbor half emptied of its shipping (mo=t of the vessels having crossed to Naples) and the station crowded with country-folk, raving, wai dug, gesticulating. ‘ There was no danger where this lot came from,’ said a fat offi dal, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously ( ‘ questa roba,’ or ‘ this rubbish ’) ; ‘ but the Municipality of Naples has put on a service of gratuitous trains, and we are obliged to take them,’

A barefooted woman sitting on a bundle of bedding caught the words, and sprang in sudden frenzy to her feet. ‘ Hear him ! ’ she cried, tossing her arms wildly. * Hear him ! —ho says there is no danger ! Holy mother of God 1 --no danger, with red cinders showering down into the streets of Portioi, and everyone flying for fear of the lava, and Son Sebastino and Massa di Sommaln flames ! ’

One or two intending passengers paused at this, and began questioning the guaid. ‘ la it safe to go to Naples V * Does the lava flow towards the coast ? ’

‘ If Portico Is threatened, then surely the line is also threatened P ’

But the gnard, and some three or four travellers who had just come in with the train, declared unanimously that the cinders were not falling in Portioi, and that there was no present danger. ‘ They are mad with fright, and say whatever comes uppermost,’ growled the fat official, transfixing a huge o*gar with his penknife before proceeding to light it. ‘These ladies and gentlemen, if they are. going to Naples, had better take their places.’ So, despite a warning howl from the crowd, the passengers took their seats. There wtre two gentlemen in the tom partment with Lancelot and Winifred ; one a military man in a blue cloak, the other a civilian.

‘lf it comes down, it will hardly select the moment when we are passing ! * said the warrior, unbuckling bis sword and settling himself in his corner. His companion laughed lightly. * Carambo I It was reported an hour. ago that Lachryma Chrlsti vines were in peril; and they are on this side.’ Lancelot glanced at Winifred and felt a pang of apprehension ; but sha was anxiously watching the poor folk on the platform, among whom she had distributed all the lire in her purse, and she heard nothing of this conversation. Already, too, the train was in motion. They could not go back if they would. It was too late. Speeding forward now intothe deepening gloom, they heard the terrible voice of the mountain rolling loader and nearer. On every by-road skirted or bridged by the line of railway, are seen straggling processions of footsore fugitives, and hies of country carts laden with poor furnitnre. At every little station there la the same frightened crowd—old men ; old women ; mothers with infants in their arms ; little children, some with their aprons fall of bread, others carrying a pet kitten, or a bird in a cage. Many of these poor souls have stored their household goods in the cellars of their cottages, rescuing only their beds and bedding. Not the least striking feature cf this universal exodus ia the indolence and indifference of the strong. While the week and the aged are dragging trucks and barrows and plod ding under burdens, all the railway bridge and embankments, all the little seaside piers and landing-places, all the walls and nouse tops are crowded with men and boys staring, clamouring, smoking, and doing nothing. Leaving in the rear the long mound of Pompeii and passing Torre dell’ Annunziata, the lino now skirts the lower elopes of Vesuvius. The great cone towers grey and threatening against a black background, and from the heart of a vast column of smoke, throws up a perpetually rising and falling fountain of living tire. Drawing still nearer, that fountain Is eeen to be mingled with showers of red hot stones. Now, too, the din of the eruption becomes every moment more deafening. It is neither like thunder, nor like discharges of artillery, nor like anything in heaven or earth but itself. All other terrible noises—even the raging of the sen at Its fiercest—are intermittent. But this dread reverberation fills all the space batwixt earth and sky with one solid implacable roar. Winifred sat motionless ; her eyes fixed, her lips white, her hands looked one ia the other.

‘ Dear heart, do not. be frightened,’ Lancelot said, bending forward; ‘we are in no danger here.’ She siw the movement of his lira, and guessed the words. ‘Oh, but lam frightened !’ she said. ‘lt is awful. It is like listening to the voice of God !’

But neither heard a word spoken by the other.

Now the train stops at Torre del Greco. Behind the barrier they tea more women; more children ; a dog keeping watch over a pile of household goods ; a big man wringhis hands and crying like a girl. The cuard runs besides the carriages—shouts the name of the station—blows hia bugle. Bat all passes in dumb show ; for neither those in the train nor there on the platf .rm hear any sound save the One. Not even the steamwhistle, nor the motion of the engine, Is audible.

Porticl next. Bat hero is no waiting crowd. Portioi is empty. Its streets are deserted ; its population ha* fled. And yonder, suspended above the town, two streams of Are ara slowly emoting down the cone. The lava shows crimson in the dampening dusk ; creeping, twisting, writhing, lapping mass over mass, with something of a live horror in its motion, as of a reptile in agony. (To be continued on Saturday )