LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2251, 16 May 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

HER WAITING. A Legend of the Catskills. MARY EEBD CROWEI/L. Clarence and Caryl both paused at Bight of her, making the fairest picture they had seen since they started on their sketching tour a month before. It was mid-summer now—mid-July—a fervent sunny day j and they had lounged along the country road leisurely nntil the arden) heat and weariness, aud perhaps just a little laziness, induced them to get off the regular road, In among the great wooded slopes on the hillside, where a little rivulet of clear water foamed and lashed itself down from some icy mountain-spring, away up in the solemn fastnesses among the clouds. And in among the flickering shadows, standing in the crystal brook, holding her blue calico skirt up with her little sunburnt hands, so that the lovely contour of her ankles was so innocently displayed—the little battered hat of grassand-daisy-wreathed straw hanging on her round bare arm—her dark, lustrous dark, hair gently blowing in the breeze—her great, wondering dark eyes slyly watching the approaching travellers, who had halted so suddenly—it certainly was as charming a pastoral picture as imagination could have invented, with all the accessories of flickering sunshine and solemn shadow, purling water and sighing wind.

' What a picture ?' Clarence said, almost reverently. ' What a face ! See those eyes, Caryl!' ( aryl laughed. * Very pretty—very pretty indeed. But, seeing that she has discovered us, we may as well go forward. It's gloriously cool and refreshing here, but I dare say we've a fivemile tramp ahead of us yet before we catch up with the rest of 'em.' They continued until they came up to the little brook, that effectually cut off their progress. Then Clarence lifted his hat, and smiled his own graoious smile, that had set so many foolish woman-hearts to thinking of him.

' Tell us, please, if this is Maumee Creek ; and is there any way of getting over ?' Her little, scarlet mouth suddenly parted in a bright, tunny smile. 'lt is Maumee Creek, sir, and there are two ways of crossing it, if you don't mind a little trouble.' She looked down at their booted feet, then up again at Clarence's admiring face. ' I don't believe we would object to following any advice you would give.' That same swret, caressing tone in his voice that Edith Sartories thought the sweetest music in all the world—that even at that very moment she was thinking of and yearning to hear, as, sitting in her room at the seaside hotel, she was reading his last letter to ' his own little darling.' And Gordon Caryl saw the same look brighten in this little rustic maiden's eyes, the same balf-deliclouo, half-shy flush delicately tint her clear brunette face, that he had seen in so many other women's eyes, on so many other women's faces. * You can either wade across, sir, or jump over—it isn't mora than six or seven feet wide."

A roguish little look rose In her eyes as she suggested both plans. Clarence turned to Caryl, who had stood all the while quiet and grave; but then Caryl usually was quiet and grave, for all he was considered the "best fellow of the lot."

* Shall we draw lots for a decision ?' ho asked.

And for an answer Caryl sprang forward and cleared.tac little, shallow 1 rushing stream with a bound.

Clarence assumed an expression of Injured pain. ' I wouldn't have believed it of you, Caryl. I never was an acrobat, but I can assure you I have no intention of being left out in the cold this way."

And, with his matchless grace and coolness, he sat comfortly down on a mossy rock and removed his low, handsome shoes and grey, crimson-marked, silk stocking*, dieplaying shapely feet white as a -woman's. And then he stepped in the stream, and wheD beside the youag girl, paused and bowed.

* V\ i'l yon let me escort you to the bank in safety ?'

It would have been impossible not to have heen amused by his mock, elaborate courtesy, and she smiled, shaking her head.

And then they all three stood on the opposite shore, where Clarence donned silken hose and Oxford ties again. Not till then did Caryl take any part ia the conversation.

' We are on our way to Bed R< ok Lake, : ho said, courteously. *We are not positively sure we are on the shortest road, or how nvuch further we have to travel. If you could tell us, Miss—' A grave little smile supplied the interrogative in his question. 'My name is Estelle, and I can tell yon what you wish to know ; but you are on the wrong road, if you mean to join the camp-ing-oat party on the late, np in the mountains. By this road you will have fifteen miles to go.' Clarence gave a dismal exclamation. ' Fifteen miles ! and high noon already ! That is appalling news, Miss Estelle ; but of course you cannot know our knapsacks are empty, and I am expiring of starvation.' She watched his debonnaire, handsome faee so earnestly, yet so modestly, while he spoke. Then she turned proudly towards Caryl. • If you will be willing to stop at our cottage, a half-mile up yonder,' and she pointed away np among almost impassable wooded slopes, ' I Will be glad to give you your dinners. Grandma and Uncle Thuel will be pleased to see yon, and it is directly on the right road to the camp. I csn show you the tents from our houses—the lake is just below, on the other side of the mountain. * Her ready, fluent speech, refined and gently spoken ; her sweet, half-reserved, wholly dignified manner, were most charming and girliih, and Caryl accepted her invitation readily. 'We will be only too glad and grateful. Come, Clarence, you're equal to climbing the mountain, I hops?' Clarence sent a glance to Estelle's eyes. ' With such a guide I'd follow the world over ? * Then, when a swift frown of displeasure darkened on Caryl's face, the meaning of which he well knew, he purposely dropped behind him, and walked side by side with, the silent, lovely young creature. ' Estelle 1 It just suits you, that soft sweet melodious name.' She flushed a trifle. 'I am glad you like it—l never did. I shall—now,' she added. In a curious solemn, little undertone. And their eyes met—only one brief look ; but after that, Estelle scarcely spoke a word on the toilsome uphill journey. But the arrival! Tired, heated, hungry though they were, they paused in raptnous ecstasy at the magnificent sight spread below them—the glorious expanse of lake and forest, lower hills and winding river, distant towns and nestling villages. • And yon live here ?' Caryl looked at her as though she were a saint. She laughed—her happy, girlish laugh. ' I have always lived here, and I love the place dearly.' With charming delicacy she left them alone with the silent, solemn scene that entranced them so ; and then, a few minutes afterwards, returned, accompanied bya middle aged man with a bronzed pleasant face. ' These are the gentlemen, Uncle Thuel,' she said, and then flitted away again, to leave the men to become better acquainted. Then they had dinner, at which a sweetfaced, white-haired old lady presided with homely, hearty grace. Hours afterwards, when, for the first time in all her life, Estelle stole off by herself purposely to think of a man's handsome face, and sweet, caressing voice, she tried to realise how it all had come about that Mr Algernon Clarence—she knew his name well enough by this time—how he had managed, after dinner, while his friend was talking with Uncle Thuel about the hunting and the fishing thereabouts, to find her out among the trees, and have a pleasant, long talk with her; and how glad he was to have seen her, and how he hoped to be allowed to come again often, while the camping-out party remained at the lake. And then he had told her that every night, when dark came, he should look up to the cottage perohed on the mountain side, and if he saw always a light in the highest front window—the little window away up in the peak of the roof—he would agree to hang a little white flag out every day ? It was something bo new to her, so romantic, bo Btrangely, inexpressibly aweet; and, with her young girl's heart thrilled to its very centre, Estelle shyly promised ; and—now they were gone. To-morrow would he remember or forget the little white flag—the sign that he thought of her ? And the very first thing that her eager eyes saw, when she looked down the clearing mists in the valley, next sunrise, was the pure white flag, blowing exultantly in the crisp westerly breeze. And at night, as handsome Clarence lay stretched in his hammock, ready to go to sleep, the last objeot his lazy blue eyes saw the tiny point of light, like some near-by star, away up on the dark, solemn, silent mountain side ! # * * « The bright summer days passed away, and many a time Clarence idled away a delicious hour with the girl, who had learned to watch for his coming as flowers crave the glad sunshine. Often Caryl came—grave, kindly, always bringing a happy smile to Estelle'd face, ever receiving a glad welcome; for—was he not his friend 1 And so the summer days passed away, and the gay little party that had camped out on Red Rock Lake broke np, each going their way ; and the last night that the steady little light, so like a star, shone down upon them, from the hillside cottage, Caryl was there without Clarence—for an imperious message from fair Edith that day had sent him speedily on his way toward her, eager to see her and take her in his arms again; while the light burned in the upper window for him! He had not gone to tell Estelle good-bye. He was a little cowardly about it, for he knew he conld not promise to see her ever again, and he dared not tell her about Edith Bartons. Caryl had spoken sharply to him. about it —more sharply than he ever had spoken before—but Clarence bad laughed it off. And gone—out of Estelie's life. That night the little light gleamed steadily all the hours until the usual time for its extinguishment, shining not for the lover Estelle loved, but for the man who had loved her with all his heart and soul—Gordon Caryl, whom she liked because he was his friend. That next day he went to say farewell, and there was nothing for him to do bat to tell her just how it all was; and then to witness hor proud, silent agony, that refused itself plaint or cry. ' If you could but forget him, Estelle! Can you not forget him, and let me love you ? Oh child, child ! if you but knew to what rest and comfort and happiness I would take you ?' Her quiet white face awed him, as the face of the dead silences one.

•That never could be," she answered, simply. ' I could never learn to unlove him. And besides,' and a strange, wandering faraway look came to her eyes that terrified him, because he saw that the awful sorrow was stealing her reason—" besides, lam very sure he will come back again, and if the light should not be burning—' # # # #

It has been fifty years since then, and Clarence and his frivolous wife have led a cat-and-dog's life, until their grandchildren have learned to hold them in contempt; while away up among the solemn, silent mountains there Uvea a silver-haired old womrn, with a sad silent face, 1 the one chief business of whose life had been, for half a century, to keep ready for its nightly burning a little, old-fashioned lamp. And not a night has it ever been miesing, shining like a star from the window of the little cottage, where Gordon Caryl and hia sister have lived years and years, the trnej honest friends of the gentle, patient, pitiful old woman, who waits, and waits, ai)i waits