AN ACTRESS'S HOLIDAY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2246, 14 June 1881, Page 4

AN ACTRESS'S HOLIDAY.

[From the "Era."] A hot July was drawing to a olose ; London was gaping for air; and those who had not yet left town were looking forward with eager longing to the happy moment when they should be able to do so. In the pretty drawing room of a neat little house in Primrose Place, Regent's Park, two ladies were seated by the open window. Tho younger was Winnlfred Earl, a rising young actress; the elder, Mrs Thorno, her sunt and companion. l Aa yon do not approve of any of the places I have suggested, I suppose I may conclude that you have already made up your mind where you will go?' observed the latter.

1 1 have, aunt. I feel the need of entire rest, and I intend to bury myself in a little country village where the inhabitants bnovv nothing of theatres, never heard the name of Pari, and won't recognise an actress when they Bee one. It is away down in the North. Don't you remember, when we were at Falrborough last year, we went for a long drive one day, and gave the horse an hour's rent at a pretty little village called Ashton 7 That, dear aunt, is the place I mean to go to now to spend my hard-earned holiday.' 'But, perhaps, they can't take us in,' suggested Mrs Thorno, catohing at a straw. 'Oh, yea, they can,' said Winnlfred, cheerily. ' I have written uo the landlady of the Longworth Arms, and she can give us good bodrooms and that same bow-windowed parlor for our exclusive use.' ' But what are we to do with ourselves when we get therft V ' There will be plenty to do, never fear. "We can go for walks and drives, and explore tho neighborhood, We can sketoh and make acquaintance with the rustics ; stroll by the river, and look at the clear brown water rushing over trie boulders ; or rest in the meadows, and watch the harvesters at their work, and the blue smoke curling up from the eottage chimneys.' 'Quite idyllio, I declare,'said Mrs Thome, with a faint smile. 'I had no Idea you cared for such things.' •Ah ! but I do,' returned Winnlfred. ' I love the country, though I seldom say so, and I really believe,' she added, laughing, ' that, under favorable circumstances, I should dovalop qulto a taste for country life.'

'Well, well, we shall see,' replied ths elder lady. ' For my own part I don't admire bine smoke or brown water, and, whatever you may do, I expect I shall And it fcorribly dull. Bat there, never mind me.' flhe added good naturedly, noticing the look of sadden compunction that crossed her niece's face. ' You have worked hard and are weary in body and mind, I know, and you shall spend your holiday exactly as you please.' The news that two Indies from London were staying at the Longworth Arms soon spiead through the village It was not tha first time suoh a thing had occurred, but still, strangers were sufficiently rare in Aahton to make them of consequence, and to cause their doings and appearance to be the snbject of general interest and conversation. MaDy eyes followed Winnifr9d and her aunt as they walked up the nave of the parish church the first Sunday after their arrival, and took the seats assigned to them in front of the reading desk. The old rector blfnked at them over his glasses, and tho joung Squiro, sitting alone in his big square pew, glanced at them from time to time with growing interest, and wondered vainly who they oould be. One was short, fair, and elderly; tho other, tall, darkhaired, and abont five-and-twenty. She was a graceful girl, but not handsome by any meana. Her mouth was wide, her nose nondescipt, her complexion sallow, but still Philip Lonj/worth liked to look at her as she sat with uplifted face listening with grave attention to Mr Byder'a earnest, thoughtful sermon. And the young Squiro was not the only person upon whom the strangers made a favorable impression. The rector's wife, a shrewd, keen-eyed old lady, was a'so pleased

to approve of them, and when, a day or two later, Winnifred and her aunt were surprised by a sadden thnnder shower while sketching the church and the quaint churchyard gate from a point plainly visible from the Keotory window, Mrs Byder promptly sent the houaamaid to invite them to come in until the storm was over. The rain was heavy, and no other house near at hand, and the ladies gladly accepted the kind invitation.

Afternoon tea was going on in the drawing room. Mrs Byder presided at a small round tabic, and a yonng man rcse up quickly to hand caps to the new comers. As be approached Miss Earl he stumbled and upset a little tea over the hem of her dress. 'Why, Philip,' exclaimed Mrs Byder, reproachfully. 'I beg your pardon, I am very scrry," he said, penitently, ' I hope I hav'nt done much harm.'

'None at all,'said Winnifred, smiling at his anxious face.

* Are ycu quite sure !' ' Quite.' He look relieved, and sat down near har. ' You have been, sketching ?' «Yes.' ' May I be permitted ?' with a wistful glanoe at her sketch book. 'Oh ! you. Bat you will find nothing there worth looking at,' she answered carelessly. ' Only commonplaco mediocrity.' Be took the book, notwithstanding, and he had not turned over many leaves when he ottered an exclamation of pleased surprise, and Winnifred, leaning forward, saw that his gaze was fixed on a little sketch of a rambling, picturesque old house. ' That is Longworth Hall, You know it well, no doubt.' He looked up quickly; there was an amnsed expression on hio face. ' Yes; I know it. Where was this view taken from ?'

' From the public path that crosses a corner of the park. It is a most interesting old place, I am told ; but, unfortunately for us, it is not a show place.' 'lt is not; but I shall be delighted to show it to you, if you will allow me,' said the young man eagerly. ' You ! why, who are you ?' aald Winifred, startled, ' I thought ,' and she glanced at tho white-hairod lady.who was talking to Mrs Thome. ' Oh ! you thought Mrs Byder was my mother,' returned Philip, laughing. ' No. Mr and Mrs Byder have known me all my life, but they are not my parents; although I have come to look npon them almost in that light since I lost my own. ' Then you must be the squire,' eald Winifred, looking at him with the mixture of curiosity and Interest with which we naturally regard a person whom we have heard much and favorably spoken of. And he returned her glance. ' Yes ; I am Philip Longworth,' he answered simply. He was a well-grown, good-looking young fellow ; hia face and hands brown with exposure to sun and wind, and hia expression kindly and good-natured, without being at all wanting in resolution and firmness.

For a few seconds their eyes met, and then Winnifred'a slowly fell. Keif-possessed as she was, there was something in tie earnest gaze of those frank blue eyes that fluttered and disconcerted her. But it was only for a moment, the next she had recovered herself, and said lightly—- ' Then I think I must have seen you last Sunday, Mr Loneworth. Did you not occupy a big square pew in solitary grandeur V

' I sat in a square pew, certainly. The grandeur is doubtful, and the solitude not at all to my taste, I assure you. When may I have the pleasure of showing you over the Ha'l ?' he added, bending towards her. Winnifred shook her head. ' Your offer is most kind,' she answered coldly, ' but it ia impossible that we should accept it. We are perfect atrangera to you, you don't know who we are or where we come from. If I had known that you were Mr Longworth I ahould not have made that remark abont your house.' (To be continued.)