LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2338, 30 September 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

LOYE ON CRUTCHES. (Concluded ) * Persia, when did you see Abby Barlow P Who introduced you ?’ ‘ I saw her last week, mamma, when I ■went with Stanley to the islands.’ Mrs Talbot’s Hps shut together with a spring-lock. What she thought of her son-in-law elect it had always been easy to guess by what she did not say. t ersis looked at her inquiringly, and as their eyes met a cold glitter of determination rose in both pair of orbs. Gentle Persia had steel in her composition ar well as her mother, the two natures nv.-t sometimes and struck fire. ‘ I think, mamma,’ said the young girl, a few weeks later, ‘ .1 shall go to Boston and submit to the operation I spoke c£,’ Her voice was low and sweet, hut there was no wavering in it. with my consent, my daughter.’ ‘ I am so sorry, momma ; but yeu will think better of it. Papa has consented. He la geing with me, and —and—Mr Warner too.’ . There was no help for it. Persis had set her feet in the “ terrible way,” and Mrs Talbot, with a woman’s heart, could do no less than follow. The werld knew nothing of the object of the journey. But Ephraim Zelie learned it from his Aunt Blake, who, unless sbe shut her ears, could not help hearing the warm discussion between mother and daughter, which wore incautiously carried on iu her presence. Woman like, Mrs Blake took sides with that ‘ coldblooded Warner,’ who ‘hadn’t any more feeling than a billet of rock maple.’ She went to her nephew with the story because she knew he had friendly interest In Persis. * Eat if you’d never set eyes on the sweet lamb, you couldn’t but want to take her part, ’ cried she, thurstlcg her needle into a bit of carabi ic as savagely as if it had been an imaginery poni.vd and the cloth the un* fooling breast cf AS Warner. Ephraim sot his teeth together and whittled a shingle into the shape of a tomahawk. It would have been a waste of breath to tell Aunt Blake how he longed to nish to the rescue and save his devoted Persia from her ‘ hard wood’ admirer.

• I£ she is going to marry a man with a soul as big aa a muepcnce, I think I could bear it,’ groaned ha inwardly. 1 Oh, little Persia, ia there nobody to save you ? Uy poor, dear lamb ! ' Meanwhile the travelling party of four was a cheerful one to all appearance ; and the two lovers, living on smiles and moonbeams, seemed to forget the terror that was to come. ‘ I am doing It for Stanley ; ’ this was the girl’s thought. The time of triad drew near. Thus far Persia had not faltered. The next day would prove how much her stout heart could bear. ‘ Good night, dearest ! ’ said Stanley, as they parted at the foot of the staircase in the ha'l of their hotel. ‘ Good night ! Don’t dream of cruel steel. Dream of me and the trace! al little bride I shall claim one of there ays.’ The old ready blush flickered on Persia’ cheek; but no smile came with it. She shuddered and drew away. Something in her lover’s tone hurt her. She had been half conscious of the same thing before; bnt to-night, as if she had wakened to it for the first time, it gave her a thrill of pain. ‘ I am doing it for Stanley,’ thought she, as her head sought the pillow. But the magic had somehow gone out of the words. What if she were doing it for Stanley ? Was that going to take away the terror and the agony I Was there length and breadth and depth enough ia his love to atone for a’l this ? How could ho let her suffer so ? Ah, there was the sting! Not that, he persuaded or even advised her; but then ho certainly had not opposed the undertaking, He had let her see clearly that he should be gratified if she had the fortitude to bear it. And why ? Because then he could claim a ‘ graceful bride.’ Not a ‘ wounded dove.’ Not a woman who faltered in her gait, but one who walked among other women as their peer. And this was the way ho loved her I The man for whom she had already to sacrifice so much ! Persis could not sleep. ‘ Her soul kept up too mcch light Under her eyes for the night.’

Next morning she knocked betimes at her mother’s door.

‘ What ie it, my daughter ?’ ‘ When does the early train leave, mamma ? I think T will go home.’ * Why, Persia, this is the day—’

* On which 1 have come to my senses.’ ‘ What do you mean, child ? I wish I could hope that you had given up this mad scheme ; but I suppose that is past praying for.’

‘ Mo, mamma. I have given it up; and that is not all, nor half. I give up also the proud man who is willing to let me suffer. ’ Mrs Talbot caught her beautiful daughter in her arms.

‘ Blecs you, my own little Persia,’ said she ; aud the rigid look she had worn ever since starting for Boston fell off like a mash.

‘He is a cold, ambitious man, went on Persia, rapidly. ‘ I always knew it, but trying to thiuk it was not so. The man I marry must not be like that. He must be aa kind and tender to me as you are, mother.’

This was all the poor little girl could say, clinging fast to the one dear friend whoso love had never failed her. The brave spirit which had been ready for physical suffering had not yet braced itself against this new and worse trial. To live, and to live without Stanley! The thought seemed to blacken the whole future with the abomination of desolation.

* Stanley,’ said she, as they met in the parlor, ‘ I’m going home to-day,’ ‘Going home!’ repeated he in astonishment, looking at her with his placid blue eyes which certainly were not dimmed by want of sleep, ‘Yes,’ said Persis with a sad emphasis. ‘ I have spent the whole night in thinking. I do not blame you for being what you are ; tut I shall not give up my crutch, Stanley, and so I can never keep pace with you. For the future you and I must go separata ways my friend.’ ‘ My sweet Persis, you have never so much aa hinted at this before. Your nerves are shaken. Let us walk In the fresh air and talk this over a little.’

The tone was kind, but th?re was just enough patronage in it to irritate Persia and confirm ht rin her new resolve.

*My nerves are as firm as stool. Ob, Stanley, it is not that ! It is that you are ■willing to lot me do it! Don’t talk to me of love 1 I have had a vision of what real love is, and it is something quite, quite different from yours I’ Persia’ voice quivered, and words came with difficulty. ‘Poor child,’ replied Mr Warner, indulgently ; ‘ as if I had ever advised, as if I wished— ’

But the girl had fled. Cut of the room, out of the house, anywhere just then, to escape the presence of the man she had determined to thruat from her heart. Gasping a little for breath, bat otherwise composed and quiet, she stopped at the end of the corridor, near an open door, and casually glanced out at the street In doing so her eye fell upon a familiar face, and she turned suddenly away, but not before she had been observed.

‘ Persia ! Miss Perris! ’ cried an eager voice, and Ephraim Zeliei rushed up the stairs with both hands extended.

She had not thought of seeing a friend from homo, and whoa he came forward and greeted her with such unusual warmth of manner, a revulsion of fooling swept over her, the fearful calmness gave way, and she sobbed like a child.

‘ Dear Persia, if I could only do anything for you,’ said Ephraim, hanging over her tenderly, and in his earnestness forgetting to be awkward.

Ho never doubted she was w’eeping at the thought of the outrageous suffering before her, and he could have fought his dastardly rival with » good will. He did not tell her ho had corno to Boston for her sake, just to learn how it fared with her; much lots would ho have had her know that ho slept as little last night as herself, and was now on his way to the surgeon a on a fool’s errand ; to bog him to have pity and stay his knife. ‘ If there were only something I could do for you,’ repeated Mr Zodo in an agony, not daring to speak more explicitly, for he was supposed to be profoundly ignorant of the whc.lo affair.

‘ You caa’t help me, you cau’t help me,’ said poor Persia, stifling the sudden wish to

confide in him. At that moment their old friendship asserted Its half forgotten sway ; she was carried back In feeling to the years when she had gone with all her childish griefs to this awkward, ‘ worthy,’ sympathetic Ephraim. But no, It would never do to tell him what she was suffering now; pride forbade. She only said — *We have been here at Boston —father, mother, and I —for a few days. We are going homo this morning. Something has occurred —I cannot tell you what—-which makes mo unhappy ; but it is all for the beat, Ephraim, and one of these days 1 shall see it so.’ .. ‘God grant it!’ ejaculated Mr Zelie, having no idea of Persia meaning, but secretly exultant that she was going home, and the object of the journey had not been accomplished. . ~ . The days and weeks which followed were dreary ones for Persia. She could far better have borne the surgeon’s knife than the lukewarm regrets of Stanley, who felt that gallantry demanded him to pursue her for a certain length of time with protestations of his nndiminished regard. . ‘No,’ replied Persia firmly, and feeling more and more that she was in the right, ‘ I will not make it possible for you to ropent and be ashamed of me. ’ At last Stanley made a final how and withdrew, a little relieved, perhaps, to find his persistence all in vain. Persia was certainly a charming creature, but he had all along been conscious that his feelings had betrayed him into a rash engagement. A lame wife would bo rather a millstone around a man’s neck, as she had the good sense to perceive. He married six months afterwards a fair girl with “ little feet like mice, which could trip faultlessly through a quadrille. . . ‘ That was the way he loved me, said Persia bitterly ; and she the worn gold at the top of her crutch as if that enchanted wand had saved her from a broken heart. Time brought back the lost roses to her cheok, and m.re than one lover came to sue 5 but ‘ she did net care for love,’ she said. Mrs Talbot watched her daughter anxiously. She was surprised one day to see her face light up as bphraim Zelie bowed in passing. * Ephraim is a rising young man ; he will make his mark in the world,’ said she shyly ; • but look, Persia, how awkward he is.’ . ‘ Yea, mamma,’ was the quick reply; • but for my part I am tired of elegance ; 1 consider awkwardness so refreshing. ‘ Ah, ha 1 Blows the wind in that quarter ?’ thought mamma, and went on demurely with her knitting. Persia ard Mr Zelie had grown to be fast friends again ; but It was a long time before Persia understood the nature of the friendship or came to any knowledge of the deep love which lay concealed beneath Ephraim’s rough exterior, like a pure fountain underground. She had grown a little distrustful. ‘ Men were all alike,’ she said^ But somehow when Ephraim spoke she listened and rejoiced. She believed in him; and so at last the ‘ worthy yonng man ’ was rewarded for his years of hopeless constancy. ‘ It took a bitter experience to teach mo the difference between gold and tinsel ’ said the happy bride, hopping up to her busband’s chair one day and stroking hla rugged eyebrows with her slender hand j but now-a-days I must say Ephraim, a lump of the genuine ore looks good to me even if it Is half buried In quartz.’ 1 Thank you,’ laughed Ephraim, *lf yen mean me 1’