LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2340, 3 October 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

CHRISTIANA. ( Concluded.) C :.rl felt his face slowly crimsoning under her words, and it was long before he dared to lift his eyes to his wife’s face; but when he did he found it oalm, fair and serene in expression, as usual, He went and sat down by her. ‘ You do not mind what the old gossip says of me, Christiana !’ Christiana looked him quietly In the eyes.

• I have heard it before.’ she said. ‘ More than one person has been kind enough to tell me of this girl whom yon once loved. And now I think you ougnt to tell me all about it.’

She was so calm, so mild, he felt ashamed of himself for not having told her something of the affair b fore. Hut he had found it very hard to talk of Bdich Morrow to her. Now he know ho must; so be told her briefly. *lt was nothing. Cnly he was somewhat attentive to this Miss Morrow, and might have grown to love her had she been a different woman. But she was a sad flirt -a coquette—and had had one or two affairs of the heart, and he could not bring himself to take the leavings—the crumbs of any woman’s heart. So he wont away, and never dreamed she would care, bnt it seemed she did.’

‘ 1 am sorry for her,’ Christiana said, with a tremor in her voice. ‘I am very sorry for her. J he must have felt very, very unhappy after you had gone across the wide ocean and left her. I think nothing can be so sad as to have the oee>ti lie between you and one you love—hopelessly love!’ Carl looked at his wife with surprise. Her eyes were wide open, and looking far away; her sweet mouth dropped at the comers, her voice trembled. How strange that she, usually so cold, so unmoved, should feel so deeply in his former rival’s heartache. Carl began to think that his wife was a mystery—a riddle. He tried to bo absent the following afteruoon—‘ business called him out during calling hours’ —but Edith Morrow was late making her call, and he met her on the stairs as she was coming out. fhe had changed—ha could sso that; but she gave him a bright smile and a pleasant word of greeting, and he wav the more agitated of the two. Christiana saw that he was paler than usual when he entered.

‘You met your old friend on the stairs, did you not V she queried. ‘I think she Is very lovely. I wonder you did not marry her. Carl ?’

Ho looked at her uneasily. Did she see his agitation—the agitation he could not control at the eight—at the thought—of Edith Morrow?

‘Yon know why,’ he answered. ‘I do not want a wife who has only the remnant of a heart for me. I want all or nothing.’ She flashed her eyes upon him for a second with a look ho had never seen before.

‘ And suppose I should want all or nothing of my husband’s heart ?’ she queried, ‘how very fortunate it would be for me, would it not?’ And then she laughed, ‘But no,' she added, ‘it is not so with me, lam quite content to Vie last. I think that is best, after all. And I am very, very sorry for 4'ias Morrow for all she has suffered, and that my gain should be her loss.’ And for the first time since their marriage Christiana slipped her hand into her husband’s of her own accord, and resttd her head upon hio shoulder. It makes a possession so doubly dear to know another covets it. Two months later ' arl sent a note to his wife one night saying he had been invited out t"> a club supper, given in honor of two old friends of his who had just returned from China ‘I saw Mrs Barclay, ’ he added, ‘ and she is to call for you to attend the theatie with you to-night. I will join you later in the evening.’ The club supper was a success, given in honor of Grant Somers aud Begal, the artist, whom Carl had not seen for several years »i hear you have married a beautiful foreigner.’ Grant Somers said during the evening- * I was surprised for the last news before that was that you and la belle Morr -w were to go to the altar. How was that?'

Carl had been drinking wine freely, and was in that excited stats that makes a man’s tongue loose and hie wits scarce. Had ho been himself, he certainly, if he laid claim

to any breeding or worth whatever, would never have been guilty of speaking a lady's name In a club room in the manner he now spoke of Miss Morrow. 'La telle Morrow ?’he repeated —‘why, what man wants to make a remnant of a woman’s heart —a second place, even ? _ The lady in question had had too many affaires (Vamour to suit me ’ ‘ Miss Morrow has been a great belle,’ Grant Somers answered, ‘ but I never knew that she had ever been seriou-dy interested in any man herstlf. And ivea if she had, s not last love most always better than first? 1 think so. j Grant Somers was a great ‘lady’s man, and not altogether a man of principle, but he was careful in his speech of women, and did not like the way in which Carl spoke of Miss Morrow.

‘ It makes no difference to mo what others think,’ Carl responded, ‘ I could never take a second place in a woman’s heart. It must be all or nothing.' An hour later the party broke np and proceeded to the theatre, Carl parted with his friends. Grant Somers and Begal, at the door, and sought out his wife. She was looking royally bsantifnl, and he was proud as he saw the glance of his friends from across the honae fixed npon her. 1 There are the two friends I dined with looking at yon now,’ he whispered to her, 1 and, by-the-way, one of them Is your old friend Begal, I wonder if he will know you ? ’ Ohisttana lifted her glass, glanced at the gentleman in question, and suddenly fainted away. There was a scene of confusion for a time, and Christiana was carried out, accompanied by her alarmed friend and husband, tihe recovered after a few moments, and said it was nothing at all, only the heat, but begged to be carried homo. And Carl took her home, a wild storm gathering in his breast all the way. Once there, alone in their room, ho faced his wife. She was very white, very beautiful, as she sat there in her evening dress. He, too, was white and stern ; she scarcely knew bis face.

‘ So yon lied to me,’ he began ; ‘lied and deceived me concerning this artist, Kegal ; led me to think you scarcely remembered his name. Yet yon faint away at eight of him. Woman, what was that man to you ?’ She smiled wearily. ‘ He was nothing—nothing to me.’ she answered; * only a good friend to the last. ’

He ground hie teeth in rage. ‘ Why do you try to deceive me now ?’ he cried ; • you know It is useless, worse than useless. Your swoon meant more than the heat of the room. It meant an emotion, the cause of which I swear I will know this night, or leave yon forever! ’ • Yon shall know the cause,’ she answered, very calmly, as she looked him full in the eyes, very quietly, very sadly. ‘ I was strangely, strongly stirred to-night—stirred, perhaps, even as you were a few months ago when you met Edith Morrow on the stairs ; for i saw a man who had been as much, or more, to me than she had been to yon. No, not Hegal, the artist, but hie friend and yonrs—Grant Somers,’ * Grant Somers 1 ’ repeated Oarl, In amazement. ‘ How is it yon have never mentioned his name before ? ’

Christiana smiled, sadly and bitterly. For the same reason, perhaps, that yon never mentioned Edith Morrow’s name to me,’ she said, ‘ until yon were compelled to, as I am compelled now, 1 could not mention it to yon unnecessarily, and no occasion demanded It,’ * Then I am to understand that—that this man is your lover P ’ Carl asked, his voice hoarse, his lips white. ‘ I loved him,’ answered Christiana, very simply, ‘ and 1 thought he loved me. 1 was bnt sixteen then, a simple, mountain girl He came with Regal, the artist. I was watching my father’s sheep that day, and they talked with me a long time. Mr Somers came again and again. Ho told me of the great world ; he said I was beautiful and fitted to adorn it. Ho made me dissatisfied with my surroundings and the people 1 had always known He told me that he loved me, and he said that 1 must go away with him to the great world. 1 was very happy for a few days, and then Mr Begal, the artist, came to mo one day—the day of which I once spoke to you. He told me Mr Somers was a wild, reckless man; that he did not mean well by me j that he had left a beantiful girl, far above me in social position, in America, whom he was to make his wife; that I must not sse Mr Somers any more. But I did see him once more. I told him what his friend had said, and he laughed.’ ‘ It is quite true, ’ he said ; ‘ I am very fond of you, Christiana, but I could never make you my wife.’

‘ When he said that I turned and left him. He followed me, but I shut the door In hie faoe. The next day he left the hotel, and I never saw him again nntil to-night.’

‘Carl had listened with clenched teeth and hard-drawn breath*. He was white as death, and trembling In every limb. He bad married this mountain girl, and lifted her to hla station in life, because ho had believed her wholly unsophisticated—her heart entirely hia own ; and all the time she had loved an ither man.

‘Go on,’ he said, as she paused— * tell me all.’

‘I have to’d you.’ she rep’ied quietly, ‘all save the sorrow, and the pain, and ths bitter loneliness of the months tuat followed ; for one cannot kill love in a moment, 1 know that Mr Somers had not been a true friend to me, yet when I knew the wide sea lay between us I was very, very lonely. And when yon came I think I cared for yon j ist because you were an American, at first; and I married yon because yon would take me to the world where he belonged ’ ‘ Great God ! and do yon dare tell me this to my faoe ?’ he cried. ‘ Yes—l am going to tell yon the whole trnth I married you without loving you, and in a very little time I learned yon did not love me. 1 heard you apeak another woman’s name in your sleep. I saw you look at her picture. I heard what that yonng man in London told yon, and 1 saw how unhappy yon were for days afterward. Then I felt very sorry for you, as indeed I did for myself. But after a time I felt differently —remember I am telling you the truth, Carl —I grew to love you; bnt I knew yon did not caro for me, and I would not trouble you with it. Bnt I have bean very unhappy for many months. To-night, when I saw that man s > suddenly and unexpectedly, it came upon me like a blow. It was not love of him. It was more like fear, and a strange rising up of my past btfore me That was all. It was not the emotion which made yuu so white and trembling ween yon met Edith Morrow, Carl ’ Carl had risen, and was excitedly walking to and fro. The revelation was so unexpected, so startling. The knowledge that bis wife had loved another man somehow made her seem doubly precious. Edith Morrow seemed in a distant dream. Christiana was the only woman in the world, and she was lost to him !

He put his hand over hia eyes. ‘ Oh, I cannot bear it! ’ he cried. ‘ I thought you were all mine, Christiana. ’ She rose up and came and stood before him. There were tears In her beautiful eyes, and she put her white arms abont bis neck. ‘1 am all yours,’ she said— 1 all yours, Carl, if yon will only love mo. And, dear, yon mnst be very good to me—very kind to me, even if you cannot love me—for our child’s sake.’

Carl Westoven looked down on the fair, flashed, tear wet face of his beautiful wife, and ha drew her to his breast in a sudden passion of ardent love and unutterable tenderness

‘ Let the past all go,’ he whispered, ‘ Let us forget everything bat onr present and onr future, my darling. No matter what has been in either life, we belong to each other now. for ever and ever till death parts us.’ ‘Till death part ns,’ she replied softly, and it seemed to both that they were newly wedded. A few wreks later Carl Westoven and his wife were bidden to the wedding festivities of Edith Morrow. Grant Somers was one of the guests, but though Christiana chatted pleasantly with him, she showed no trace of emotion in his presence, Carl, noticed, who, it must be confessed, watched her narrowly. And Christiana was equally happy in seeing her husband so unmoved as he congratulated the fair bride, and had no longer any sway over the heart that was at last wholly her

own. That was years ago. And this very summer, Carl and Christiana, and their beautiful fair haired boy, aro sojourning in the mountain home, with the dear old parents, who, thanks to Carl’s generosity, have every comfort and many of the luxuries of life, and who worship, above all earthly objects, their blue eyed grandson.