LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2369, 5 November 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A FIGHT FOR HIM,

Miss Forsyth.

Ten years ago I was an inmate of tho Soldi ffe Convalescent Home. I had been very ill before that—at one time even given up, and glad in my own heart possibly that there was so close an end to it all, and a prospect of long rest and no more taskmasters. .... , . • I had been worked to death, the doctor said ; how I could have kept up so long had been a matter of perplexity to all those interested in my case, Everything had been agaicet me, difficult and responsible work, ursympsthetic employers, weak health, scairy means to supply the delicacies which everybody recommended me, and mental trouble —a ‘something on my mind,’ of which nobody knew, and which I, being a proud young woman in my way, was not likely to confess The doctors guessed as much, and ask-id a few general questions, but they were not Inquisitorial. They warned mo, that was all. I was not to brood ; I was to keep cheerful; to let tho car is of the world go by me quietly; and there was a probability I might recover in due course of time. I was strongly recommenced to go to Madeira or Algiers, but as I had no money and few friends, I remained in London, drooped, sickened more and more, gave up, went into the hospital, fought a hard fight for life, or had it fought for mo by wise and clever doctors, and finally was sent to the home at Seac!ifl j , by special interest of the faculty, and here, amongst seventy or a hundred convalescents like myself, I, thanks to the fresh scenes and the keen sea breez?, gradually got well and strong. It was here I met Misa Forsyth, a young lady trying very hard to get well and strong too, and not making such a rapid progress as she wished, and indeed as she had expected. Miss Forsyth was one of the rich patients, for whom private apartments were supplied at a fixed rate, and it was one of tho roles of the establishment that those oouvalescents of an inferior order, and who had been admitted simply on charitable grounds, should, when well enough to do so, aisist in waiting on the better classes who might be located there. Is was considered a return of friendly service for tho benefits of better health conferred, and did not press heavily upon the poorer inmates as a rule. It pressed heavily upon me, for I was poor and proud, and the humble folk amongst whom my lot was thrown had known no better days, like me. Many of them were domestic servants, or workmen’s wives and daughters. It was my aad lot to have been a lady once. Not that I uttered a complaint, or that there was anyone to guess that I felt this duty irksome—a punishment for which I had not bargained, and from which I had not the power to escape. It was no false pride that stood in the way, rather a true pride, brought out by conta't with Miss Forsyth, on whom I had to wait a little, and who was a young lady hard to please. I may say at once that I did not like Miss Forsyth, though I tried to do so by way of a beginning She was of my own age—some people said at the home that she was not unlike me in appearance, but this was fancy—but a young woman more difficult for one of her own sex to ‘ take to ' I had never met.

Lydia Forsyth was of a fretful and complaining nature, and exacting to a degree. Of a jealous disposition too, which seemed to envy me my better health, and take it as a slight that she should still be left a weak and ailing woman whilst I showed signs of improvement every day. That I should get well and she should get no better was one of the Inconsistencies and injustices of Fate against which she protested very peevishly. Wo had both turned our one-and-twentieth year, and were no longer girls We were both of age, and both—yea, both—very far from wise.

4 Sometimes I don’t think T shall ever be any better,’ Miss Forsyth said one day; 4 is is such slow and weary work waiting to get well.’ 4 You have not been here very long, Miss Forsyth.’ 4 it seems an age,’ she replied 4 and what was the use of calling me a convalescent, and sending mo to this placn, if 1 weren’t to got stronger when I came ?’ 4 The fault of your medical advisers, perhaps ?’ 4 No, The fault of the institution, which should have closed its gates upon such an imposter as I am,’ she answered. • But you are not any worse.’

4 koa cannot tell the state of my health. 1 believo I am,’ she answered snappishly at this.

. I did not argue with her on the point. I vraa hardly certain myself, and as she telegraphed to London for a physician to come down to her at any expense the next day, my cpinionjwonld not have been of any value to ha? then. The physician came, received a heavy fee for special service, conferred with the resident surgeon attached to the establishment, and went his way again. I was curious to know what he had said as to the condition of Miss Forsyth, to whom I played the part of half laliea’-maid and half companion, bnt she did not satisfy ray curiosity. All I knew was that she said in the evening, crossly, ‘ I wish that man had never come,” bat the why and wherefore of that wish was not imparted to me. Still she wai curious as regarded my own business in life, and that was a little aggravating. She was anxious to learn everything about myself, my birth, parentage, and antecedents, why I had coma down in the world, and by whose fault, and what I thought of the lower stratum of society to which I had been reduoed. This was not out of sympathy with my past, I was very well assured She took advantage of my defenceless position so much that at last I asked the superintendent of the institution to place me somewhere else away from her. ‘ You surprise me,' said Mrs Soloombe, and she was certainly very much astonished at my jequest; * Miss Forsyth has expressed herself as completely satisfied with yonr kindness and attention.’

It was my tarn to ba surprised now. ‘ I should not have thought it possible.’ ‘She will he very much hurt if I make any alteration, Will yon try for another week ?’ ‘lf you wish, madam. But I would jrefer to go away altogether.’ , ‘ t h ! you are not strong enough for that ■yet,’ said the superintendent, with a smile ; ‘anti here is a young lady of iuiluence and considerable wealth who appears to have taken a fancy to you. Might I not suggest that it would bo policy to conciliate and please her, if you could ?’ ‘ It is not in my power. 1 ‘ I must confess she is a very eccentric and irritable person,’ said Mis Seloombe, ‘ but all that may bo natural to her weak state of health. She should not have come, I think. It was a mistake. It was too soon,’ she added, gravely. ‘ Don’t you think she ’ And then I paused, interested in Mies Forsyth more than I thought I could bo. ‘ That she will get over it ?’ Mrs Selcombe concluded for me ; ‘ well, between ourselves, Mias Douglas, I don’t think she will.’ ‘Ah! that makes a difference, indeed,’ I responded; ‘ I will not complain of her again. I will servo her with all my heart.’ A STRING OF QUESTIONS. I did my beat after that day to make myseir agreeable to Mias Forsyth. She interested my mind at last, though she was to me a mystery. I could not detect any -affection in her nature towards me, any particular wish for my society, any common liking for a subordinate whom chance had put in her way. Rather the contrary, after ali, I thought ; and after a few days’ cl sot study cf her, and, with a wish to set her in a brighter, clearer light—surely the contrary. unless the art of disguising one’s feelings were singularly exemplified in her case. That she was not happy was evident ; that she was dissatisfied with the institution, with the inmates, with the superintendent, and the servants, with everything, was also very certain.

Oae afterroon, dospito all my caution, and my new interest in this fretful and capricious young lady, I nearly quarrelled with her ou my own account.

‘ I often -wonder how you have existed here so long,’ ohe said to me ; * can there be anything more distressingly monotonous than the drag drag, drag of that wretched sea over the stones day after day ? It wearies mo to death. ’

Wo were in the grounds cf the Institution, and on the top of the cliff. It was a bright summer's day, when the sea was full of golden ripples, and to complain of it seemed loeresy

‘ Zen should read more, Miss Forsyth,'

‘ Oh, I detest reading, ’ she replied ; * the very sight of a book Is enough for me—it reminds me of my hateful boarding-school lessons, at which they kept mo chained till ! was nineteen years of age.’ Mias Forsyth had been evidently 1 backward ’ in her studios, but I did not hazard any comment thereon I said, however, ‘ I meant light reading—novels and poetry, for instance.’

1 Novels and p:etry,’ she repeated ; ‘ oh ! they are all about love, and I don’t believe in It.’

1 You are young to be sceptical, Mias Forsyth.’

* You do, then ? ’ She turned upon me with her plain, dark face, taking, as I fancied, darker hues at once. I did not answer her instantly—l had been speaking generally—l had forgotten how, in ray own case, it was very easy to believe that Jove was simply a mirage. I answered her, after a pause. ‘ I think there is a great deal of love in tho world,’ I said, ‘or people would not write so much about it.’

‘ People often write about what they don’t understand,’ was tho very true assertion here.

‘ Some people—not all,” was my reply. * You believe in love, then ?’ she went on persistently. * Yea, 1 I answered, wishing and hoping this would end the discussion.

1 Then you are a lover,’ she said very quickly ; some one on whose faith you rely who you are sure looks up to you as to his divinity, and to whom you look up, knowing of his truth. So that’s it, Douglas ? Is not that it ?’ she added in great excitement and a strong anxiety for my answer, ■Oh 1 no—that is not it. That la far from It,’ I said, attempting a laugh, which was badly done. * You are not tolling me the truth,’ ahe cried, angrily ; ‘ you are deceiving me—you know you are.' I shook my head. This was the old subject upon which I was never disposed to be communicative, and least of ail was I likely to confide in Misa Forsyth. ‘Ah ! well—then it has bean, ’ ahe said ; ‘ there has been somebody to love once, and to make a hero of ? Somebody to die for—as they say in the novels you recommend me so earnestly to read. lam very sure of that, Douglas.’ I did not answer her now. I was not pfeased with her tone of inquiry, and this addressing me by my surname invariably irritated me, and seemed to my suspicious mind to irritate me.

‘ I suppose ydu can confess that, at any rate. It is no State secret which you have sworn to keep inviolate,’ she said. ‘ I do not understand why you should be so curious about me. Miss Forsyth,’ I replied. ‘Oh, I’m not curious about you, Douglas ; don’t think that,’ was the scornful answer ; *1 only asked a simple question, which your previous remarks on the affections suggested.’ ‘ I have made no remarks on the affections.’

4 You will please not to contradict me,’ said Mias Forsyth with great haughtiness, 4 or I shall report you to Mrs Selcombe. You forget your position altogether. ’ 4 And so do you, madam,’ I answered tartly; 4 you forget the respect due to me and my past life j and you will pardon me, Mias Forsyth, but you forget yourself a little.’

I went away with flashed cheeks and beating heart; I was tired of Miss Forsyth, and determined to leave the Institution rather than subject myself any longer to her peremptory manner—to her arrogance. I had done my beat with her, and failed. Mrs Selcombe must bo getting in her dotage to think my mistress had conceived in her heart any love for me. What had put it into the superintendent’s head I wondered more and more—-what had Miss Forsyth said about me to give so false an impression to one so very cool and practical, as a rule, as the head of Seaohffs House ? I walked towards the house brooding upon all this ; I had resolved to proceed to my own room; to think it all out after a good cry over the indignities to which I had been subjected, to write out my application for withdrawal, to scribble, perhaps, a few hasty lines to Miss Forsyth, and which I thought in my conceit might do her good, and render her more considerate of the feelings of her who would take my place anon. I had nearly reached the porch, when Mrs Selcombe, attended by a gentlemen, stepped from beneath ic into the garden. The gentleman was looking straight ahead, and did not see me ; Mrs Selcombe was too busy just then to take much heed. She was pointing out the way to him.

4 Yon will find Miss Forsyth over there, sir.’

‘ Where the white parasol is ? ’ he asked. 4 es. That is Miss Forsyth,’ answered Mrs Belcome somewhat inconsistently. 4 Oh ! —thank yon.’ Ho raised his hat and passed on. It was he I —it was my old lover of whom Miss Forsyth had been curious—it was the somebody I had loved once, and, God knows, made a hero of. I turned hastily from him ; I went with down eyes and rapid steps along the path which went completely round the Institution; I entered the house by a side door, and hurried up stairs to my own liltle room, wherein I locked myself away from all the word 4 CONSCIENCE MONEY ? ’

Here was something to think about at last —here was mystery and perhaps romance—here, at ad events, to my mind, was the clue of Mias Forsyth’s extraordinary manner towards me. the had known my story all along ; It had been no chance series of questions, no Idle curiosity, then, bat part and parcel of some plan in which he was also concerned, that had led to this talk of my dead love, of my poor, weak, dead lover It had been “arranged” between them, I thought indignantly, bat for what reason, or with what possible good, was beyond my conjecture. The story was finished ; It was all over—wo had said good-bye for ever, Luke and I—why should his shadow come thus between me and my peace of mind again? Might it, after all, be one of those strange chances which do occur in life, and which are more remarkable and frequent than sceptics will believe ? I thought for a moment—but only for a moment. It was not possible. By chance he might have oome to Seacllffe—by a stranger chance he might have known Mias Forsyth ; but there had been no chance in the lady’s questioning of me, or in her anxiety to know whom I had loved once upon a time, and the length and breadth and depth, too, of that affection. No, it was no chance, Lydia Forsyth had known of my past engagamont to Luke Macfarlaue, and by what means ? Only by one means could the information have been imparted to her, by Lake Macfarlane himself. For what reason was not clear to me, groping in the darkness of my new and confused thoughts—but it was evident that he had told her. and she had followed me to Seaeliffe. What did It all mean ?—what wore those two plotting 7—what possible reason could place their minds in conjuctiou to work together against the peace of my own ? I don’t think I had been a suspicious woman up to this time of my life ; but I was suspicious now. Miaa Forsyth obtained her information from Luke—she must have done so surely. I had never spoken to a living oonl about him and me, and of the love we had Imagined to exist between ns before hia mother parted us—and he had respected his mother more than me—over so much more. I had given him up for good, and gone out into the world with a still tongue and a braised heart ; it was he who had babbled forth his version of the story, and this was the result.

I folt humiliated and aggrieved, I thought he might hove kept as silent as myself—and that for my sake it was his duty I had never doubted his honor until now—of his firmness and his power to resist calnmny and trouble I had had my doubts ; at hla constancy 1 could afford to laugh a little bitterly, Heaven is aware. But for Luke to tell all this to Miss Forsyth, to let her know what a deal I had thought of him, and to set her here as my mistress, as a spy, as a tyrant, and inquisitor—was it possible in this man ? Even now I could scarcely believe it —I could not understand the motive. It became more impossible in theory the more I brooded over it. I tore up the letter I had begun to indite ; my plans were all changed; the thought of leaving 'eaoliff was set aside at once ; the resolution to submit to all the taunts and caprices of Miss Forsyth was again fixed in my mind, but this time for a reason lying far apart from any sympathy with her. I was on guard, and the truth of it all was to be discovered, if possible. From the window of my room X could see the seat where I had left Lydia Forsyth—but I was no witness to her meeting with Captain Maofarlane. They had met before

I had the courage to look out; they had strayed from my range of vision altogether, I thought, until presently they passed before mo in the distance, she leaning on hia arm and looking up into his face. They were talking earnestly and walking very slowly ; one might have fancied them lovers from my p.’.int of view, and I did so very readily. It was a eorry fancy to me. After the two long years of grim silence, too, following a parting for over. I was resigned long ago. 1 had been certain, until that day; I was sure it had been eo much for tho better that wo should say good-bye, so much tho belter for him ! If I had not thought bo in my heart whoa I had first declared it, giving him hia chance of separation from mo. I had learned to think so since when he had taken me at my word and gone away. And yet my heart was throbbing painfully and quickly again, and tho figure in tho distance had conjured up a heap of memories. The past was so close upon me I could have wept as over yesterday’s trials and troubles, instead of over those which had been surmounted more than two years since. Presently she sat down and made room for him on the seat which I had quitted, but I noticed he walked up and down the path instead, and in his old restless and impetuous way which I remembered so well. Were they quarrelling ?—was it not all happiness with him In hie new choice ?—I did not think it could be, knowing her and him. Certainly ahe was very rich, I thought sarcastically, and gold covers a multitude of imperfections, as charity covers sin. He had loved me once, when it was reported that my father was a rich ms.n, when —and then I went back from the window, resolved to look no more, and to play the unworthy spy no longer on them. They had played the spy on me, one, or another, or both —but I need not watch them. I had my task to carry out—to find the reason for their hunting me down ; perhaps it would become my duty to defy them presently. I waited In my room patiently ; it struck me that, when he had gone, Misa Forsyth would send for me, Krorn him she might receive fresh instructions, and, being on my guard now, I should be quick to guess their purport. I was not wrong in my thought of being sent for. After an honr had elapsed, one of the servants of the institution knocked gently on the panels of my door. * Miss Forsyth wishes to see you as soon as you are disengaged. Miss Douglas,’ said tho voice without in response to my Inquiry. * I will be down directly,’ I answered. I descended a moment or two afterwards, and entered Misa Forsyth’s room in, I think, my usual self-possessed way. It had been an effort, but I was very calm. 1 Where have you been all this while ?’ she asked, peevishly, even suspiciously, or I was mistaken in the look in her dark eyes.

4 In my room,’ I answered, quietly. ‘ I thought you remained In the grounds after our little dispute,’ * No, Miss Forsyth,’ I replied, ‘I went straight Into the house.’ 4 I was a little hasty and too curious. ’ eho went on, very softly now, 1 and you will not think anything more of what I said, I hope ?’ * I will try not,' was my answer. « You don't bear me any malice, Douglas ?’ « No, madam, I accept your apology, very willingly,’ I said. Her facs flushed, but she said, ‘ That’s well. Sit down and help me with my wool —I am going to be very busy this evening.’ 4 Indeed ?’

4 1 have been told to-day that I give way too much. That I should get better more quickly if I were more composed and less hysterical. Yon see,’ she added, with a strange forced smile, 4 1 have been reproved and worried as well as yon. ’ 4 Indeed V I said again, for want of a better reply at the moment. 4 I wish you would not keep saying, 44 Indeed,” ’ she added, fretfully; 4 have you not forgotten all my hasty words yet ?’ 4 1 will try to think of them no more. ’ 4 And you don’t bear me any malice, I ask again ?’ 4 Certainly not.’ 4 1 have been lectured to-day very severely.’ she continued, * and perhaps it has done me good, and taught nia humility. I suppose it has strnck you that 1 am, at times, a very disagreeable woman ?’ 4 Now and then,’ I confessed. *lt has crossed my mind, Miss Forsyth, that you might be more agreeable to others with advantage to yourself.’ 4 Vary neatly put,’ she said, satirically. There was a pause, then she went on again, with her watchful eyes upon me, I was sure, if she were watting for the effect of her next words upon her listener, I had at least the satisfaction to baulk her. For I was strong now,'and quite prepared. 4 Certainly the gentleman who lectured mo had a right to school me,' she said, 4 as presently I may take his name, and share the remainder of my life with him.’ 4 Indeed V I said, for the third time, and Miss Forsyth stamped her foot, and looked for an instant disposed to throw her basket of wools at mo for my stereotyped reply. My mild surprise was aggravating, though I had no Intention of annoying her. I was only acting my part of an ordinary listener. 4 Yes, indeed! You did not know I was engaged P’ 4 1 certainly had not the slightest idea of it, ’ was my reply. 4 No one has told yon ? And yet these reports are quickly, and even mysteriously circulated, as a rule,’ she said, 4 are they not V

‘An a rule, yea. But then there are not many members of this institution likely to be acquainted with the facts of your life, I should think,’ I replied. ‘ Not many. But some people are curious, and try hard to know everything. Mrs Seloombe Is curious,’ she added, ‘ I have not remarked it myself.’ * Ah I then I have,’ she answered sharply ; ' directly my friend had gone, Mrs Selcombo wanted to know who he was, and would have been glad to learn what particular business had brought him to the Home. As if 1 were compelled to tell her—as if I am here to submit to her order and caprices like the rest of yon.’ ‘ You are required to subscribe to the rules of the establishment, whether a paid inmate, or, like myself, on charity,’ I said. ‘ Yes, I understand that, but still one does not care to be criticised. He would not wish me to be criticised, I am sure,’ she added thoughtfully ; ‘ if you only knew what a hasty man he is !’ (To be continued.)