LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2419, 6 January 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

WILFUL MARGARET. [From "The Argosy,”] ( Concluded.) ‘Miss Darrell,’ Colonel Massingham began, In quiet, manly tones, as they stood facing each other, ‘ I am not a courtier, and I fear have but little romance to spend in sentimental speeches ; your uncle, probably, has told you of my hopes ; have I been presumptuous in entertaining them?’ This was a very different mode of wooing from that pursued by the passionate, vehement George Wilson. Madge was Domewhat puzzled by its truthful and earnest straightforwardness. ‘I will be candid with you, my dear,’ continued the colonel, as she stood debating how to answer him ; "you are not my first love —the memory of that is too dark to be shown to you—and I am nearly twice your age; but if you can accept tho true and honest affection that I now offer you, I pledge you, by my honour, that from me you shall never have cause to repent it.’ He put out his hands as if to take hers in his, but she kept them folded together in front of her.

* I should not have spoken to your uncle ’ he added, ‘ had I not felt that I had received sufficient encouragement from you to justify such a step.' Ibis latter allusion wes unfortunate. All Madge’s offended dignity bristled up again ; the softening effect that had been stealing over her gave place to angry passion. In words of scorn she upbraided him for his presumption in imagining that she favored his suit, barely knowing what she said. Colonel Massingham fixed his clean, steady eyes on hers, and she was fain to droop as she foolishly cast from her that procions gift, a simple, honest love. Without vouching another glance at the unfortunate man whose hopss she had so ruthlessly quenched, Madge swept from the room. Stunned by tho unexpectedness of the blow, for ho truly loved her, Wilfred Massingham sat lost in a dreamy stupor. Twice within his life had he now loved, and twice had his heart been lacerated and tom by the capricious sex. He bowed his head in his hands as tho memory of the dark past ran riot through his brain, bringing before him one who had seared his heart’s affections — for ever, he had thought then. It was not until he saw Margaret, he learnt that he still could love. Were the women all alike, he wondered —yet, how he loved her! The dusky sifadows of evening began to fill the room, when some one entered and disturbed his rovoria. It was George Wilson ; George with a look ef triumph sparkling in his wondrous eyes. * Congratulate me, old fellow,’ he cried m joyous, rapturous tones as he held out hia nand to Wilfrid ; * I have won her.’ A look of pain passed Colonel Maasingham’s calm features as he took the hand that was offered him. ‘ I do congratulate you, Wilson,’ he said, in tones of deop and sincere earnestness ; * the fight has been a fair one, and you are the conqueror. Margaret is wilful and high spirited ; but she has noble qualities, and she will be what you choose to make her.’ ‘ Wh»t I choose to make her I—do1 —do you think that?’

‘ Yea, if she loves you. I can but hope she does—as you have won her. George Wilson’s shallow nature was moved by his companion’s earnestness. ‘ Poor fellow,’ ho cried to himself when left alone ;‘ he feels it pretty keenly. He’s not hall a bad sort. It’s a pity Madge hadn’t the sense to acoopt him. He’s just tho cool sort of fellow she ought to have for a husband. Egad! I’m not sure that I haven’t made on ase of myself. She’ll be the deuce of a trouble to manage.’ So! Those were Mr George’s sentiments. While Madge had kept him at arm’s length he had felt all the excited zest of pursuit; now that she had come and, of her free will consented to be his, the pleasure began to pall, and he longed for a new face to stimulate him to fresh exertion. And Madge—where is she ? In her bedroom, with no light save the dim grey of the approaching night. Her face is pale, and there are signs of scalding tears on her cheeks as she rises from a pitiful attitude. A faded rose-bad, wet from the touch of her warm young lips, is in her hands. Bow little does Wilfrid Massinghatn deem thit his offering is so carefully treasured ! Opening her desk, Madge presses her lips again passionately to the withered bud and then places it beside that one other most dearly loved and prized of all her possessions—a look of her mother's hair—that dear mother whose memory Is to her as a misty, half-forgotten dresm. How often does she yearn for that one tender sympathetic breast on which to pour out her joys and griefs ; with a mother to guide and train her how different she would have been 1 The little secret drawer is closed with a snap, and the two mementoes slumber side by side In a darkness as deep as that now closing around Madge’s wayward, untamed heart. The next morning Madge came down, prepared to ride Wild Sorrel. Buckle, wait ing at breakfast, looked askanoo at his young lady’s habit. ‘She be main masterful this morning, miss,’said Thomas, the old head groom, *1 had a sight of trouble to saddle her.” Wild Sorrel shock her glossy mane scornfully, as if she understood the complaint but felt utterly indifferent to it. ‘ Hold her head, Thomas,’ cried Madge, disdaining his warning as sho prepared to monnt. George Wilson was beside her. He stepped forward to assist her, but she motioned him back. * I do not need any help, thank you,’ she exclaimed curtly, as she sprang lightly to her seat. Wild Sorrel turned her eyes on her with a surprised look, as If wondering at her temerity in mounting her. Contrary, however, to Thomas’s expectation, she stood quite still and allowed Madge to soothingly pat her neck. Madge was a fearless rider, and knew well how to manage a stubborn or restive horse ; but the mare’s great strength and character for vice may well have aroused the groom’s fear for their young mistress’s safety. Colonel Massingham came forward. He and Madge had met at dinner the preceding night—to outward observers just as usual. Perhaps he may have been a trifle more grave : but, if so, his gravity was counterbalanced by his feverish brilliancy; she seemed resolved to outshine herself. He now advanced and tried to prevail upon her to change her steed for ono less uncertain ; but the quiet words in which he urged his request seemed to add fuel to the fire. * Stand back,’ she cried ; * I am going to start, and Wild Sorrell may do you harm.’ The Colonel turned appealingly to George Wilson, who was prepared to mount a beautiful bay that bis groom was holding. * Will you permit her to risk her life like this?’ he said to him in tones that had an unconscious ring of scorn in them. George shrugged his shoulders with selfhh deprecation, as if to intimate how useless it would be for him to oppose his will to hers. Thomas had opened the gates, and Wild Sorrel was beginning to get restive ; but Colonel Massingham, who had caught sight of oho squire’s figure advancing in the disstance, still maintained his grasp. Whether she feared her uncle would stop her, or that her own self-dissatisfaction goaded her to passion, Margaret, with an angry flush, raised her small gold-handled whip ; at the same time Wild Sorrell tossed her head, the colonel wan dragged forward, and the blow that had been aimed at his hand alighted, with fall force, on his cheek. A livid weal rose on it as, stung by the sharpness of the pain, ho slackened his grip of fhe reins. In a moment, and before he had time to tighten it, they were wrested from him and ho was left standing by himself ; Wild Sorrel was curvetting and prancing down the lane, followed, at a respectful distance from her heels, by f-Jeorge Wilson on his well trained and easily managed bay, They rode along, Wild Sorrel pretty onlit. She soon dropped into an easy canter, and as Margaret felt the exhilarating effects of their healthy exercise her anger began to subside, and qualms of remorse, that she had allowed her temper to master her in her conflict with Colonel Massingham, to tafte Its place. She would not, however, allow this to become apparent to her oompanlon, but, on the contrary, exerted herself to make tho ride agreeable to him. * Wild Sorrel’s character has been maligned,’ remarked George, as, after abont an htur’s riding, they turned their horses’ heads In the direction of homo.

Madge smiled with self-complacency ; as If the merits of the mare’s Improvement In j temper was due to her rider’s skill. They were now crossing a large breezy common about two miles from the hall, and Madge, deceived by W'ld Sorrel’s good behaviour, and relying on her own self-con-fidence, was not so mnoh on the alert as ehe should have been when riding an unoertaintempered animal. As they reached a crossroad a large gipsy caravan met them. Now anything in the shape of a waggon was Wild Sorrel's pet aversion, so, as soon as she caught sight of the large, clumsy looking vehicle piled up with its motly collection of articles, she planted her fore-feet firmly on the gronnd and raised her head with a snort of displeasure. At the same time an nglylooking cur ran out from beneath the gaudilycolored van and snapped at her legs. Like a flash of lightning the vicious animal lowered her head, threw back her ears, seized the bit between her teeth, and darted off with the speed of the whirlwind. Mr Wilson started in pursuit, bnt his horse was no match in speed for Wild Sorrel, and there was soon a long distance between them. Madge, he could see, was sitting well, bnt it became painfully evident that she was not strong enough to cope with the prodigious strength of the mare now that she was on har mettle. Had the road been straight there would have been less danger; ehe might even have succeeded in tiring out the creature’s violence ; bnt the mare had left the track. She was taking a sidelong course over the common, and George’s face grew pale as he saw her heading directly for some gravel-pits, Into which she would assuredly hurl herself unless her wild career could bo cheeked In time. Cold drops of terror burst out over his face as he strained every nerve to urge on his horse. ‘ Too late,’ he groaned, in an agony of remorse for not having lent bis voice to Colonel Masaingham’s when trying to dissuade her from her purpose. Wild Sorrel was within a few yards of the pit, the opening of which was concealed from view by a alight ascent, fringed at the margin with some stunted furze bushes. He closed his eyes so that he should not see the catastrophe. In that critical moment a horseman appeared in sight on the right. He was galloping at fall speed, as if to head, and thus stop, the runaway. It was Colonel MasBingham, who had sought the solitude of the common in preference to the garrulous companionship of his host, and thus had been witness of Wild Sorrel’s mad flight and Margaret’s danger. Regardless of self he dashed forward, and reached the brink at the eame time as Wild Sorrel. The mare, hearing the sound of hoofs, had slightly slacked her tremendous pace ea he neared her 5 he leaned forward, and, by a dexterous movement, grasped her reins close to the curb. By Madge’s orders it unfortunately had been fastened too loosely to be of mnoh use with an animal of Sorrel’s calibre. The movement stopped the mare so suddenly that she was almost thrown back on her haunches. In a moment Margaret had slipped from the saddle, and then there was a scream of terror. A falling of gravel was heard, and her preserver and his steed disappeared from view as the edge of the pit gave way under the weight ond pressure brought to bear upon it by the struggling horses. Wild Sorrel trotted off quietly and began browsing at the turf as if in her own paddock. George, startled by Margaret’s scream, harried to the scene. With soared face of an ashen pallor, she was clambering and slipping frantically down the rough sides of the chasm, at the bottom of which Wilfrid Massingham was lying with closed eyes, motionless, as If dead, and with his half-stunned horse a few feet from him. But few signs of life were In the still form when the girl reached it; she ahnddered as she saw the blood oozing from a gash dangerously near to the left temple. A strange, calm, self-possession stole over her as she watched George and some labourers who had witnessed the accident take a handle that was lying near and place him upon It. Her own hands helped to strew it with fern and heather, so that he might lie softly. They were not far from the hall. She walked beside the sad procession alone ; George rode off at his beat speed for a doctor. ‘ Leave him to me, my dear,’ exclaimed the motherly old housekeeper, as he was laid on the bed that had been hastily prepared for him on the ground floor; but Margaret heeded her not. With her face as pale as the death-like one before her, she stood watching the efforts made to woo back the spirit that seemed about to spread its wings. The squire, helpless in the sick room, had wandered to the lodge gates, anxious for the doctor. The housekeeper and maids were doing all they oonld for their master’s Injured guest. Margaret seemed lost In a dream.

‘For my sake,’ she kept murmuring to herself, as the unwonted tears blinded her eyes. She stooped over him to wipe his forehead with her handkerchief; then, carried away by some sudden and uncontrollable impulse, she bent over the prostrate form, and pressed her lips to the ornel livid mark on his cheek that had been caused by her hand. Remorse and repentance made her oblivions of the presence of the women j but other eyes than theirs had seen what she did. George, returning with the doctor, was standing in the doorway. ‘Madge,’ he cried, half angrily, half in astonished wonderment, ‘ how impulsive yon are I Masaingham is no end of a good fel low-hut, hang it-all, it’s too much to kiss him. What does it meau ?’ * It means,’ she cried, in a sharp, anguished voice, as she swept past him, ‘ that I have discovered my mistake, I cannot be your wife, George, for I love Wilfrid Massingham.’ For several days Wilfrid Maasingham hovered on the borderland that separated life from death, and then the scale turned ; nature triumphed. George Wilson, finding that Madge was in earnest in breaking her engagement with him, had left Waver ley. Left it boiling over with rage and love—or what he deemed was that passion ; for it had sprung to life again with all its old violence when he found that ho had lost that which be thought he had gained. Madge treated him so cavalierly that he was compelled to accept his dismissal; and Wild Morrell was sent to Tattersall’s. Her mistress had vowed never to mount her again, And the time went on. It was a bright day early in October. The sun was shining with a cheerfulness that was very pleasant, though the weather was sufficiently chilly to make a fire agreeable to those whom age or illness prevented from indulging in open exercise. Colonel Massingham fast progressing io convalescence, was seated before the library fire in a roomy arm chair, well stuffed with pillows and shawls. A low foot-stool was before his fset, and a book was in his hand. It was lying, however, idly on hia knee. He seemed to be lost in meditation. His faoe was still pale from the effects of his accident, and the wound on his brow waa healed ; its place being marked by a ecir that he would carry to his grave. Perhaps he waa recalling the last time that he had eat in that room, when Margaret had so ruthlessly shown to him hia folly in turning to one of her sex. He had seen her once or twice during his illness and been struck by the change in her demeanor —so different to her old imperious ways. He knew that George had left, but could only guess at the cause. While thus ruminating the door opened, and with a soft, rustling sound of her long sweeping dress, the object of hia thoughts entered the room. ‘I am so pleased to see you down stairs again,’ she said as she advanced towards him. After a few more words of greeting, her tongue seemed to fail her. She began rearranging a bouquet of autumn flowers In the china bowl that stood on a small ornamental pedestal near, and Colonel Massingbam’a eyes rested, a tender love beaming in their sad depths, upon the fairest bud of them all. The slight air of embarrassment that dwelt upon her beautiful face made it more womanly than in the old days of her pride and petulance. Margaret had a task before her. She had nerved herself for its fulfilment, but now that the time had come her courage seemed to fail. ‘ I have never yet thanked you for what you did ou that dreadful day,’ she began in a low, hurried voice, and shivering slightly. The colons tried to atop her words, but tne moat difficult part of her task was to come; and, now that she had made the plnnge, she would not spare herself, humiliating though it might once have been to her proud spirit, ’ ‘ Will you forgive me. Colonel Massingham,’ she continued, speaking in a low, ashamed voice, while her cheeks burnt with, a vivid red, ‘ for my —for my rudeness, my insolence to yon that morning, when you tried to keep me from riding Wild Sorrel ?’

‘Margaret,’ he answered In soft, kindly tones, ‘come here, and let me tell yon a dream that I had that day as I was lying at the gates of death. Ido not remember being carried to the house. I was as one dead, when, suddenly, I felt the warm touch of lips pressed to my face. I believe that touch saved my life ; as I half opened my eyes, I saw that an angel was ministering to me. With that kiss the mark was wiped from my cheek and the remembrance of it from my mind.’ The crimson tide surged through Margaret’s veins, dyeing her bosom, her cheeks, and her brow with a bright, roseate Hush, as she listened to the tender wistfulnesa in Ms voice. With a piteous little cry she pressed her hands before her burning face and sank on the soft rug on her knees before him. He leant forward eagerly. • Margaret,’ ha cried, as he rested his strong hand on her shoulder with a soft, caressing touch, 1 tell me —what is this ? Was my dream reality ? Has an angel come to wipe out all the darkness from my past? I think It most be so. Dome, rise my love. Here—at my side ; not there, at my feet.’ ‘ Yea, here—at your feet, Wilfred,’ she burst out passionately j *it is the fittest place for Wilful Madge when she surrenders her will—her faults, her everything—to her lord and master.’

With gentle force ho drew her to him ; her head rested against hla shoulder. One hand was held in his as he stooped and pressed his lips to her brow. ‘No, not at my feet, dearest,’ ho murmured ; ‘but here—on my left —next my heart, with my right arm free to shield and protect thea. Wilful Madge !’ ‘ Not that name with you, Wilfred,’ she whispered meekly, as she raised her shy eyes, luminous with their newly-found light; 1 never wilful again with yon.' ‘ Be it so,’ came the fond accents ; ‘ to me, Gentle Madge, my loving wife; to all the rest of the world, as of yore, an’ yon will, still nnoonquered, Wilful Madge.’