LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2432, 21 January 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

IN A TERRIBLE MIST. fFrom tho “Argosy.”] “Yes, 'Winnie, I say it, and I moan it—yon are a cruel ccquotto. You know that I love you more than life itself, and yet you take a pleasure in tormenting roe ’ * It is you who torment mo witu your jealous suspicions, Noel, and your tamper is simply unbearable, I warn you that you may try me too far.’ This fragment of dialogue reached my ears one autumn afternoon aa I—tho1 —tho vicar of Penravon —was returning homo across the hoickta after a long round cf parochial visits. Tho speakers stood facing each other, on the dusty, sunburnt turf at tbo edge of tbo cliff, too much absorbed in their quarrel to notice my approach. Not that my presence would have grsatly disconcerted them had they been aware of it. I had known both Winnifred Oarlyon and Noel Tremaine from childhood, and should probably have the pleasant task of marrying them, If all went well—though the course of their true love did not seem to bo running smoothly.

It roust bo admitted that there was some ground for their mutual reproaches. Tremaine, who was a clever young mining engineer, had the quick temper which often goes with a warm heart. As for Winnifred, her best friends could not deny that she was wayward, though so thoroughly lovable withal that h-r little fallings, which time would certainly correct, might well be forgiven. She was the orphan grand-daughter and spoilt darling of the wealthiest man for miles round Penravon—old MichaelJOarlyon, too shipowner—and was, beside, as pretty a girl as you would meet in a summer day. Neel’s stalwart form, and handsome, vivacions, olive-tinted face, made a picturesque contrast to her delicate beauty ; a botcermatohed young couple c mid not havo boon found in tho duchy. Just now, however, neither cf my favorites appeared to advantage. Tho girl was flu-hod and defiant, her companion whito with angor. Hitherto their disagreements had merely been the “ renewing of love,” but in this there appeared to bo something more serious. 1 What, quarrelling again !’ I exclaimed, looking at them severely over my spectacles ; 4 whan will you two learn to agree ?’ They started and turned, both looking rather guilty. ‘Noel has insulted me, Mr Glynn!’ Winnie declared hotly. ‘ I havo not—unless truth Is an insult, ’ asserted Noel; ‘I said that you ’ ‘ There’s no need to repeat it,’ interposed Winnie.

• Excuse me,’ he returned ; as yen have appealed to Mr Glynn, it is only fair he should know what has passed. I said it was scandalous that you should encourage other men’s attentions when you are my betrothed wife ’

Winnie laughed provokingly, though her fingers trembled as she trifled with a spray of heather in her breast, •la no one else even to look at me without vour permission?’ oho asked. •Ku one shall make love to you if I know it,’ ho snnverod between hia teeth. ‘ And pray who has done so ?’ Tremaine hesitated a moment. ‘ Walter Borlace, for one,’ ho said at lenuth.

Winnifrad raised her pretty brows in affected astonishment.

‘ Walter Borlace I why—l have known him all my life. Wo are almost like brother and sister. ’ ‘ A little less than kin and more than bind,’ quoted Noel, in an angry laugh; * you know well enough he is in love with you.’ ‘I ’ Winnie began, then stopped short, coloring to her temples. ‘At any rate ho has never told mo so,’ she finished proudly. ‘ But you know it well enough, I repeat, and you encourage him.’ ‘lt is faiae 1’ she interrupted; ‘I have never encouraged h'm.’ ‘IS is trne,’ returned Noel; ‘I have watched you, and I know it. I am not blind.’

An angry retort rose to her lips, but abe controlled herself.

* Yea, Noel, you are blind,’ she said more gently; ‘you are blinded by jealousy, or you would know that, whatever my faults may be, I sm not untrue or false hearted. But you can think bo if you choone,’ ebe ccn ■ eluded, raisidg her head proudly ; ‘I will bo indifferent to your opinion.’ ‘ You would not say that if you really cored fer mo,’returned Noel, ‘but you don’t. I havo long thought that your Jove is given elsewhere, and now I am sure of it.’ Her lip quivered, but oho said nothieg, looking away from him across the calm, sunlit sea.

Noel gczed into hor face as if he were trying to read her heart in it. ‘ls it so?’ ho questioned, with fierce anxiety ; ‘ hava I lost your hoart, Winnie ?’ Her breath cams quickly ; she raised her eyes to his with a look which ought to hava convinced him to the contrary; but meeting hia anxious suspicious gaze, her face freze again. ‘ Yon hava not taken much trouble to keep it,’ was her reply. He drew a quick breath and stepped back from her.

* I see—it is as I thought,’ he muttered, with an expression in hts eyes that almost marred the beauty of his face. 4 As such is the ouse,’ he resumed, speaking slowly and with difficulty, ‘I release yon from your promise. I will not wad a woman whose heart is elsewhere.

But listen ’ —he caught her wrist, bending his angry face close to hers— ‘ if yon will not be my wife you shall be no other man’s. I will kill you first.’ She drew back with a faint cry, turning suddenly pale. 4 Tremaine, you forget yourself !’ I interposed ; ‘ your temper betrays you into conduct that you will blush for later. Threats tnd violence—for shame I’

And, to do him justice, ho looked ashamed of his outburst.

4 Come, come,’ I continued paternally, * yon r.rc both wrong. Temper on one side, pride on Ibo other. Forgive and forget, both of you, and resolve that thij shall be your last qurrrol.’ • That it certainly shall bo,’ Winnie said quickly, but in a tone of resolution that was new to her.

Her young face bod a hard, resentful look tlr t altered it strangely. c You have given me my freedom,’ she continued, turning to Noel; ‘ I accept it. Fere is your ling. Henceforth you and I arc strangers.’ She held it out to him, and ao he made no movement to take it, throw it at his feet, and went her way, with a firm atop and erect figure, taking the road over the moor towards Borluoo Court, as the old-fashioned manor house was called, Tremaine mechanically pinked up the ring, and stood, looking after her, with a blank, incredulous expression, as if he hardly realised what had happened. The tempest of passion had passed as quickly as it rose, leaving p.ain and remorse behind;

I Do you think she is in earnest, Mr Glynn ? ’ ho asked at last, in a tone of dismay.

*lt locks very like i f ,’ I answered dryly. * You think she really intends to take me at my word, end But, good heavens, I did cot mean it! I was so maddened with jealousy I hardly know what I said.’ 1 You must have been mad indeed to believe for b moment that Walter Borlace had taken your place in her heart,’ I said; 4 Sho did not contradict mo,’ ho muttered. ‘ Pride scaled her lipo, but her face spoke for her, if you had had eyes to see.’ He was silent a moment, looking down. Eis colour came and went; his face was troubled and remorseful. ‘ I have acted like a fool! ’ he burst out at last ; * I know that she is true at heart, in spite of her little coquetries, and I have driven her from me—perhaps for ever! What shall I do ? Do you think she will forgive mo ? I will aak her pardon on my knees ’

‘ I hope you will do nothing so ridiculous, ’ I interrupted ; it will be better policy to keep owo.y for a few days, until she has had time to think it over, and then ’ ‘And then, perhaps, I shall find that she has engaged horeelf to that follow’—ho nodded towards Borlace woods— ‘ in a fit of pique. Ho ; I will not eat or sleep till my ring is on nor finger again. She is gone to the court to tea ; I shall wait here till she returns, and it will bo strange if 1 can’t win her pardon for 6 few hasty words. She knows that my temper, and not my heart, was to blame.’ ‘ You must learn to control that temper of yours,’ I said gravely, as we shook hands, 1 or it wiij lead you into terrible trouble some day.’

I little thought when I uttered that prediction how Boon It was destined to be fulfilled. He tamed from me w thout replying, and I left him standing with folded arms on Penravon Cliff, while I went on my way home, pondering with a bachelor’s amused perplexity on the strange inconsistencies of ‘the passion called love ’ Five minutes’ walk brought me to the vicarage—a low, square house of grey atone, facing the sea, while, its back windows looked out over the broad purple mocr. Between the honec and the cliffs stood the church, a quaint, weather stained granite building, said to be of sixteenth century architecture. In stormy weather its walls were often wet with spray, and in its crowded graveyard many a humble stone bore witness to the perils of those that ‘go down to the sea in ships.’ The most striking object intho view from my windows was the ancient Mnrtollo Tower on Penravon Cliff, locally known as tho ‘ Sugglers’ Keep.’ The vaults beneath, had once been used as a storing place for contraband goods, and It was said that a subteranoan passage connected them with the beach, but the entrance in the face of the cliff had probably long ago been blocked up by falls of rock. These slips were of constant occurrence, sometimes only consisting of loose stone and sand ; bat often great masses of reck, detached from the overhanging edge, wont crashing and thundering to the beach. The narrow footpath, passing the churchyard gate, wound along feuravon Cliff, and dipped abruptly into the wooded hollow which sheltered the village—one of tho moat picturesque on the Cornish coast. Its steep zigzag main street went staggering down to the water’s edge, whore It terminated In a little jetty of rough boulders and dark beams dripping with sea. weed. The houses were, for the most part, low atone cottages.

A couple of hours later, having dined and rested, 1 strolled out through my garden into the humble “God’s aore ” which adjoiuedit, and sat down on tiie low stone wall, under a twisted old thorn-tree. The glory of the evening had departed, and twilight was gathering over land and sea —a chill grey twilight , with something melancholy in its utter stillness.

As I sat smoking meditatively, and watching old Dan Xregallas, the sexton, who was digging a grave not far off, two figures approached along the path, looming suddenly out of tho mist—Winnifred Carly on and Walter Borlace. The latter was a slight, rather effimlnate looking young fellow of two or throe and twenty, with pale grey eyes and thin lips—as great a contrast to Tremaine in person as in character. There had always been a latent antagonism between the two men, which only (needed a pretext to break into open enmity. His expression, as he looked down into his companion’s face, left little doubt as to his feelfngs for her. But Winnie did not seem to observe it; her eyes were bent on the ground with a downoaat, troubled look. Neither of them noticed me, though they passed so closely to where I sat that I could not help overhearing a part of their conversation.

‘ Why do yon look so sorrowful?’ were the first words 1 heard in Walter Borlace’s soft drawling voice; *it seems to me that you ought to congratulate yourself on your escape. What chance of happiness would you have had with Tremaine—a violent, dangerous fellow, who ’ ‘ He is nothing of the sort,’ she interrupted quickly; ‘you were always prejudiced against him, and for no earthly reason.’

• And yet you told me just now that tie had threatened your life !’ exclaimed Borlace. * He said some wild words in the heat of passion,’ replied Winnie; ‘but of course they meant nothing. I am very sorry I repeated them. 1 was the most to blame ; X ought not to havo provoked him to anger.’ He [glanced at her with an unpleasant smile.

* I see —It is tho old story. You have quarrelled j ast for tho pleasure of making It np again.’ She shook hor head. • Not this time ; it has gone too far,’ she said gravely. 4 Are you sure of that ?’ he asked, taking her hand, and speaking for once without affectation ; ‘ are you really free ? Then, Winnie, I may say to you at last what has been > n my lips many a time before, though you would never lot me speak. I think you know what it is. You mast know that

Winnie colored, and drew her hand away. ‘ Walter, please say no more,’ she interrupted ; ‘I am not in the mood to listen just now.’ Her thin lips tightened. ‘ Will you ever ba in tba mood,’ he questioned. * Some other time I may be—l don’t know —but certainly not now.’ She put out her hand as she spoke. ‘ Don’t trouble to come any further, she added abruptly; ‘ good-bye.’ ‘ Are you offended with me ?’ ho asked, bending to look into her face. ‘ No, no bnt—but I would rather be alone.’

‘ How white yoa are,’ he exclaimed, as they shook hands; ‘ and yoa are shivering. Are you cold ?’ She laughed uneasily. • No, it was only a nervous tremor. Someone is walking on my grave, as the country people say.’ Be lingered a moment, twisting bis neat little blonde moustache as ho looked after her; then with a slight shrug, he turned and walked slowly away in the opposite direction.

I watched the girl’s retreating figure till the mist hid It from view, wondering if Noel was still welting on Peuravon Cliff, and whether there would be another angry scene when they mot. As the thought crossed my mind I was conscious of a strange, uncomfortable feeling, snob a- I have experienced sometimes in a troubled dream ; a vague dread ; a present meat of some impending calamity which I was powerless to avert, I tried to shake it off, but it clung to mo, assuming in every moment a more definite shape. At length, yielding to an impulse which I could nut understand, I swung myself over the low wall, and followed her:

The mist was now so dense that I was obliged to proceed cautiously lest I should stray from the path, which at some points was dangerously near to the edge of the prcclpitlous cliff. I had passed the spot where I parted from Tremaine, and was approaching the old tower, when a confused sound of voices reached mo; voices I recognised, though the speakers were as yet invisible.

4 Winnie, don’t madden me ! Yon know that I didn’t mean what I said. 4 Take back the ring.’ 4 After you have insulted and threatened me? Never!

No, you shall not force it on mo ; lot go my hand—how daro yon 1’ 4 1 daro to do anything rather than lose yon.’ 4 This is not the way to win mo back. Let go my hand—yon hurt me ! Ah, take care, Noel ! you will—’

The words broke off in a scream—a cry so wild and terrible that it wont through my nerves like an electric shook. In another moment I was on the spot. Tremaine was standing, rigid and motionless as a figure carved in stone, on the extreme verge of the cliff, gazing blankly into the depth below, where there was nothing to be seen but the drifting mist; nothing to bo heard but the wash of the incoming waves upon tha rocks. Where was Wlnnifred ? When I put the question in a faltering voice and laid my hand upon his arm, he slowly turned and look at me. I trust I may never again see on a human face tho expression his wore at that moment —the speechless horror and despair which scorned to petrify every feature. Ho tried to answer, but no sound came from bis white lips. He mutely pointed down to the beach, 4 Great heaven!’ I gasped, ‘you do mean that you—that she has fallen over V He Inclined his head.

* We were standing on the path close to the edge,’ ho began la a low hoarse whisper ; ‘ I tried to force the ring upon her; she resisted and straggled to get her hand away. I loosed it suddenly—so suddenly that she staggered backwards, and—and before I could prevent it, she ’ His voice broke; a shudder ran through him from head to foot. He threw up his hands with a wild despairing gesture. 1 1 have killed her—l that would have died for her! I have killed her—my love, my darling I Well, it is but a step to join her.’ {To continued .)