LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2449, 10 February 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

MRS MACDONALD’S EXPERIMENT. [From “ Tinsley’s Magazine,”] (Concluded ) The clergyman and his wife, a weird end wasted couple who bad fought the fight with hard work, want of sympathy, poverty, and misunderstanding among the Penbarrowites for more years thin can bo readily enumerated, went to see her, and liked her for h' r* self, and trusted her for her undemonstiative goodness at once. She did not tell them that she was that Lady Skersdale whose disappearance from Fashion's gay mart was creating a pleasant stir in society oiroles and society journals. She only told them that her marriage hed been unhappy, and that she was alone in the world now, with the exception of her mother, who might earns to her by-and by. ‘Her mother's mas was Carylon,’ she added; and the people at Penbarrow lik»d her the better when they knew that the proud old Cornish name had been hors. But a till it stood between them and their rest that none of her kith and kin came near her.

‘lt waa’t like the Carylons to stand aloof from tbeir own, * they said ; and so, naturally, these objections of theii’S paved the jsvay to her next atop.

I ‘ Her brother had come to pay her a visit, she told Mrs Garth, the rector’s wife, one I day • and Mrs Garth’s heart ached more than it had ached for years, when she remembered that this sweet new yonng mend of hers had never spoken of ‘ a brother be lore. However, ‘Mr Carylon ’ was had In ai,d introduced to the quaint old dame, who had been salted out of all semblance to the pretty matron who came to the parsonage on the coast many years before ; and she tried not to see how utterly different this brother an« sister ware in personal appearance. Tried not to let doubts and fears that were derogatory to that glorious looking young woman assail her mind. Tried not to see that there was no fraternal ease and free dom between the pair. Tried to hope against hope, and prayed that she might bo shown, by a higher Power, the way to deal with th s dreadful difficulty. For, fight against it as -he would and did, the conviction was borne in upon her with cruel crushing force that this man who was living in May Maodona'.'s house was not May Macdonalds far ther. Tet there was something so Irresistible in his manner that, dest:uctive as she deemed him, she could not hate him and wish him gone. No! Old woman as she was, there was something too fascinating for | her to find the fault she knew was there, behind that bright, pleasing, seductive exterior and charming soul-fraught smile. But Yts ; though all these things were a snare to her, she knew there was a * bat * about hitn ! He was not what ho seemed, she knew ; he was not May Mac*. donald’s brother. Her heart quailed and misgave her horribly, as she asked herself, ■ Then what was he ?’ Time went on. The fair summer weather was In its best fulness over the land, and the summer sea, In its changeful beauty, was an object which May never tired of painting. Carrying her easel, always by her side, was the handsome young fellow, ‘her brother,’ Mr Carylon. The country people and fisher hovs and girls said among themselves that ‘ no sweetheart could think mote of a yonng woman ’ than Mr Carylon did of his sister. Sometimes the servants, gossiping in the village, would tell of stormy scenes that had taken place in the house on the cliff when Mr Oarylcn first came there. He had come in shattered health and fractions spirits, and the sister had been obliged to watch him carefully at dinner for fear he should take more wine than was good for him. Sometimes he would defy her and drink in sulky aolitnde, and go and rave at and reproach her “ for not treating her more In accordance with her duty." But she always had a soft answer for him, the servants added ; and though the tears would start to her eyes and the colour to her face when he spoke in this way, she never lost patience with him or said one stinging word. Kvidently her work was the redemption of this erring brother. While she was earnestly striving to carry it out, there came quite by chance to Penzance, with a touring party, a young Macdonald, the oonsin and heir presumptive to that Earl of Sbersdale, of whom society never heard anything now. He, the heir and consin, was not a bad-hearted or mischievous young man in the main, but he never could quite banieh the recollection that should male issue fail his cousin Skersdale, he, Ulric Macdonald, would inherit the title and estates.

It seemed to him like a special Interposition of Providence in his own behalf, when, one day strolling along the c'iffa by Penbarrow, he came upon a lady sketching, and in her recognised Lady Skersdale, his cousin’s wife. She greeted him very calmly and quietly ; told him that she was living there as • Mrs Macdonald ’ only, and, in answer to his earnest inquiries as to when she meant to return to that gay world of which she was one of tho brightest ornaments, told him,—

‘ Whenever my husband is ready to resume his place I am ready to resume mine, but I will not go back till ho is by my side j there is no safety for a wife in your heartless, scandalous world, apart from her husband.’

Tho sentiment was a beautiful one, and young Macdonald was impressed with Its sincerity. Still he did not understand this rigid seclusion and dropping of her title; and he pondered over the subject till it as mined gigantic proportions and overshadowed all his thoughts. In reply to his request that ha might call upon her, she said, ‘No, she could not receive gentlemen visitors, situated as she was at present;’ and his refusal of hers piqued him and made him suspicious. He hardly knew what he wanted to find out ; but he took to haunting Penbarrow, to lounging on the beach with the fishermen, with the avowed purpose of learning all he could about the pilchard and mackerel fishing. He treated them freely to tobacco and beer; and, under the influence of these things, they spoke to him of all things within their ken, including the lady in tho house on the cliff, who had a brother * who was troublesome in hia cups.’ Ha was not a bad hearted or evil-minded man; but ho could not help remembering that he had never heard of Lady Skersdale having a brother, nor could he quite forget that the downfall of his cousin's domestic happiness might materially improve his own prospects. 80, from tho moment he heard of this ‘ brother, ’ of whom no former mention had been made, he determined to leave no stone unturned that might lead to the exploding of the mystery. May often saw him wandering abont the cliffs near her house; and guessing bis motive and feeling indignant that he should suspect her, she resolved to baffle him. Accordingly she ceased to go out sketching on the coast, and induced Mr Oarylon to confine his walks to the garden by day and to the beach by night, when there was no chance of any one seeing him. As he would not go out of an evening without her, she took up the habit of evening strolls, and found it a pleating one, with a touch of romance in it, and almost sighed to think that the days would surely come soon when she would bo compelled to give up living this sweet idyll, and have to resume her life in that whirring London crowd, where there would be no time for reflection or evening strolls or quiet intercourse with this man, who was becoming dearer to her than life. One silver moonlighted evening they had wandered farther than usual, had got quite out of their own homo beat in fact, and finding an opportune seat May sat on it, and her companion flung himself on the soft salt turf at her feet. As they sat there, she bending forward to look into the eyes that were lifted to hers as to those of his guardian angel, her husband’s cousin and heir, Mr Macdonald, passed by. They both started to their feet, and May, linking her arm in her companion’s, rapidly drew him away by a path that led into the darkness of the gaps between the cliffs, where young Macdonald did not care to follow them. Two days after, society heard that Lady Skersdale had forfeited her place in it, for one of the following reasons, it did not much matter which: —She had eloped with the master of a fishing smack, and was seen selling pilchards in the streets of Penzance. She had gone off with the man who was teaching her to paint in oils. Nothing of the sort! She was openly living, in flagrant defiance of decency and order, in a castle somewhere in the country. Her brain had given way, in consequence of her having taken to drinking; and she had been seen by some one to fall over a cliff into the sea ! Gradually these various rumours amalgamated and produced fresh combination, and May, in her innocence and ignorance, went on living her life and doing her good work down in the Cornish village, quite unconscious of the fact that her most intimate quondam friends were doing their best to ruin her character In society, A certain limit to tho time which she had set f<-r staying at Penbarrow was nearly reached, and her heart was overflowing with thankfulness and joy. because her task was nearly completed, and she would soon be free to p'oclaim her triumph to the world, when the had a terrible cheek.

One evening, as they were leisurely walking along on the highest cliff-ledge, looking away over the moonlighted sea and talking of the happy days that were in store for them soon (for his probation was nearly at an end) he slipped and fell. It seemed to her as she stood rooted to the top of the crag, that he fell away for several hours ; down several miles ; and yet all the tumbling and rebounding was the work of an Instant or two, and she had really only time to draw one brief agon sed breath before he had reached the bottom, and was there lying crumpled up among the rough stones bruised, broken, and Insensible. fihe realised in a moment that her slender form could noS support, even if her little hands could him, and so, like a deer, she sped away to the village for help. A few rough kindly policemen responded to her cry at onoe, and, with the unerring instinct

of passionate love, the guided them through the rooky Intricacies to the spot where be was lying. Then she fell down by his side, and pressed her Ups to the brow from which the blood was flowing, and cried, in exceeding bitterness, ‘Oh my love, my love!’ Then, as they lifted him from the ground, his mind awoke, and, breaking through all the barriers of pain and circumspection, he straggled to hold out his arms to her, and called her his ‘angel wife.’ She did not even notice that the morals and curiosity of the fishermen about her were in arms at this. She only heard him, saw him, cared for him. They carried him home for her, and she rewarded them so royally that one or two of them proposed holding their tongues about what they had heard. But the majority were in favor of ‘ having it all out honorable at the beer-honse, among their fellowsand so they <]id, and a pretty story they made of it in their rough way, almost as good a ono as the more polished people up in London made of it. For many da, s—for more than a week he hung in the balance between llfo and death ; and during that time she never left his room once, and never opened a letter. Curiously enough, her correspondence seemed to increase at this time. Numbers of letters with grand crests and coronets on them arrived at the little village po.t-offioe for “The Countess of Skersdale, care of Mrs Macdonald;’ and all of these were allowed to accumulate daring that terrible illnesi which ensued on the fall from the cliff.

While this illness was at his worst, Lady Hallington had ono of her best receptions for the season, and a murmur arose at it that Something had been heard about Lady Skersdale at last. Instantly fifty people asked of fifty others what the something was, but at length rumour grew fat and lusty through feeding on itself. A tone of mournful conviction that everything about her was utterly and irremediably wrong spread itself over the gossip columns of the fat-hlonable papers. Her nearest and dearest friends—those who knew what she was doing, and why she was doing it—t«gan to wonder why she held her peace so long, now that her fair fame was so foully assailed. They little knew that she was engaged in fanning the feeble life-fiame of the man who was the cause of all the misunderstandings about her, and who at the same time had tho _best right to her devotion.

At length the day dawned when he was able to sit up, and let her relax her ceaseless guard over him, and then she began to open her letters and papers. At fir t she could not understand them. The things of which she was accused, the suggestions that were made about her, were simply incomprehensible in their vilenesa to her. Engaged, absorbed in her holy task, she had forgotten that appearances were against her; and now that those appearances rose up and weie about to crush her, she cried aloud at the injustice of humanity to tho Individual. But she could not tell him that she was suffering for him. It Would hurt him terribly, she knew, and 'he has been hurt by others and himself so hardly already, poor dear,’ she thought. So she kept her own conn'el, and went on nursing him and breaking her heart. One day when he was better, when he was qnlte convalescent in fact, a budget of letters came for him from hia London agent, and one of them told him the story of what was said of his wife. Lady bkersdale. He read it, and grew a strong man at once, relying npon himself, and feeling that he could do for her now what no other man on earth had tho right or power to do. She had taken him back to her In privacy, and by tenderness and love had weaned him from the awful habit that had hid fair to sap_ both body and soul. Should she suffer in her fair fame for this holy deed ? Should she be held guilty who had been so guileless ! A thousand times no ! He was her defender now, her legal and able one. So the servants were summoned to the room where the invalid was lying on the sofa; and then, before them all, ha told them who their lady was, and what she had done, and why she had done it. And then he added that he was not her brother, but her most unworthy husband and lord. The whole village rang with the story, that had poetry in it, before nightfall ; and the next day, when tho young earl and Countess of Shersdale took their departure from Penbarrow, the little station was crowded, and the fiaher boys and girls hurrahed themselves hoarse.

They came back to London with all the honor and glory of their state about them, and went straight to the family mansion, and proclaimed themselves together and at home as soon as possible. Then all the world wondered.

Lady Hallington gave another of her famous receptions immediately, in order that at least a hundred people might get the right version of the ease without delay. As an inducement for the hundred to come, she mentioned to at least twenty, In a casual kind of way, 1 1 hope you’ll look in on the 23rd. Those dear Skersdalea will be with me. Been on a sketching tour you know ; and in the course of it he fell over a cliff and was nearly drowned, and she swam out and saved him ; most devoted couple. I never can be glad enough that I brought them together.’ In very truth, Mrs Macdonald’s experiment had resulted in the perfect happiness of Lady Skersdale.