LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2502, 14 April 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A BLOODLESS CONFLICT, At eight o’clock of a lovely night in midsummer, in oce of the npper rooms at the principal hotel at Mount Desert, stood a young girl of rare and wonderful beauty, donning her armour for the coming fray—an armour whose breastplate was invisible, whose weapons were hidden, but none the less inpenetrable and keen for that. Her maid bad put the finishing touches to a toilet of most artistic lovlinesa. The exquisite neck shone through a mitt of lace; the white, perfeotly moulded arms were bare; the sunny hair was drawn in a knot low on the back of the small, gracefully poised head ; the deep blue eyes were black with excitement and triumph. Three nights before she had received a challenge—not an openly-worded challenge, but fully understood for all that. Of course, she had accepted, though her acceptance was tacit, too; but she and Jack Raymond understood it, and each other. No more was necessary. They required no witneaaes among the worldShe had met him only a week before. She had not known him ten minutes before she felt he was one of the few whose friendship she would be glad to possess—nay, more, whom she would feel pride in bringing within the scope of her power.

Of course, she would escape herself; of that she had no passing donht. She bad played with fire too long to fear Its scorching now. She was already In her twenty-second year, and numberless as were her victims, no one of them possessed a single trophy of even a momentary triumph. Why, then, need she fear to add a fresh name to the list f ‘ Yon have a heart. I should like to make it stir!’

This had been the challenge, spoken in low, earnest tones, heard only by herself and the listening moon sailing in its awakening beauty in the ether above their heads.

«Is It in your sight bo poor a thing you wish to mate it a toy ?’ she bad answered, flashing one bewildering glance into his down-bent face. ‘Give It to me but for an hour, and sro the use that I would put it to. "you wi'l not willingly, I know, but I mean to make the struggle for its possession.’ • You would glory in my defeat, then ?’ «Yes, if you choose to call it by that name. Most women would call it victory, since for all so begrudgingly given I return to you tenfold.’ It was a strange, a novel way of wooing, and it held a fascination of its own. Most men has approached her as suppliants, carefully hiding their mode of attack npon the citadel rf her affection, le t she should see and fortify it. This man boldly asserted not only his method, but laughed to scorn her defence, in his proud confidence that the colors which so long had floated to the free breezes of heaven would lower themselves in obedience before him. It was nonsense, of course. It was audacity unparalleled on hia part; tut it was an audacity most charming, and Ethel Marcus felt a little premonitory shiver run through her veins, which would have warned her of danger had she known or recognised it, Alas ! her greatest danger was in her perfect security. She tossed now a little triumphant smile at her own rcfl actions In the mirror, and with it still lingering about the perfect rosered lips, ran lightly down the stairs. At the fcot he awaited her coming. How sure she had been that she would find him down there.

‘Do you know that our waltz is half finished ?’ he asked, in low tones of reproach, 1 Do you know that I have begrudged every moment of which you have robbed me ?’ ‘ I have robbed myself equally,’ was the low murmured reply. ‘ Can not that plead my pardon ?’ * For what could yon sue at my hands I would not grant ?’ he answered. ‘Remmeber those words,’ she said. ‘Some day I may remind you of them.’ The next moment they were in the merry m« ze of dancers. Bat thrice had they floated through the room when the music ceased. Drawing her hand within his arm, they stepped out on the piazza. The moon was almost at its full now. It smiled upon them most a gracious welcome. Her companion spoke no word, bnt she could feel the earnest gaze of his dark eyes fixed npon her face, compelling her own at length to meet them.

What wonderful eyes they were! How full of strength, and tenderness, and loving purpose! She felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks —a commingled sense of pleasure and of pain, yet the latter almost sweeter than the former. A faint glimmering of prsnble danger in this instant of silence dawned upon her ; a faint breath from a fire with which she might not play. A little shiver passed over her. The man saw it and spoke. ‘ Are you cold ?’ ho questioned. ‘Ho,’ she said. e l am afraid it was a little tremor of cowardice. I fear, as a duellist, yon are too strong for me.’ • I wish I might bo. Suppose yon lay down your weapons then, and trust to my generosity ?’ * I prefer to trust to that and my good steel too. How like a man, to wish the glory of conquest without the brunt of battle! ’

* No—you mistake me; it is because I know the battle will be so fierce and long that I wish to save us both thesoars cf many wounds/

* Ah, ’ she replied, with a little, low, trilling laugh. ‘Use this moat wonderful consideration, I pray, for yourself. Look at me ?’ upraising her face, the moonlight falling full upon its almost flawless beauty. ‘Can you see any sign of former soars ?’ ‘ Hone 1’ he answered, • bnt, by the heaven above us, you shall yet acknowledge one wound which, if it leaves ncacar, is only because it refuses to heal!’

Again she shuddered, and again a pain, which yet was keenest pleasure, smote her heart.

The days glided on. The moon fulled and waned. A month had passed since Jack .Raymond had flung down the gauntlet, and she, with fearless fingers, had stopped and picked it up. A month! but what had it brought to them both ? Ho longer they spoke of triumph or defeat; yet each knew their blades were crossed, and they themselves in the hottest of the fight. August was nearing ita close. The pleasant summer was almost at an end. * The winter soon will be here,’ said Ethel, as they sauntered together, late one afternoon, upon the cliffs'with the sea lashing itself far below them into white impotent foam. * Are yon sorry ?’ ’ I have not thought of it,’ he replied. The next moment the g'rl clapped her hands.

‘ Ob, look 1’ she exclaimed, ‘ The new moon. Let ns wish !’

An instant they, stood silent, regarding the pale orescent far above them.

* What was yonr wish ?’ she questioned. ' That yon would ordain for me there should be no winter, but an eternal, glorious summer, ’ he answered, earnestly, turning and taking both her hands. It had come, then. She had seen it from afar) yet its coming found her all unprepared to meet it. Her very sjtrl was in chaos. She had lost the power to think or reason.

* I— what have I to do with changing the seasons?* she stammered, at last, with a little embarrassed laugh. * Ethel, do not trifle! Must I pnt in words the story of my love ? Must I tell the wonderful fascination you have exercised over me from the first moment of our meeting ? Child, is the road to your heat so hard a one that, after all my struggle, I have missed my way ?’ How subtly sweet were his words ! One moment she was tempted to uplift her lovely eyes and let him read his answer ; the next she steeled herself against It. He had boldly prophesied this way—not thus should his prophecy be fulfilled. Were he earnest, the future would tell it; were ho jesting, the jest should not be at her expense.

1 Has the play grown monotonous, that you would ring the curtain down so soon ?’ she said.

* What do yon mean ?’ he asked. ‘I—I Lave enjoyed it so much that I almost hate to have it end,* she answered. * You are a capital aator, Mr Raymond.’ (To be continued )