LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2516, 2 May 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

STRANGELY CAUGHT, There are few left who know of the existence of the ‘ Silver Springs.’ although it la a perfect littlo fairy land, with its o?lm, soft, steal grey lake, fed by a rippling rivulet, which comes down in feathery foam and spankling rush, over a thousand rock boulders, past regal farn trees, and sedgy reeds, from the sombre hills above ; which lie violet hued among the clouds and vapors, hazy and indistinct as a half remembered dream, and on again from the dark, deep lake in a babbling brooklet, divided here and there by a grassy ait, crowned with verdant willow trees, drooping their leaves into the water, and making a score of little eddies with their rise and fall, as they sigh to the gentle breeie with soft aud sleepy undulations, forming beyond a tiny stream, where the small channe.s unite into one, and flow along in harmony, past meadows, where the patient eyed oxen graze content, and no sounds startle the timid deer, who freely bound over the park land, pausing to drink at the ccol, clear stream, or jumping the narrowest parts, making crystal ‘sprays with their hinder feet, and darting off again, as If exulting in their spring and buoyancy. In the distance, among the trees, an old mansion is visible, red-briokod and stonecoped ; and as far as can be seen of Elizabethan baild. Past this, with artistic carve, the brook proceeds, through banks blue with forget-me-nots and feathery rush grasses, to a cottage, not pretty in itself but rendered so by a rustic porch, upon which wild roses climb in plentiful profusion, intermixed with perfumed honey-suokle. The cottage garden la filled with those dear old fashioned plants, which remind one of childhood. Very different, indeed, from the bouquet of to-day, yet not less beautiful one whit. But there was something more to recommend Silver Springs than its beauty ; it was one of the best trout streams in England, though there were few who profited by that fact, for the owner of the property, who lived in the red house in the park, was an Invalid, who, unable to enjoy the sport himself, was churlish enough to deny it to others ; so the fish grew and multiplied, and no one went near to disturb their tranquility, save Sylvia, Mr Raymond’s only child, the heiress of all the vast Silver Spring estates, who was a gentle votary of Izaak Walton’s, and, like him, loved the sport of fishing. Many a solitary ramble had Sylvia, splashing In and out among the boulders, and wading In the deeper water, with her skirts firmly tucked down Into her long watarproof boots. One other only had the right to fish there and bring a friend—that was the head keeper—but, like Mr Raymond, he was a somewhat churlish man, and, so far, he had contented himself with a dish of speckled trout for his own breakfast, and had not availed himself of hie privilege In favor of anyone else. Business, however, took John Samson into the market town of Ssndiford, and there he mot with a serious accident at a street corner, where the angle was sudden and sharp; a fast trotting horse in a dogcart had knocked him down, and he had been picked up, carried home and carefully attended by a young surgeon named Angus St. Clara, who, having taken a liking for the rough, open spoken keeper, declined to make him ’any charge, and after some days of attention and nursing sent him away with a hearty hand-shake. Now if there was one thing John loved, it was his money ; and the doctor not having touched that, his gratitude was deep and lasting. Mr St, Clare, on the contrary, was fond of sport, and to John’s question, ' how he could ever repay him for all ho had done ?' had laughingly answered, ’ Give me a good day’s fishing now and than, Samson, and I shall be amply rewarded.’ And having said this, he straightaway forgot all about it, in his daily round of onerous ill-paid duties. Not so the keeper ; and when the time for fishing nest came on Angus St. Clare received a letter, written In a crabbed hand, giving him permission to fish In the ' Silver Spring’ streams during the season, and Inviting him to spend a few days at his cottage, It was not often that such a chance offered for the hard-working young doctor, and he hailed it joyfully. He would certainly accept the good man’s invitation to his * humble home, ’ as ha called it, for the time specified ; and after that he coaid often run over by train to the station of Malnsby, from whence a walk of five miles would take him to the stream, and Angus St. Clare congratulated himself on his good luck in having made a friend ef Mr Raymond’s keeper, In vain had all the fishermen in the county petitioned for a day; these applications were invariably refused, and often not answered at all. It was a lovely evening, quiet and calm, and the trout were rising to the fly as fast as the young piacator could whip the stream. He was so intent on his sport that a figure approached him unperceived, and strolling under the spreading branches of the park-land trees, came with graceful, untrammelled, easy walk over the mossy yielding turf with noiseless steps, and standing near, watched the handling of the rod in those skilful fingers with glistening eyes, and parted smiling lips.

All went well with Angus St. Clare; one after another the speskled beauties rose, were captured and landed, ard again the fly was lightly thrown with a slight: backward sweep once more into the water. Anether of the finny tribe had been slipped into the eapaclona bag, and with a “awiah” the fine line flew through the air ; and there was a sudden twitching and a soft cry, which yet betokened pain ; and turning round, Angus fonnd that the fish he had hooked was a beautiful bine eyed girl, who was regarding him with a half amused, half frightened glance, that was wholly mischievous and captivating. * A thousand pardons,’ he cried, dropping his rod, and running to her assistance, ‘Do not mind it, it is nothing,’she answered with a smile, which finished him 5 ‘ only I don’t quite {know how to return you your property; the hook is in rather deep, I fear: I am sure I cannot get it ont.’ And already the crimson blood was staining the thin white dress, which scarcely hid the soft, fair round shoulder into which the barb had buried itself.

• I am a doctor,' he replied, gravely ; *if you will permit me, I can extract it j but I fear it will canse you pain.’ She looked at him with uncertainty for a moment, and there was a timid shrinking expression in the blue eyes. Then she put herself aside, and thought for others. ‘Thank you, wo are strangers, but it cannot matter—if yon are a medical man, I shall be grateful for your services. It would oaly frighten papa If I were to send for our doctor; and he is ill and nervous, without my adding to his worries.’ Without another word ho took her hand, and led her to the shelving bank, and with deft fingers, but not without pain, removed the cruel hook; then, asking no permission, dressed the wound with the necessary applications, which, which, doctor-like, he carried in his pocket. She uttered no sound, though it did not escape him that she suffered. The rosy Ups were pressed together in two thin lines, and the sweet face grew pale. When he had finished, she quietly thanked him, and essayed to go. ‘You must still allow me to bo yonr medical adviser,’ ho said kindly ; |it will be better for yon to rest for a short time before you walk home; I hope you have not far to go.’ ‘ Oh, no !’ she replied, sitting down again; • I live at the red house which you can see through the trees ; I generally walk down here in the evenings ; I have never known any home but this, and I have learnt to to love this brook—-it is quite a friend to me.’

‘I hope you have some more congenial companion than this silent water,’ he answered kindly. ‘I do not find it silent,’ she said, with a far-off look ; ‘ when people are very much alone, they find comradeship in things which to others would seem vary irresponsive. ’ He looked down upon the young girl seated at hia feet with wonder- ‘ What sort of a life could her’s be,’ he asked himself,’to be thus clouded at its sweet budding time V And as she raised her head, tho eyes of these two met, and somehow she knew she had found better company than tho babbling trout stream, which now rippled unheeded by. ‘I did not know anyone was here,’ she stammered ; while her cheeks hung -ut rosy red banners, which yet were not signals of distress ; ‘ papa did not tell me, and ha so seldom gives anyone leave to fish here.’ «Then I suppose I am speaking to Miss Raymond,' said Angus St. Clare; ‘and I

must explain to yon that I am not a friend o! your father’s, aa you suppose, but of his keeper, John Samson ; I was fortunate enough to render him a service, and ho has repaid me.’ ‘You, then, are Mr St. Clare,’ she returned with kindling eyes; ‘oh ! I have heard of you—honest John has sung your praises; I am glad you are not a stranger,’ ‘Am I not I’ he answered, smiling ; * yet we have never met before.’

The color deepened almost painfully on her fair face, hut her reply was open and fearless.

* You see, I have lived out of the world ; I dare say I am very unconventional, but I have often thought of you, since I heard of your kindness to Samson, and even papa has spoken of you ; and I think of so few people outside my daily life ; it has been a sort of solace to find that in the world which is unknown to me there are good people; for papa does not believe in that sort of thing he thinks everyone has an object In everything—but you could have had none when you took such care of our keeper.’ * Yes, I had, my object was to cure him.’ *Ah 1 but that was a good one.’

After a alight pause, he suddenly continued;: —‘ I am staying for a few days at the cottage, Miss Raymond; I should like to draw you a few sketches of scenes which in my medical capacity I have witnessed, where unselfish love and devotion have placed a halo round many a humble head. ’ He had spoken eagerly, and she had watched him with brightening eyes. ‘ Oh 1 I am so glad,’ she murmured with a sigh of relief; ‘ I cannot bear to believe people bad ; nature is so beautiful. You are like the river to me, Mr St. Clare, you tell me pleasant things.’ ‘ Then you will let me call upon you—upon your father, I should say,’ he continued earnestly. Again the blood mounted to cheek and brow, and sho shook her head sadly. ‘No,’ no ; you must not come j ho would be sure to think you wanted something 1 He has never seen visitors since mamma died i poor mother; her’s must have been a sad life; but you cannot think how much she loved papa. He only admits Samson and the doctor, besides those of his own household.’

A great compassion rose in the young man's heart for this lonely girl before him, and as bis eyes again rested on her, he told himself that never had he seen anyone to his mind so lovely and lovable. Did ho not indeed want this girl beside him, for all that he had seen her but once ? Love at first sight! He had heard of it often, had even laughed at it, but surely now it had coma to him.

* I am afraid I was a great coward about that hook !’ she said, with a smile, breaking in upon his pro-occupation. ‘You behaved beautifully,’ he answered enthusiastically ; ‘ I wish all my patients were as good at bearit g pain ; but you looked faint ’

* I felt so,’ I am afraid,’ she laughed ; ‘ I should not do Jfor a heroine, Mr St. Clare ; but I have quite recovered now, yon will see. I can run alone,’ and sho sprang lightly from the mossy bank. ‘ Don’t you think it best to run in couples I’ he asked in a kindly voice ; ‘ I should like to walk home with you.’ ‘ I should think you had better not,’ she answered, raising her eyes frankly to his ; ‘papa might be annoyed ;’ and she stretched out her hand to say good-bye. ‘Are we not to meet again, then ?’he asked earnestly, holding it in his own. A puzzled look flitted over her speaking face, ‘ I should be sorry to think so,’ she said sadly, ‘but I do not know.’ ‘ I should bo sorry, too, child,’ he returned gently ; ‘ God bless you !’ He lifted the small white hand to his lips, and was gone. (To be continued .)