LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2563, 26 June 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A MARRIAGE ARRANGED. ( Concluded) Ho was quite silent for a moment. • Ib ho going V ho said at last. In a low stern voice. I shook my head. * Fate is too strong fcr mo,* ho muttered ; ‘ of what use to struggle any longer ?’ • I think I must go now,’ I said, rising from my seat ; * again permit ran to fff-r you my thanks for your great service. I —l hope yon will call and let my mother do the same.’ He took the hand I timidly held out, and locked down into my eyes. How well, how plainly I could read the struggle going on within his mind I A quick shudder ran through his frame. ‘ I shall see you—once more,’ he said huskily ; ‘ i ftar that— ’ He did not finish the sentence, only put my hand within his arms—for I was faint and trembling still—and led me forth into the sunshine and noise of the enter world once more. I heard him speak to the footman, but I have no idea what ho said ; then he walked silently by my side until we reached Elise’s. ‘ Yon had better return in a cab, he said, ‘unless some one comes for yon. I have sent the man home with news of the aceldent ; he will mention you are here.’ Then ho raised his hat and left me standing there dizzy and bewilde-ed by the events that had so closely followed one a; other. An hour had passed, and I was still undergoing the tortures of ‘ trying on,’ when Imy mother arrived, and rushed into tho room in a state of intense exoitemont. ‘My dear child I’ she cried, ‘what a fright I have had! Thank heaven yon are sate! Ton are sure you are not injured In any way ? ‘Quito sure,’ I answered coldly; ‘a gentleman oamo to my assistance just In time to prevent my being thrown out. I owe him my safety.’ ‘ Who was he ?’ she asked eagerly. ‘ A Mr Langdon,’ I said ; ‘ wo have met him once or twice. If you remember ; he is a friend of Josephine Howard’s.’ * Mr Langdoa the author,’ she returned dubiously ; *oh yes, I remember. I am sure lam deeply Indebted to him. Will he oall ? Did yon ask him to do so ?’ ‘ Yes ; but he said he was leaving town,’ I answered, keeping my flushed cheeks well away from her searching eyes. * After all, Geraldine, I cannot go down to Hastings with you,’ said my mother at luncheon, as she finished tho perusal of some letters; ‘ but I shall follow in a few days’ time. Bo out in the fresh air as mnoh as you oan, only be careful of your complexion.’ Mrs Lester was an old widow lady, a distant cousin of my father’s, who resided a short distance from Hastings in a pretty oldfashioned house of her own. The prospect of going to her for a few days was very pleasant to my mind ; and I was so cheerful and light-hearted, that when Lord Loftus came to bid me farewell he remarked it in his usual disagreeable fashion. ‘ You seem glad to go away,’ ho said, surveying me through his eye-glass, a fashion I particularly disliked. ‘ I am not at all sorry,’ I anowerad coolly; ‘ London is detestable just now.’ ‘ I shall come down to see you occasionally,’ he continued, in that aggressive masterful way of his; ‘I hope the change will do you good. Will you write to me ? ’ ‘ There will be no necessity, ’ I said indifferently j ‘you say yon are coming down occasionally ; why should I write ? ’ ‘Ob, just as you please,’he answered; ‘ only it is not unusual for engaged people to correspond when they are separated. ’ ‘ It probably depends on circumstances,’ I said ; ‘ there are engagements entered Into from feelings of affection, not arranged to emit ambition or pride, and with bat little regard for the feelings ot either of the contract! g parties.' • You are bitter,’ he said, with unmoved composure; ' yon should have thought of these things before, not after, entering upon such a contract.’ ‘ I did think of it, and say it too,’ I answered, turning away with swelling heart, and eyes all dimmed by hot and angry tears; ‘butit was no use.’ ‘ And if it was no use then, it is still less use now,’ he sneered; ‘don’t tronble your mind on the subject any longer. We shall be quite as happy as moat other couples. Marrying for love is each a very obsolete ridisuloua notion.’

It was two days later. I was sitting, book in hand, cn the great cliff where stand tho rains of Hastings Castle. It was close upon sunset. I had strolled over hero by myaeif, and my solitude was as yet undisturbed. It was a favorite place of mine, this old mid; with its historical interest and Its magnificent view. 1 was not reading now, bnt letting my eyes roam from place to place; from the sloping cliffs and quiet sea to the west, where the sun was sotting with a royal splendour that reddened with light the glassy oalm of the waters, and blinded my eyes as I gazed. I looked away, and idly turned over the pages beside me. A soft breeze blew from over the sea, and flattered the leaves in my hands and kissed my cheek with Its cool fresh breath. On the beach below the tiny waves rolled with a dreamy murmur, their cream-white edges fringing the blue of the water, and melting into the line of glistening shingle that stretohed from curve to curve of the shore, I turned my dazzled eyes away with a sigh. My heart and thoughts were too sad for even nature’s smiles to gladden; As the sigh loft my lips a shadow crossed tho slanting sun-rays and stood before me. I locked up once more, and all tha glory that had baen wanting in earth and sea and sky came rushing warm and riob to my throbbing heart with the presence of —Norman Langdon. * Yon see, I have come,’ he said, not offering his hand, bat standing there oreot, calm, statue-like.

I rose to my feet, dizzy and trembling. ‘ Yea,’ I said simply. ‘ 1 have come In defiance of reason, of prudence, almost, I fear, of honor,’ he continued, in a low rapid voice; ‘ but the question that is burning In my heart will have an answer, and yon only oan give it. Oh, God, if I had but dared to ask it a week ago!’ I dared not look at him. My heart palpitated wildly ; tho blood rushed In torrents to my face, then ebbed slowly, painfully back. He spoke again. ‘ You told me you did not love this man whom you have promised to marry,* ho said ; ‘yon are not acting of your own free will; had I not feared this, read it in your changed looks end sad young eyes, I should never have said such words; bat love Is stronger than reason or prudence, or a false code or honor, snob as I am trampling under foot when I say to yon what I have no right to say to one no longer free—Geraldine, I love you!’ I looked at him then. I saw the glory in his face, the passljn in his eyes ; and in that instant I passed from mere existence to warm, fall glowing life. The world and all Its laws and precepts were forgotten utterly and entirely, I remembered nothing bnt his words, saw nothing bnt bis faoe, and all the glory and the gladness of hla love swept over me like a flood of fire. Did he need words? I think not He asked me for none; he only came a step nearer, and drew me into bis arms. My eyes closed. I felt his lips touch mine, and in that one divine moment the mere eostaoy ot living was beyond all joy of sonl or sense. In all life, in all love, there comes such a moment but once only It had come to me and to him. The world and all and everything aronnd were as nothing now beside—each other. Heart to heart we stood, while all the fading tender hues of light died out In the golden west; but in our sonis rose passion pure, full orbed, intense, that nothing onuld dim or darken now save only death. There was no barrier between ns any longer. Everything looked so small, and poor, and insignificant beside this great and wonderful love. I trembled In bis arms ; bat it was joy, not fear, that sent that tremor through my frame. He looked down at me tenderly, lovingly. * And bo you loved me after sU,’ he said ; * I oan hardly believe it oven now.’ ‘I hardly know it myself,’ I said, ‘till that n : ght at Jo’s —yon remember ?’ * Yes ; yon looked so ill and troubled then,’ he said gent y; ‘ I Saw yon were not happy ; heaven knows how I strove to repress the wild hopes within my breast, to school myself to calmness and content; I could not; oh my dear, my love, why did you promise yourself to that man ? ’

His words recalled mo to myself, to the hopelessness of my position, the refusal of the liberty I had craved, I was not freo ; he had

refined to liiten to me, and here I wag accepting the lore, and liatening to the tender worde, of another man. • i How pale you are ! What is it P ’ asked Norman tenderly. I wrung my hands in paisionate deipair, and then, in what weak and broken words I could, I told him the whole truth. Hia face grew dark and stern aa ho listened. ■ It is shameful—barbarous 1 ’ ho cried; ‘if the man had one grain of manly chivalrous feeling in his nature ho could not have reaiated such an appeal ; my darling, what a prospect lies before jou ! Oh, Geraldine, you must not, cannot marry this man ; think well before you aot; lam not a rich man, as you know, but I have enough to give you all noceasury comforts, if not luxuries, and I love you with my whole heart’s love!’ * And, pray, may I ask what the devil business you have to acknowledge anything of the sort to my affianced wife ?’ exclaimed a voice behind us.

We both started. Not a yard away stood lord Loftua Stanley, surveying ns with angry eyes and sneering lips. A dark flash rose to Norman’s face, Iho apparent dishonor of his conduct seemed suddenly to flash before him. He saw now how it would look in the world’s eyes by the light In which It was mirrored in the eyes of this man. But he recovered his self-possession more rapidly than I did.

• You have a right to ask that question,’ he said sternly; ‘1 am aware my conduct must look strange, but I love Miss d’Aroy, and the right by which I spoke to her a moment ago Is the right her love for me has given.’ ‘ Oh, Indeed !’ sneered Lord Loftus ; * and are yon aware you are acting in a deuced dishonoraole manner ? 1 his lady is engaged to me. How dare you talk of her loving you!’ ‘ I think you forget you are addressing a gentlemen 1’ said Norman quietly; ‘andinany oase such a controversy as this is out of place in the presence of a lady. I will give you any explanation you wish later on, At present you must allow me to conduct Miss d’Aroy home.’ ‘Miss d’Aroy is under my charge!’ he cried furiously ; ‘ devil take your impudence; what right have you to lord it over me in this fashion V

• A right that you will never have, my lord,* I said, as 1 stepped forward and laid my hand on Norman’s arm ; * I lovo this gentleman, and in hls presence I once more appeal to yon to set me free from that fatal promise, which I have never ceased to regret.’ Hia face grew ashy gray. Hls eyes turned from one to the other of us in blind ungovernable fury. For a moment he was quite silent; then he laughed insolently and oontemtnonaly. ’ Marry your beggar if you will,’ be said, ‘ and repent it all the years of yrmr life to come! I wish you no greater barm than that 1 ’

Then he turned on hia heel and left ns, I took hint at hia word. I did many my * beggar,’ and never was woman happier than myself. 1 will pass over the storms and whirlwinds of parental wrath that followed the breaking-off of my engagement, the refusal and contempt that met Norman Lsngdon’s proposal, the nine days wonder of society, and all the tears and lamentations and bswailings that surrounded me. But at last Jo and 1 took counsel together, and that counsel ended in my walking quietly Into church one morning with my darling, and there being married to him without telling friends or relations a word of the matter. When they found the difficulty settled for them in this fashion they gradually became reconciled to it; and as year after year passed, and Norman grew more sncoessfal and was more lionised and sought after with each, they came to the conclusion that an author was not such a bad match after all. As for myself, no words can fully paint my happiness from the hour I made a marriage—not arranged 1