LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2583, 18 July 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

BEHIND THE SCENiS : A LOVE STORY. (Continued.) ' My pupil ! Heaven save you from snoh a master !' he answered bitterly; then in a gentler voloe, though net less earnest, he said, 'That first day we met you reproved me for cheap cynicism, and you were right ; though perhaps if you knew my life you wou'd say I had some cause for despising mysel f , and to a poor cause—a very poor one, I own —for railing at the world.' Her eyes sought his pityingly and tenderly. 'There is no reason I should tall you this, he Bald ; ' except that, since I have known you, your freshness of heart and your faith in the world have been a constant lovely rebuke to me, making me feel my bitterness so sl'ght. I don't like tohear the echo of my own empty words from your lips. Don't speak so again.' • I never will,' she said. The low tremble of her voice made his pulses beat faster : but he constrained himself with an effort, and said, ' Thank you.

You know fn "Faust** it lathe warnan saves the man from', the moating devil of disbelief; the woman who draws him by bet ii.flnenoe to the heaven of.her own faith, to whom the charge of his soul Is given ; not the man who drags her down to be degraded with him by the sneering spirit who believes in nothing. 'That time is dead,'she answered, in a sudden fiarce impulse of honesty, alien t > her usual mood ; ' now we women are like you men ! We, too, have lost all yon eonght when you cams to ns; so how can we tell you where to find them—those !o t treasures of faith and hopo I' •By a greater than th«se. By Charity, by Love ; and through that both will find what are lost. Bat yon are speaking of other women, not of yourse'f. Do not be bo hitter. You do not know how muoh you havo taught rue, or how different tho world looks to me now. I believe in the ideal of womanhood I have leatnt through you, even against yourself.* Her head drooped, her voice was Bad and true, as she answered, 'I can do nothing. A worldly woman, leading a worldly life. Against ber own wul, something moved her to apoak the truth to this man; but it was hardly a truth she was likely to accept as euoh, i • Why will you tlander yourself to-night?' ' a worldly woman! Well if all worldly women were like yon, the world would be very fair. Good-night.' Ho left her. afraid lest he had said too muoh ; she ttood motionless, with a look on her face of mingle i joy and sadness, touched with self-reproach. ' If all men were like you,' she thought. 1 there would be no worldly women. If I ——' A quick delicious shame, a sudden and Intense ecstasy, made her cover her face with her hands, aa though to hide it even

from the night. 'He does love me, I am sure of it,' she thought, when again she looked up at tho brightening moon ; ' and I —yes, Ido love him. I never knew before what it meent, but now Oh, If he w° ohed it, wby did he not apeak now? I should have yielded and been happy ; and yet Could I really P I might regret. I should if I h»d to give np my artiet life ; and I have fancied poor Cyril was right in his aong. No I am not afraid ; just now I feel I would give np everything for love, the love I have wanted all my life. I know I should be happy.' She stood with her faoo raised to the stare, and full of a rapt sweetness it had never worn before. Now, in the very fulness of her womanhood, Lore's mystio ohrlsm was laid on her brow. Waß she worthy to receive this baptism into the world of self-sacrifice and holiest duty, without which love is naught ? to take up the burden which should be borne proudly aa a orown for Lovo's dear sake, or never lifted at all? Meanwhile Vincent Norman was passing across the fresh erase, hoary with dew, towards the house, with his whole heart passionate with a great love, an intense tenderness and longing to perfect the life of the woman he loved. He thought sometimes that a shadow of weariness and disoo tent troubled the fairness of her faoo, that ahe neeled something. Was it love? and oould he give her what ahe wanted ? Would his love Bnffioe ? It was strong enough, if the t were all. Yet he feared himself - feared lest ha should only be asking her to enter into a harder life in being his wife. Knowing how muoh she would be to him, Le dreaded lest he>hould be but saltish in asking her. He must put his fate to the touch, whether he won or lost it all. Hia heart pulsed still quioker as he thought of her loveliness and sweetness, of her soft ejes, so melancholy in their beauty. • A worldly woman'.' He laughed to himself at the words. Even when he met her in a London d: awing room he had fancied there wai a deep tender nature under the careless charm of her outward Bstming, and now he knew It. Whether she loved him or not, she would still be to him the one woman In the world.

Strangely, or rather naturally enough, Miss Dunconibe avoided meeting Maj or Norman for one or two days after that evening. * Cllcb high, feel high, no matter ; still Feet, feelings, um&fc descend the hill An hour's perfection can't reour.' And Nora felt very differently the morning that followed the night when she had stood by Vincent's side under the treeß by the stream. She had been moved out of herself by mingled influences, and had taken the refieotion of Vincent Norman's strong passion for the same feeling in her own heart; but the next day she had returned to herself, and haif-wondered if she were the same woman who had lifted up her face to the sky In a rapture and thankfulness for the great gift of love. A strange shyness at the Idea of meeting Major Norman overpowered her; the truth was, sho dreaded lest he should ask her the question to which ahe was not prepared to give an answer. For ahe did love him. If she gave herself np to her thought, she experienced a luxury of rett in the idea of h!s love and care, as in the dream of the shadow of a great rock in a weary land ; he suited her, too, better than any man she had ever met; she know ahe would not tire of him —but—there were so many " bnts." She could not bear to give up her freedom, she said to hersolf, thus glibly sliding over the tangible and intangible objections, which, If fairly stated £to herself, would have had a somewhat small

and selfish aspeot. And if she gave up her freedom, she had always determined iu her own mind, ever since poor Cyril Elmore's death, that it should be for something worth the exchange, a social position that should fitly crown her triumphs. She knew that sue a a position was ready to her han t If ahe ohosa to take with it a baronet of old name, large fortune, and musical and eesthetio tastes, with lank hair and a retreating chin; but tho would forfeit all chance of it if the married Major Norman. Nevertheteis this morning, the third since aha had seen him. she was conscious of a longing for his presence, for the restrained warmth of his greeting the sudden light in his brave eyes. She rose from the breakfast table, pushed away from her some rnuric she had been studying, and, going to the tarnished glass let into the panelling of the room above the mantelpiece, she inspected the reflection of herself therein with a questioning gaze, as though seeking help. ' I am looking better,' ahe thought, 'than when I came here.' The conclusion was right; her face was fresher than It had been a month ago; it seemed aa though she might have been bathing In the May dew which had lain thiok of mornings on the grass. She looked exquisite'y frcsb, that most potent charm In a woman to a man's eyes. She put on a round hat the same oolor as her dreso, with a jay'" wing in front, then stood irresolutely by the window, as doubtful what to do. 'I think I'll go down to the shore,' was her final determination. Now it was just half past ten, acd Miss Dunoombe might have remembered that Major Norman always returned after hla morning swim and walk about that time, so that she was nearly certain to fall in with him on her way towards the sea. But as ahe would have indignantly sc uted the idea

that she had any thought of meeting him, it la but fair to suppose that this had esoaped her memory. Who did meet him, after all. His face was graver than usual, and after they had said good morning, he added abruptly, ' I see you are going away.' ' You saw yesterday's paper?* ' Yes, the advertisement of Miaa Clement's appearance—' ' And consequent disappearance from Penmouth of Nora Dunoombe.' ' Oar holiday is as an end.' She folt as though the ' our ' iti his sen tence had touched some responsive nerve in her, but only answered lightly. ' We shall meet In London, thouhh V 'Yob;' he spoke hesltatatingly, then looked at her, as though he would fain read her thoughts ; but she had been an actress too long not to be able to conceal them when It pleased her, and it pleased her now; when do yon leave V he asked at last. Be had turned back, and was walking with her towards the sea. She had the fee lug of having™ been through all this before, of knowing the end—'On Tuesday,' she said. Then they walked on in sileuoe till they reached the esplanade. They lent over the railing and watched the tossing play of the waves, each touched with white, and laughing in the sunlighf. The sea was shot with green and dark parp'e; but though the breeze was fresh, the sun shone royally, throwing the line of the coast out vividly, and showing eaoh gray rook and patoh of dry turf of a litt'e island about a mile out in front of where Major Norman and Miss, Dancombe were leaning over the rail. {To be continued.