LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2584, 19 July 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

BEHIND THE SCENES : A LOVE STORY. ( Concluded .) * Do you know,’ Nora said at last, for the sake of saying something, ‘ I have never yet been to that Island.’ •Neither have I,’ Vincent Norman answered ; * I never thought about It: is it a sine qua non we should go out there and pay onr respeots to the gulls ? If so, let’s mate the call in company.’ ‘lt wouldn’t bo eiquetto, and I have no cards with me i still -’ ‘ Would you like the row ?’ he asked, *if so, let’s go now, I can get a boat in a minute.” ‘You really don’t mind ? If it wouldn’t bore and tire you to much.’ •And if you can dispense with cushions, shawls, *o. Well, thee, it is settled. Have you sufficient confidence in my rowing powers to trust to them, cr would yon rather we took a boatman ?’

She made a pretty gesture of dlssonj. ‘Please not,’ she said; ‘they are so worrying and wearisome. But won’t It be too much for you ? I wish I knew how to row, and could help you. 1 Major Norman did not join In Nora’s wish. When they were in the boat, and she was leaning back In the it rn, with her own own peculiar grace of attitude, a bright smile of enjoyment on her face, and her eyes meeting his, he Bsalieed how much ho preferred seeing her thus, to watching herotrugling with an oar, and growing heated by the work and sun. They soon reach tho little Island. ,

Vincent made the boat secure, and then helped hie companion out of it across tha slippery seaweed-covered rooks, to a smooth little stretch of turf, which was the highest point of the small cluster of rocks. They explored everything there was to explore with a minuteness worthy of the Swiss Family Eobinsoa ; hut os one rook pool is very like another rocK pool, and one small patch of turf much resembles another small patch, their journey of discovery did not take them long, and they returned to the stretch of turf they had first come npon, wi'.h no greater result than the moulted feather of a gull, which. Nora had fonnd on a rock and fastened in her hat. ‘ There is not mnoh to see here,’ Vincent said, as they sat down under a sloping root. ‘ No ; hut I have enjoyed the row ; I wish it were not the last.’ She had meant to be on her gnard, hut, alone here with him and the sky and sea, she could not help being softer, gentler, and leas cautions than she had intended. * Who knows but that tho world may end to-night?’ ‘1 hope n't. What La that from, though f I know It.'

* The I ait Ride Together.’ For a moment she made no reply; she plucked the pale blossom of a sea pink and held It np against the deep blue of the sky, seemingly engrossed by looking at it, as tho said at last, * If his wish had been fulfilled

they would both have grown very tired of that sternal ride.' ■ | Shs spoke quietly, trying to cheat herself to to thinking she was doing best f>r him as for herself.

1 Do you mean that ?’ he said. Her eyes dropped before his steady gaze, and her voice faltered as she stammered, 4 1 don’t know.’ she saw from his face that the moment oho had steeled herself against had come, and ehe nerved herself to meet It, as his voice asked—--4 Are you afraid to make the trial ? Could you trust me enough to let our lives most ?’ , He leant forward, waiting her answer, all the might of a man’s love In his earnest face, his expectant eyes. Nora Duucomba felt as though her brain wore burning, her senses and will failing her In her longing to yield, to turn and give himself up to him, and so take the happiness she yearned for and yet feared. She clenched her hands tensely In thie fierce, brief struggle against her tenderer self, and forced herself to rep'y,

4 1 oonld not. 4 He could not guess all that was passing within her mind ; he only heard the short, cold answer, that sounded as though there was no hope that appeal or prayer would rotten her. A low but very bitter sigh escaped him. 4 1 have been a fool,’ he said, after a pause, She filt a foolish, sick pain in her heart at his sigh, and all the anguish it told; sna could not bear his words, and it was more to comfort herself than him that sho said hurriedly, 4 No, not that. Have I hurt yon ? You do not know how I hate to give you pain, how I hate myself f r—oh, why did you care for me !’ 1 Why ?’ The question was sad, rather scornful. He did not echo her words as a reproach, but it fell as such on her. She knew too well how she had caused him to yield to his love for her, how she had drawn him on, but why ? Not even to herself could Nora answer the question. She had called him cynical, but shs knew all along that he was not ; that he was simple, true, brave holding faith in any man or woman unless ha or she gave him proof of being unworthy belief. A thousand times simpler, truer, sweeter in his nature than the, who had rebuked him for bitterness, who had charmed him with her pretty enthusiasms, her seeming faith that the whole world and those who dwelt on his were very good. For one moment she saw this clearly as fa a lightning flash ; it was not a pleasant self-revealing. 4 1 should never suit you/ she said to hlmj and her voios was pleading, her eyes were imploring, in splto of herself ; 4 we should not be happy. 4 4 Say you would not,’ he answered, 4 and that is enough. To me the mere winning you would overbalance all the worth of life.’ . . 4 Yon say so now, but in two years time 4 You hardly know me j I am not very changeable. 1 4 And then you would want me to give up my art.’ 4 1 should want yon'to do nothing except your own will. You oannot think I should wish to tie your freedom.’ 4 But you would like me to leave the stage,' she said, with a perverse pleasure in trying to discover his nature. 4 What does it matter,’ he asked, ’since you have refused me ! But yon would have been free. 1 might have been glad if this had not been your life ; but I cannot say even that, for I love you as you are, complete. 1 would never have cramped you as it would cramp you, to sever you from your art.’ 4 But how about your profession? It Is as much to you as my work is to me. I oonld not have borne to think I had spoilt your life. Can you not see you would never do, even If 4 4 That 4 it’ would have smoothed all; If yon had loved me, 4 the crooked would have been made straight and the rough places places plain j‘ as it Is —oh, my dearest, I oould have loved you so well.’ His words shook hor resolve, but still she did not surrender, She knew there was a traitor, or one whom she deemed as auoh, within her gates—Love —who whispered to her that this man, against whom she held her heart's citadel, was herjrightful king, at whose approach the gates should have been thrown open wide, not barred as against a foe; that, if she denied him entrance, she did so at her own peril of her scorn and of a desolate life. Something of this may have shown Itself in her face, for he beat forward and spoke eagerly: 1 Nora, do you lovo me f la It anything else that separates ns f Tell me plainly onoo if you con care for me or not j do not say yes If you cannot from your heart, but remembe- a He either way will be a sin against your own soul; do you love me ? Her head swam ; she felt as though sll the world, the bright sky, the flashing green and purple sea were a dream, as if nothing were real but Vincent’s voice; but she gathered up her whole strength, and looked at him unflinchingly as she said 4 No.’ And all the while his words rang in her ears, as though they were a judgment; 4 a sin against her own soul She knew it only too well. Silently, as with one acoord, they rose and went down to the boat; silently Vincent banded Nora In and took his own place; but now he never looked at her as she sat with bowed head and heavy eyelids, as though fearing again to meet his gaze. They reached land at last, and walked along the beach till they came to a toad which led up to Horneok House; then, as by a common Impulse, they turned to say good bye. A strange, stricken look was on his face ; but there was a wilder sadness In eyes as, hold out her hand, ehe whispered rather than said, 4 Forgive me.” Vincent felt a quick pity, he knew not why, in the midst of his own pain, for this woman through whom ho suffered. Did a suspicion of the truth cross his mind ? If so, he made no attempt to ulcer her mind ; he knew it would be no avail. 4 Have I anything to forgive?’ ho said gravely and gently ; 4 if I have, Nora, forgive yourself; I only love you, dear,’ It was a quiet spot, and there was no one near; she raised his hand to her lips, and kissed it twice; then turned swifty away from him down the road that lad to the house.

Mies Dnncomba was sitting writing that evening in her own sitting-room at Horneck House. She had delighted her maid by telling her that they should return to town on the morrow instead of waiting till Tuesday, and ordering her to set about packing up forthwith. Then she wrote to the landlady at her London lodgings to tell her to get things ready, and to her dressmaker about a costume for a new part. She fiu'sbed her letters and gave them to her maid to post. The girl went out in the glimmering twllLht. and Miss Dunoomba leant back in her chair, wondering what Vincent Norman was doing the room above. Was he sitting there, lonely and sad, thinking of her ? A dim idea came to her of stealing up to his room, bending over him as he sat there in the dusk, and saying, ‘lt was only a madness, darling ; 1 love you, and love is best of all.’ How would he receive her if she did ? She conld fancy the gladness dawning on hla face, the feeling of his arms round her, an utter rest and happiness such as she had never known. She shook herself free &t last from the dream, with an impatient auger at her own folly. She rose and looked about for the matches with which to light the candles, and so shut out the sad twilight of this long bitter dty. In her search she came across something which struck her eye —her note-book. She took it np listlessly, and opened it without any reaeon that she knew cf. In it. between a letter from the dilettante baronet mentioned some way biok, and a calculation of what her receipts would be from a foreign engagement, there lay the wood-sorrel blossoms Vincent had given her, faded and crushed to death between compliments and money calculations —por lit hie flowers that bad been as the first tender breath of love’s snmmer, the summer whose beauty Nora would neve.' know. With a [quiver as of pain and a sob, she shut the little book again and turned to light the candles. The entr’acte was over.